amy ferris on san miguel

I just returned from San Miguel de Allende.  Just returned, as in: last night.

I had never been to San Miguel. It was a place I always wanted to go to. Had heard about. I often said to Ken, “Hey, I know, let’s go to San Miguel,” and Ken would look at me, and his eyes would glaze over, and he would say, “The beach. I wanna go to the beach.” And, I would tuck that away – San Miguel – in my dream drawer next to marrying George Clooney, and firm thighs.

I have a friend who said to me, and I am quoting, “Oh my God, San Miguel … I went for two weeks and stayed two years. There is so much frickin’ magic in the cobblestones.”  That’s a pretty great endorsement.  And, truth be told, a great explanation as to why I hadn’t heard from her for almost two years.  Forgivable.

I also, in recent months, heard a lot about crime and safety and color codes, as in: red and orange and yellow and, “Oh my God, whattaya nuts, don’t go … Mexico, good God, don’t go … it’s just awful there now. Don’t go.” And me being me, it made me anxious, worried. As in: staying up late at night envisioning the worst (bear with me — why … WHY, WHY, WHY… is it I can imagine the worst case scenario but NOT the best case scenario? What is that about?). I imagined being kidnapped and held for ransom and then, of course, me being me, the kidnappers would let me go and would beg — BEG — for me to never ever return … for their safety sake. And I would imagine Ken (my husband) trying to score some pot (no, not ceramics) and being thrown in a Mexican jail, and me being me … I imagined Ken finding peace and quiet and calm in jail, and not wanting to be released.

My imagination runs deep. It does.

San Miguel de Allende.

I was invited to join the faculty this year – The San Miguel Writers Conference – and give a few writing workshops. I said yes, yes, of course, I would love to, and I was filled with great excitement and yes, my God, yes … worry.

I worry a lot. I do.

And then, the closer the date came, the more I worried. But instead of worrying about teaching, I started worrying about my safety. Holy mother of God. I thought: I’m gonna be killed. I’m gonna be sexually assaulted. I will be maimed and slashed. I will be kidnapped. I will be arrested. I will be held at gunpoint and forced – FORCED  – to have plastic surgery and re-appear as… YES, oh good God yes, a Jewish slash Buddhist Snooki. And then, then… I will be forced to have a Reality Show: THE HOUSEWIVES OF SAN MIGUEL.

Okay. None of that happened.

But what did happen was pure absolute stunning unbelievable magic.  It was.

San Miguel is filled with gorgeous, amazing beauty and love. As in: Jody Feagan. It is filled with humanity.  Peace.  Extraordinary culture.  And as I watched the sun set every single night, I thought, “This, this, is what being at peace is all about.”  I felt content.  I felt joy.

I felt as if I had come home, really truly home, as in: deep within myself. I felt as if I was giving birth to myself. I met so many folks – new friends – who felt like family. Really, truly, deeply what family ought to feel like. Loving, kind, generous. Unconditional. Pure beauty.

But mostly, mostly, I felt safe.

And I realized with every fiber in my being what safety – feeling safe – means. It is being with people who nurture you, fill you, reciprocate – you know, give and take – inspire, encourage, lift you, hold you, cradle you, embrace you, and yes, oh, yes… love you.

San Miguel de Allende.

It is filled with joy and beauty and culture and kindness and a vibrancy that fills each morning and embraces every single night. It is filled with many color codes: colors that blend, and mesh and fill the sky and fill your spirit, blues and purples and reds and yellows and greens and different shades of orange. Many different colors.

For me, as I sit here, it is what I imagine and know being a woman of style, substance and soul is all about.

It is all about being fearless.

Amy Ferris is the author of Marrying George Clooney: Confessions From a Midlife Crisis.