Unlocking my potential, part 2

In the days leading up to my arrival in Mexico City, I was feeling very anxious.  Ten days by myself in a big city.  Going back to school.  Taking a spanish class for the first time since I was 16 years old.  And Mexico City itself.  Huge, vibrant, and exciting.  The place where I was mugged thirteen years ago.  I could have been in the warm embrace of some ex-pat community in Cuernavaca, but instead I chose to face my fears.  

I arrived at the airport after a pleasant flight, with a complimentary upgrade.  I grabbed an official taxi, suffered through some traffic, but eventually arrived at my apartment at #7 Calle Tokio, in the Zona Rosa, one block from the Paseo de la Reforma.  My host Francisco was supposed to there to greet me.  He was not there.  Five minutes went by.  Ten minutes.  I was a few minutes early, but now he was late.  The anxiety started kicking in.  My phone does not work.  What will I do if he doesn't show?  Is there an internet cafe somewhere close?  Twelve and a half minutes after my arrival, Francisco arrived.  Conversing entirely in spanish (let the immersion begin!) he showed me to the apartment, a beautifully appointed, ground floor one bedroom in a 40s building.  Anxiety relieved.  The apartment was going to be a great base for my time in Mexico.  

After an hour of unpacking and settling in, I decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood.  I went to the front door of the building's courtyard.  I could not figure out how to open the door.  I put my key in the lock, it would not turn.  I pulled a little lever, but it would not pull.  I unscrewed a pin in the lever, but it would not unscrew.  My mind was racing.  Would I be trapped inside the apartment all week?  Could I reach Francisco via email?  I tried a combination of pulling the door, turning the key, and...the key jammed in the door and it cracked the frosted pane of glass in the door.  Absolute panic set in.  I left the key in the lock and went back to the apartment and frantically emailed Francisco, Airbnb, Peter, anyone who would listen.  About twenty minutes into my panic, the doorbell rang.  A neighbor, or perhaps one of the construction workers, was able to open the door.  Turns out the little pin in the lever pulls out.  Quite easily.  It didn't for me.  I pulled it too hard, or tried to unscrew it when it pulled out easily, or thought that there was some kind of secret puzzle that I had to solve to open the door.  

I know that a key to my Spanish experience here is that I am going to need to allow my archived spanish knowledge to rise to the surface, on its own.  Desperately trying to translate every word I hear will only slow me down.  Worrying about perfect verb endings or gender pronouns will only get in the way.  To unleash my existing knowledge and build more, I will need to pull the pin out slowly, easily.  Allow it to open.  Otherwise, I'll jam it and maybe even crack something. 

The same goes for this new self I am working on.  It was easy to grow a beard.  I only saw the new man in mirror when I stopped trying to find him.