by Dr. David Fialkoff, Editor / Publisher

There is a pattern to the exodus of part-time residents from San Miguel. The transition, at this time of year, from high to low season, typically comes in two stages: renters leave all at once at the end of March; owners clear out gradually over the course of April. By the dog-days of May, as Bob Dylan sang, "Anyone with any sense has already left town"; anyone with sense and somewhere else to go, I suppose.

Publishing a calendar, gathering events here in San Miguel, I've had my finger on the pulse of this seasonal transition for 15 years. I measure it in terms of the decline in the number of events. From my position of authority, such as it is, I attest that in all my years there has never been such a sudden drop in activity as there was this year. It was like falling off a cliff.

Maybe it had something to do with the fear of cartel violence associated with El Mencho. And maybe people left earlier this year to celebrate a Passover that was earlier this year (April 1) with their families up north.

It's true that things in town have been off since the pandemic. Merchants all complain that tourism is low. My Friday events newsletter, pre-Covid, in late January and February peaked at 80-85 events for a ten-day period. This high season the newsletter maxxed out at 60-65 events over a 17-day interval.

Then, the current administration making it harder and more expensive to produce events might be at least as detrimental to the restoration of San Miguel's former glory as was Covid.

It's not just that I was younger, and things were newer for me then. During my first decade here, this town really was more intense, just throbbing with activity. Yes, it's still culturally very rich. It's still, as all the busses now declare, "La mejor ciudad del mundo" (the best city in the world). But (and here I am acutely aware of sounding like my grandmother: "You mark my words...") the best was better before. I try to imagine how the real oldtimers feel about SMA today, those who have lived here for multiple decades, but I can't.

At the end of this high season, not only did the town take a plunge, but I, also, fell off a cliff, a pair of cliffs, personally and professionally.

Professionally, my whole online platform collapsed: first my email, then my website, then my newsletter. (Network Solutions, who bought Bizland, said that they sent me an email advising me that my credit card information needed to be updated, but they didn't; I have the emails they sent me.)

For two weeks (the last in March and the first in April) I had little or no ability to publish. (I published one newsletter late. I missed one entirely. Then, your copy of the newsletter might have gone to your spam folder because I lost my the verified email address I used at Mailchimp, and Gmail won't deliver newsletters that lack a verified email address.) Operating skeletally I streamlined, compromised and developed shortcuts. It may not have met my perfectionist standards, but the final product (when I could publish it) was much the same as it always had been.

Sure, especially at first, it was frustrating (especially with Mailchimp technical support never mentioning that a lost verified email address might be the cause of the suddenly abysmal open rate of my newsletters). But, at least it didn't happen during peak high season. And, strangely, freed from my grueling schedule, I found myself more relaxed than I had been in years.

Now, with all systems again fully functional (and some actually improved), I'm keeping to my new streamlined ways. I am getting things done more quickly and with so much less stress. The change is dramatic, and, no doubt, much healthier for me. I have a life, again.

I am reminded of the first time, when already in my twenties, I put on a facemask to go swimming in one of my favorite lakes. Then, seeing that the dark masses on the lake bottom were just boulders and the trunks of sunken trees, and nothing remotely menacing, my whole body relaxed, and, all at once, I swam better and more easily than ever before.

The cliff I fell off personally involved a woman friend, whom I had been seeing once every two months for a year and a half. Our ships, which had been coming together for brunch every 60 days finally started sailing along side by side. The problem being that proximity and regularity stirred up in me certain unresolved emotional issues, shadowy monsters lurking below the waves. As we got closer my abandonment surfaced and pushed us apart. Underestimating her and myself, and frankly, as in a Shakespearean comedy of errors, just getting some signals crossed, I found myself alone, drifting through a dark night.

Here again, as with my online catastrophe, I've changed for the best as a result. I'm realizing that no one can do it for me; that I need to stop abandoning myself; that no one can love me more than I love myself. With all of that, I'm happy to report that our boats have reestablished communication. And even if we are back to visits only every two months, those are at least delightful breakfasts.

At some point during each fall, professional and personal, the direction changed from down to up. I sprouted wings and flew away, somewhat battered, but more aware that people already love me, personally and professionally.

I took a better look and when the watery shadows came into focus, I relaxed and found myself buoyed up and floating along in the yet best little city in the world.

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Dr. David Fialkoff presents Lokkal, public internet, building community, strengthening the local economy. If you can, please do contribute content, or your hard-earned cash, to support Lokkal, SMA's Voice. Use the orange, Paypal donate button below. Thank you.

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