A Buddhist friend of mine asked me today how I’ve changed since moving to Mazatlán. We’d been chatting online, she in New York City, me here. Her question, seemingly so simple, gave me pause. Can I get back to you later today? I said. I have to think about that one. Yes, she wrote, it’s a big one.

Since moving to Mexico, I’ve oft considered changes in my life and the oh-so-many things that are different here. But how, exactly, have I changed? That I hadn’t tapped into.

I’d like to say I’m a better person, a kinder person; that all my changes have been for the better. But I’m not sure that’s the case. I think I may be a little harder-around-the-edges than before, and that my speech is often not as refined as I’d like it to be. My prejudices and fears seem to have come out more, too, and are often more on the surface than I care to admit.

But even as I write that I know I’ve also become more tolerant, tons more tolerant of those that are different; in my role now as an immigrant, I’m seeing through other people’s eyes exactly what that difference feels like on a daily, hourly, minute-by-minute basis – and it is, constantly and always, humbling, funny and infuriating.

I’ve been re-reading Anne Lamott’s “Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith.” In one story she writes, “Rain gives us back something that has been stolen, a dimension we’ve been missing – our body, and our soul. Your mind can’t give you these. Your sick, worried mind cannot heal your sick, worried mind. Hard rain makes a mess, but it also fills in space we usually walk through without even noticing.”

I read this the same day my friend asked me her question, which was the morning after a particularly big rainstorm during which I’d run around moving my car, pulling laundry off the line, closing windows and covering my washing machine - all at 2 a.m. As I burst out my front door, barefoot, just before I leapt over the river-that-is-usually-my-side-of-the-street, I looked up and noticed my neighbors, on both sides, simply standing outside. The whole family. In the rain, the cool rain, smiling and calm. At two in the morning.

So, maybe I haven’t changed that much. Maybe I still have lots of “America” in me, that way of being that causes me to always walk faster, plan more and sometimes miss the forest for the trees. But I’d venture to say I’m closer to the source, now, and able to more easily forget about my plans and run to the beach with a friend or make a special trip to watch yet another breathtakingly beautiful sunset. I still laugh at the water man’s singsongy offerings, the chaos that’s called traffic and the parrot next door desperately asking, over and over, “Bueno? Bueno? BUENO?!”

I appreciate life more, I think, in a hundred simple ways each day. Did I do this before in my “other” life? I don’t think so; not like I do here. Often it seems like I wear my emotions on my sleeve and that I’ve become - deliberately, circumstantially or otherwise - more vulnerable and transparent.

My baby – this magazine called M! – is poised to celebrate its one-year anniversary with the November issue. My heartfelt thanks go out to all of you who’ve become a part of “The M! Team,” so to speak, who’ve supported and encouraged us each month and online in myriad ways. Readers and advertisers, friends and acquaintances, writers and photographers, artists, musicians, dancers - you know who you are. Te mando un abrazo grande!

Janet