In the town where I live in Mexico, most of the stores are about the size of a walk-in closet. La tiendita de la esquina (also known as the corner store) and la papelería (a “stationary” but oh-so-much-more store) are the heart and soul of a Mexican neighborhood. In my neighborhood alone, I count eight tienditas within a three block radius. Each one has it’s own flavor.

I fell in love with Mexico on my first trip in 1989. I was on my honeymoon and travelled around by bus for a month with my new husband. Merida, in the Yucatan was our first stop and when we arrived, it was a blissful sensorial shock to my system. The language fell melodious into my ears. The smells flowed through and out my pores. The vivid color threatened to burst my retinas. All of the “foreignness” intrigued me and I absorbed it like my sweat-soaked tank top in the jungle of Quintana Roo.

I got to thinking about this simple word pass, its multiple uses and interpretations, and wondered whether it could move into a deeper context than its simplicity suggests.

The Tibetans have a similar way of dealing with anything we might view as uncomfortable, such as death or fear, or other unsettling emotions: make friends with them, invite them in, accept them as they are.

Having been topless on public beaches and even spending a vacation once at a clothing optional venue in Tulum, Mexico, I used to feel pretty comfortable being naked in public. The pleasure of having your body kissed by sun and surf without the confines of even a string bikini trumped whatever trepidation I might have had about being ogled.