Yesterday we spent the afternoon exploring the Ventana a México festival in San Diego — a vibrant celebration of Mexico’s incredible diversity and heritage. Booths from nearly every Mexican state lined the outdoor plaza, each one offering a colorful window into the spirit of its people: traditional crafts, woven textiles, ceramics, jewelry, tourism displays, and the unmistakable heartbeat of Mexico’s music drifting through the crowd.

We wandered from stall to stall, soaking it all in — the bright embroidery of Oaxaca, the pottery of Jalisco, the silver jewelry of Guerrero. I picked out a beautiful Talavera ceramic mug — simple, classic, and somehow already feeling like it belonged to me — and treated myself to a bold new ring etched with the Mayan phrase El Tiempo del No Tiempo.

The vendor who saw me eyeing it explained that it loosely translates to “the time of no time,” a Mayan concept that sees time as circular rather than linear, where change is not just inevitable, but holy. A sacred pause — a space between cycles, the quiet breath before transformation, when the old world has ended but the new one hasn’t yet begun. A moment where past, present, and future dissolve, and only the eternal Now remains.

And it sounded like a way of life, a vibe, something that cannot be simplified into a straightforward definition. There was only one of these rings in the whole collection and it just happened to be my size…I saw it as a sign.

Take my money, friend.

We sampled agave worm salt (surprisingly smoky, earthy, and unfamiliar… probably a first and last for me, unless tequila is involved). We picked up sweet guava candy that melted like memory on the tongue. The woman selling it urged us, “Get the big one, cut it into little pieces, and dip each piece in Chamoy.” It was impossible to resist her infectious enthusiasm: “That’s how we always eat it at my house.”

We dance-walked to live music echoing off the buildings, the rhythms weaving through the air like an invitation. It felt a little like traveling without boarding a plane — like we were being let in on a secret: the textures, colors, and flavors of a country made not just of places, but of moments.

That phrase on my new ring — El Tiempo del No Tiempo — kept rolling around in my mind as we wandered.

It’s an invitation to step off the treadmill of busy living and into a deeper rhythm — one guided by intuition, soul, and natural change rather than clocks and calendars. A reminder that growth and renewal don’t follow a schedule. That beginnings and endings are often the same moment, seen from different sides.

It feels fitting, somehow, to carry that mantra with me right now.

After the festival, we stopped by a record store — because sometimes the best way to hold onto a beautiful afternoon is to give it a soundtrack.

The kiddo lit up when he found one of his all-time favorites: Mac Miller’s Swimming.
“Can I get this one?” he asked, holding it up like treasure.
I chose Kind of Blue — my favorite Miles Davis record — cool, soulful, timeless.
And then I spotted a weird, wonderful Cat Stevens album, something about Buddha, that felt too serendipitous to leave behind.

Walking out with those records tucked under our arms, the kiddo took off running down the long arched walkway, it struck me: this was a perfect example of El Tiempo del No Tiempo.

No rush.
No deadlines.
No demands.
Just being.
Exploring.
Soaking in beauty.
Letting ourselves be changed by it.

I think that’s what I want more of — days that feel less like a checklist and more like a song.
Moments that spiral outward instead of marching forward.
A life that feels less like chasing time and more like living it.

Here’s to more days like that.
Here’s to more music, more color, more laughter, more guava candy the way locals eat it, more unexpected treasures.
Here’s to more time outside of time.