When will you begin your second life?
It’s unexpectedly 87° in London. I’m sitting under a gnarly tree straight out of an Arthurian legend. There is barely the hint of a breeze; the sun is glazing everything with a shimmer. I was taken back to a moment last December to a moment in Mexico. I was sharing a cab with a fellow traveler I had just met at the airport who, like me, was headed to the small beach towns on the Oaxacan coastline. The cab had…