A Pocket of Pesos, A Mango, and Lupita the Cat

It was one of those Sundays that starts soft. Not lazy exactly, but slow in that deliberate, delicious way only Sundays seem to manage. The kind of morning where the sunlight trickles in gently, birds argue on the power lines, and even the neighborhood dogs seem to be on their second nap by 9.

I had no plans. Zero. Nada. I’d already made coffee. Twice. My phone battery was low so I didn’t even take it, which seemed like a blessing. I was vaguely aware of some things I should do like shopping for groceries, doing laundry, and pretending I was super into yoga. But nothing was urgent, and the air outside had that particular kind of brightness that whispered, “just go.”

So I went. Now, before you picture some grand journey, let me tell you this was even better than that. This was a pocket adventure! No backpack. No destination. I just grabbed a bottle of water, shoved 37 pesos I found on the kitchen counter into my pocket, and walked out the door.

This is the thing about pocket adventures. They never feel like much at the beginning. You don’t wake up thinking ‘today I’m going to have a profound experience!!’ You just get a little itchy; a little bored of your own walls. And something inside of you nudges.

So I wandered. Not like a poet or a pilgrim, but more like a curious human with nowhere better to be. I took turns I usually don’t. I followed a trail of laundry drying on balconies that looked like bunting at a party I wasn’t invited to. I walked uphill, mostly because downhill would’ve brought me right back home, and I wasn’t ready for that.

The great thing about a pocket adventure is you they come with no plan, so everything becomes interesting. A house painted a strange shade of blue. A mural I swear wasn’t there last week. A guy selling frozen mangos from a cooler that had definitely seen some things. I bought one for ten pesos. He gave me a bigger one than everyone else because I asked about his cat, who was guarding the cooler like a tiny furry bodyguard. Her name was Lupita, and she had a bad attitude and one ear folded down.

To my absolute joy, Lupita decided to join me on my walk, and her dad said it was fine. She trotted along, curious and unbothered, her folded ear twitching at every new sound. She added a sense of company and whimsy to my otherwise solo pocket adventure.

She and I ventured on. We found a dusty trail behind a row of houses that looked just unkept enough to be inviting. There was no sign, no indication that it led anywhere, which of course made it irresistible. I followed it, with Lupita at my heels, because that’s what you do when you’re on a pocket adventure. You say yes to things without knowing why.

We didn’t go far. The path curved around and opened onto a clearing where the trees broke and the sky got unnecessarily dramatic. It was one of those places you’d never find unless you were specifically not looking for it.

I sat on a boulder, ate the rest of my mango with Lupita curled near my feet, and listened to the wind talking to me through the trees.

And for a few minutes, time did that thing where it stretches out like a hammock. I wasn’t anywhere famous. There were no hashtags to apply. But I felt full. Not just mango-full, but full-full. Like my head had been cleared out by the wind, and my body had remembered it exists for more than just sitting in front of a screen.

That’s the magic of a pocket adventure. No ticket needed. No schedule. No algorithm telling you this spot is trending. It’s just you, showing up for your own life, curious and unbothered. All it takes is a little effort and a willingness to be mildly uncomfortable for a potentially excellent reward.

Sometimes the reward is tacos. Sometimes it’s a view. Sometimes it’s a moment like this. A moment with the sun on your arms, mango juice on your fingers, and the realization that you don’t need a new plan to feel like a new person. You just need to interrupt the routine.

I don’t think we give enough credit to the low-budget wonders. The everyday explorations. The act of leaving your house and letting your feet decide what happens next.

We’re told adventure is something you have to chase across oceans, that it’s big, and bold, and expensive. But some of my most satisfying days have cost less than a sandwich. And honestly, have left me feeling richer than half the vacations I’ve taken.

Eventually, I got up and Lupita followed once again. My 37 pesos were down to about 27, which felt like a good time to head back. Lupita stayed close, and I made sure she was safe and settled back at home before stepping back into my day.

I took a different route back to my own home. I got lightly chased by a rooster. I said “hola” to a kid selling popsicles out of a foam cooler. And I thought about how many tiny stories are happening all around us, all the time, if we just step outside to notice.

By the time I got home, nothing had changed, and yet everything had. My to-do list was still sitting there, all smug. My laundry still wasn’t done. But I had shifted. My energy, mood, and sense of place in the world had shifted.

That is the priceless return of a pocket adventure. You don’t need gear, or a car, or even a clue. You pick a direction and walk.

Be nosey. Talk to the mango guy. Sit on a rock like it’s your very own throne. Get a little sun on your neck and dust on your shoes. Remember that you live in a place people dream about visiting, and that you don’t have to leave it to feel wonder. You just have to step into it.

Next Sunday, you might find me on another aimless stroll, possibly following the sound of banda music or a barking dog that sounds like it’s singing. I won’t have a map, just pockets full of curiosity.

Hopefully, I’ll see Lupita, and she’ll join me once again. Thank goodness I have some pesos left. I can get her a mango as well.