Last week, I led a workshop at a conference that was geographically in the southern US, but climatically it was more like Minnesota, with wind chills of 7 F (-13 C).
The conference building couldn’t warm up. People wore their coats all day in stark, windowless rooms under fluorescent lighting.
It was a useful reminder of my past life: I walked around the conference sporting an alarmingly rosy glow from frozen, outraged cheeks, offering a chapped paw to new colleagues, sneaking off to blow my almost constantly bleeding nose, and then returning to squirm in my seat because every inch of my skin was irritated from the 0% humidity even though I limited my shower to 2 minutes under cool water in an already cold bathroom because hot water just dries me out more.
When I would check in a mirror to see if my bloody nose was obvious I would note the lank, straggly hair that used to be thick and wavy and the eyes swollen from a night in conventional bedding that apparently houses 200 times the allergens that my Mérida hammock manages to attract. I would stare at my dismal, aged self and remember that all this used to be normal life for me.
And then someone would innocently ask me where I live.
“I live in a tropical area in Mexico,” I would say, smiling sweetly while they huddled miserably in their parka. “I moved to a charming city where it’s always warm, rented a nice house with avocado and orange trees, set up a sunny home office, and lost 25 pounds.”
I can now say that there appears to be a market for “How to leave the North” webinars.
I had heard rumors of diatomaceous earth being sold from a place near the market, but they said they didn’t carry it and that I should check Home Depot (again!). It was nowhere to be seen at Home Depot and staff had never heard of it, but they did have “Ortho Ant-Stop Plus.”
