Most of us feel anger, pain and joy; it’s how we navigate our emotions that makes a difference.
How many emotions can we handle at one time? One moment? One day? One week? The answer of course is many. A number of years ago I decided to begin the day by taking inventory of the many things in my life I am grateful for. Well you know how these intentions work, sometimes I stick with that goal and other times I allow other things to get in the way. I want to discuss why it is so important to stick with goals and how we can control our emotional state of being.
Why Goals Matter
“Always remember your focus determines your reality.”
George Lucas
Getting all caught up in minutia is normal and in some ways a defense mechanism. Our brain tells us that the big things in our lives (i.e., health, finances, relationships) are too big to handle, so we allow ourselves to get bogged down in the little stuff. This week I spent way too much time trying to get a refund from an airline. The Asian flight that was cancelled was a little over $100 and the airline was making it difficult, if not impossible, to get a refund. I did a little research and learned that the airline is filing bankruptcy. Chances are I will never see that money again. I thought about it when I woke-up in the morning and before I went to sleep at night. Why? I told myself that it was the injustice of it all. If I look at all the things that are important in my life, I have to wonder if it’s worth my time and energy. Letting go is a huge goal for me.
How to Stick to Your Goals
It’s always easier if a task (goal) is routine — same time everyday or every other day
Don’t make it impossible to achieve
You have to truly want to achieve that goal
Write them down
Review your goals often
Try to imagine the outcome: If you can see it, you can have it
Set reminders (I use Alexa)
Have someone close to you remind you
Be prepared to walk away from a goal at anytime
What Really Matters
This is tough because we often forget what really matters. Remind yourself constantly. I remind myself that what matters to me are: relationships, my health (mental, physical, spiritual), Paco (my dog), my home, and a sense of purpose. The latter being what I struggle with most.
When I look back at times in my life when I had doubts or emotional pain, what seemed most difficult to navigate were thoughts that my life might not matter. Of course on an intellectual level I know that it matters to those who love and care for me. I guess what I mean is “matter” in the larger scheme of things. Is there are reason for me to be alive? What am I here to accomplish? At the end of my life, if I get the chance to look back, will I be satisfied with what I accomplished?
What’s Next? General End-of-the Year Thoughts
You can just create goals and stop there. Once you achieve your goals, you need to come up with new ones. Evaluate your goals often: are they achievable, how am I progressing, do I need to revise my goals? Difficult questions because it means facing reality and reality isn’t always pretty.
Pushing down medical issues is dangerous and sometimes deadly. When you have symptoms you do not recognize or health related signs that something isn’t right, you cannot ignore them. It’s always better to find out what it is and then deal with it.
I have a lot of prostate cancer in my family. I’m at the age where if it’s going to be a problem in my future, therefore, I have to monitor it now. When men ignore the signs (i.e., problems urinating, blood, pain in the groin area), they may be setting themselves up for more health related difficulties in the future. It doesn’t make sense that we ignore these issues, but we often do.
I believe it’s possible to set so many goals that you become bogged down with things you are trying to achieve. I’m learning to allow the future to present itself organically. Recent events (i.e., the pandemic) have shown me that you have to be flexible and adapt to change. On the other hand, some things require planning (i.e., travel). It’s all about balance and knowing how far you can push yourself. The key for me is a certain amount of discomfort. If I become too comfortable, I begin to accept mediocrity. I become lazy and complacent. I lose the joy I long for and desire. We cannot allow that to happen for obvious reasons.
I have made myself a list (love lists) of things that I cannot allow to happen. Knowing these things to be true for me, helps me to stay on the “correct” path:
I cannot give up on my dreams
I cannot turn a blind eye to the less fortunate
I cannot give up on learning Portuguese
I cannot stop writing
I cannot skip the gym
I cannot rest on my laurels
I cannot allow what others think of me to hold me back
I cannot walk away from loving relationships
I cannot use alcohol or any other substance as a crutch
I cannot allow my love of food to lead to an unhealthy weight
I can never lose my integrity and self-esteem
I cannot allow my ego to control me
A list of the “must haves” in your life is good as well. This being human thing is not an easy challenge. We all know that if it was easy, it wouldn’t be worthwhile or as satisfying.
Goodbye 2020
I was watching a documentary film this morning. It’s about a doctor who does surgeries on women to save their unborn babies. He was inspiring and worthy of paraphrase (The Surgeon’s Cut, first episode):
“It’s not the length of your life that matters, it’s how fulfilling your life is while you’re alive.”
I know others have said this, but sometimes someone says something that stays with you. This is a time of uncertainty; in fact, life is always uncertain, it’s best to live your best life today and not wait until tomorrow. Despite how awful this year has been, I am optimistic. I learned many things about myself in 2020 and I am feeling grateful for so many things. We’re all experts when it comes to fulfillment, if it works for you, it may work for someone else. Share your successes, ideas, and your failures with others. It’s a great way to affirm your truth and live with intention.
17 years old, naive and eager to please. Pimping myself out on the streets of Brooklyn for tips and a piece of pie.
Before you judge me, read my story. I claimed to be 18 years old, but I’m pretty certain Mr. Park knew I was lying. Back in the 70s you could sell and drink liquor at age 18. Back in the 70s there were a lot of things I could do that I cannot do now. I wasn’t quite 18, but I would be soon enough and I wanted the job badly. I altered my baptismal certificate by changing 1959 to 1958. Desperate measures . . . I was moving out of the house and I would have rent and college tuition to pay. Mr. Park said he’d give me a chance to prove myself; however, he’d made it clear that one slip-up and it was over. I’m certain he was fully aware of my actual age.
One would think that my mother’s all night poker games in the basement and the endless parade of drag queens and alcoholics, would have made me a jaded teenager, but in fact, I was quite naive; dense even. Bensonhurst was far enough away from Manhattan, that what went on globally was clearly not happening in Brooklyn. The only thing driving me at the time, was the desire to get out of Brooklyn.
The neighborhood liquor store was across the street from the subway station and although not hidden, it was somehow safe territory for the local alcoholics. The Park’s were Korean, very friendly, and way smarter than the rest of us. I recall Mrs. Park schooling her husband on how to talk to customers. I pretended not to understand, but I was intrigued by their culture and language and at times, I felt more a part of their family than my own. And to be truly honest, the meals they brought me were delicious.
My job was to stock the shelves and make deliveries. Having delivered groceries in the neighborhood for two years, I knew the streets and the people fairly well. I was the kid from that huge family on Marlborough Road. I was polite, shy, and fortunate to have inherited my father’s charm. In early days, I kept my head down and my mouth shut. I was surprised to learn how many customers wanted booze delivered to their door. I imagine some people didn’t want to be seen going in and out of the liquor store on a regular basis and others just didn’t want to carry the bottles home. Still others I came to learn, were clearly shit-faced when I arrived with their refill. I would imagine some started the evening thinking they’d just have a shot and ended up clearing out their liquor cabinet. I encountered a good deal of binge drinking and abuse, not me, the alcohol.
There were a few characters I delivered to several times a week and others, nightly. The only day we were closed, was Sunday. Trust me, if it wasn’t against the law in New York State to sell from a liquor store on Sunday, we would have been open. Thinking back, it didn’t make sense that you could open a bar and not a liquor store. There was this one customer, I’ll call him Mr. Taylor, Mr. Taylor ordered a bottle of Smirnoff vodka every night of the week. He was very quiet and always tipped me 50 cents (often a 50 cent piece). I suspect he was a raging alcoholic and afraid that if he ordered more than one bottle, he’d drink it all. I’m not judging, but that’s a lot of vodka. I worked at the liquor store for several years and Mr. Taylor seldom if ever, missed a delivery. Then there was Miss Greene. Miss Greene opened the door wide enough to stick her hand out, grab the vodka, pass me two dimes and then close the door. The stench from her apartment always made me a bit dizzy. After a year of delivering to Miss Greene on a regular basis, she offered me money to do her a monumental favor. More about that later.
There were these two very friendly men who lived in the same apartment, but they were never there at the same time. One of the two flirted with me quite a bit and once even answered the door wrapped in a bath towel. I looked up, but avoided direct eye contact. He was a big tipper, his partner was not. I always hoped the flirty one would be there to accept delivery, unfortunately it was mostly the bad tipper who usually showed up at the door. There was clearly either trouble in paradise or they had an open relationship, I’ll never know the truth.
I had dozens of regulars, but I think it was the Flannagan’s I most enjoyed. Very few customers invited me in. With most, niceties and a quick handoff was the norm. The Flanagan’s were different. This Irish couple considered me part of the family. There was usually a snack offered up and always a sweet kiss from Mrs. Flanagan. They were in their sixties, always laughing and carrying on and genuinely interested in my day. I knew they drank a lot because I kept inventory. They loved scotch, but oddly only Mr. Flanagan smelled of alcohol; Mrs. Flanagan smelled sweet (over 40 years ago and I can almost recall her scent). Mrs. Flanagan always answered the door. Mr. Flanagan was usually in his Easyboy. I remember seeing him fairly bruised-up a few times; he’d clearly fallen, inebriated and broken most of the time. Sometimes there was a third person, usually a man, usually drunk. I would be introduced as “the son.” Keep in mind this all took place in the matter of minutes, I had always other deliveries to make. I knew when they’d cashed their social security check because my tip was always doubled.
As months went by it became clear to me that Mrs. Flanagan was developing quite a crush; her lips often lingered on my cheek and her hands sometimes wandered to my chest. I would squirm away from her clutches thinking it was all very innocent; however, there was one time when she went too far. On this particular delivery, Mrs. Flanagan was more pissed than usual. It might have been during the Christmas holidays, as if she needed an excuse to imbibe. She came around her kitchen table and moved toward me. I backed myself up against the wall and put my hands up in front of me. She pushed herself on me quickly and before I could stop her, her tongue worked its way into my mouth. Mr. Flanagan warned her to back off, but she persisted. I did not say a word, pushed her off of me and ran out, this time without a tip.
I waited days for the Flanagan’s to place an order. I didn’t feel threatened by Mrs. Flanagan because I was clearly stronger and I knew I could resist her advances. I did feel guilty. I thought that perhaps I had led her to believe that I wanted her affection. When the door opened, it was Mr. Flanagan standing there with cash in hand. He said hello and quickly passed it to me. I started to reach into my pocket to give him change and he replied, “Keep it,” he then closed the door in my face. I didn’t see or hear Mrs. Flanagan that day. The tip was five and change; way larger than usual. Future deliveries to the Flanagan’s were mostly transactional. Mrs. Flanagan usually came to the door; kisses and invitations to enter were a thing of the past. I was both relieved and saddened by the state of affairs. I guess that $5 tip was guilt money.
I would often return from a delivery later than usual and the Parks would want to know why it took so long. Mrs. Park especially loved gossip and she’d try to squeeze information about our customers out of me. I made it a game. I’d be cagey at first, tease her a bit, let some time go by, perhaps a couple of deliveries, and then when I’d see she was about to explode from anticipation, I’d share a bit; perhaps what a customers apartment was like or who answered the door, Mrs. Park was jealous that I got to see a small part of their lives. I never did tell the Parks about Mrs. Flanagan, that was my secret, never to be told — until now that is.
I never did learn the first names of most of my customers. I guess an invisible wall existed between them and me. I supplied them their poison and they were grateful, but protective; grateful for my service, but protective of their privacy. So I rode my delivery bicycle through pounding rain, freezing wind, and heavy snow and they rewarded me handsomely. I made enough money part-time to pay rent and utilities, buy groceries, and save for tuition. Of all the events that shaped my experience for those couple of years, the time I spent with Miss Greene outside of her apartment was the most memorable.
Miss Greene suffered from severe agoraphobia. The idea of leaving her apartment terrified her and made her a prisoner in her own home. When she asked me to take her to the bank I had no idea that she was struggling with this affliction; nor did I know what I was in for. She offered me $20 which was surprising because she was a terrible tipper. I picked her up after school, eager to get the deed done.
I must admit I was pretty cavalier about the whole thing. I honestly thought it would all be over in 30 minutes and I’d be picking out a new sweatshirt at Korvettes. When I got to her door it was slightly ajar, which was never the case. She had on make-up which I found shocking, and a long heavy overcoat; it was early June and fairly warm. She asked for my arm and told me that she had called car service. When she grabbed my arm, I noticed her nails were long and dirty. I had to remind myself that I had a good tip coming. Miss Greene was shaking from head to toe, her lips quivered, and her nails were tearing at my skin. The walk down the two flights of stairs took over 20 minutes and at times, I was fairly certain she was going to collapse. I was strong, but I feared she’d fall and I wouldn’t be able to pick her up. When we got to the front door of the building she began to gently weep. I offered words of encouragement. I honestly wasn’t sure we could pull this off, in fact, I was certain we’d fail.
The car service driver noticed our struggle and came toward us to offer a hand. Miss Greene clutched onto me even harder and wouldn’t look at the driver. I winked at him and he seemed to understand. He asked me if Miss Greene was my grandmother and I told him that she was — I believe at that moment, she could have been my grandmother. We made it into the car. Miss Greene remained quiet and stared down at her feet. I cannot describe my feelings as all this was going down. I was filled with dread, fear, and pride. I worried for her; her fear was visceral and she seemed so tiny. The pride I was feeling had to do with the trust she had in me. I was only 18 years old, but on that day I was a man.
From start to finish, it took two hours to get the task done. The bank manager agreed to allow us to remain in the bank after closing. Everyone around us seemed to understand her pain. Up until that point in my life, I’m not sure I had witnessed that kind of empathy. The day did not get easier for Miss Greene. When we got to her door she was drenched in sweat and clearly spent. I lowered her onto her sofa, repulsed by the horrible smell in her apartment. Her sister peeked out of the bedroom door and retreated when I saw her. Miss Greene thanked me and gave me $40. It was the largest tip I ever received from one of my customers. I tried to refuse it, but it was important to her that I take it. I knew that I would never be the same. My arm remained black and blue for a week, but my pity for Miss Greene stayed with me a good deal longer. I kept my deed secret for a long time, never sharing what I had done with the Parks. When I arrived late for work that afternoon, I lied and said that I was held up at school. I felt no guilt, only sadness. Miss Greene continued to order vodka and increased her tip from 20 cents to a quarter. Her demeanor never changed and she never mentioned our afternoon at the bank. I have thought of her often since that day. I imagine her liver must have failed her at some point. I wondered which one of them went first, her or her sister, perhaps mercifully they died at the same time. I also wonder how many Miss Greenes wake up a prisoner in their own homes each day. My problems seem so small in comparison.
When I see a young person working, I imagine they might be learning the kind of life lessons I learned working for the Parks. I think, good for them, and I’m grateful for having had the experience. Life lessons are plentiful when we’re young and naive.
The truth is, Mrs. Flanagan wanted the scotch and I just happened to be there that day.
I once wondered how some people slept at night. I would consider a monster like David Dukes for example, preaching white supremacy and inciting violence and death. It was difficult to imagine someone like him enjoying a good night’s sleep. I wanted to imagine him tortured and tormented by his own thoughts and guilty conscience. Unfortunately, he likely sleeps better than most of us.
A person that does not feel guilt or remorse would have no reason to find themselves at fault for something that they did with the intention of hurting another person. To a person high in psychopathy, their actions can always be rationalized to be the fault of another person. Guilt (emotion) – Wikipedia
Thinking Of Others (Empathy)
Not sure, why but as I get older I seem to be paying more attention to the notion of empathy. I’m assuming I was more self-centered when I was younger and I’m pretty sure that’s normal. There do seem to be people who think of others a great deal. I’m sure it’s a combination of genetics, parenting and the environment. There has been a good deal of public discourse about this lately because of the Pandemic and U.S. leadership. I don’t believe people as a whole are any more or less empathetic than they once were.
A couple of questions to consider:
Are we born empathetic?
Does our compassion for one another change over time?
Can a person begin to feel guilt over time?
If a person does not feel guilt, what does he or she feel in place of guilt?
Can you push guilt down so far that you cannot detect it at all?
How are family members affected by the lack of a guilty conscience in one of their own?
How can we function knowing these people live among us?
How do we repair the damage done by someone who only thinks of themselves?
Thinking of Oneself
We all know people who never think of anyone else save themselves. Call them selfish, narcissistic, self-absorbed, vain, or whatever label you want to put on them; labels these people often deserve.
Portugal’s social democracy is a reminder to me that the desire to care for those who cannot care for themselves or do not have the same advantages, is a very noble way to live. The middle class is much larger in Portugal than it is in non-social democracies. It’s not that wealthy people do not exist, it is just a fact that there are fewer extremes: wealth and poverty. Does that mean that Portuguese people care more about other than Americans do? I don’t believe that is necessarily true. The country went from a dictatorship to social democracy. People in Portugal and other dictatorships (i.e., Spain and Germany) were ready to embrace the idea of more equity and services/programs provided by the government.
I don’t want to get into a debate about what is better for society. What I do know is there are fewer homeless, everyone has access to healthcare, no one has to go hungry, groceries are more affordable and therefore, people have easier access fresher and healthier foods.
I like Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren, but I assumed neither would be the democratic candidate because the U.S. is nowhere near ready or open to socialism. Tribalism and an every “man” for himself attitude is pervasive in the States and it is only becoming more the case as each day passes. I don’t have an answer for it, however, I do believe a catastrophic event could change people’s attitudes. The Pandemic does not appear to be that event.
Is it Possible to Change?
I think it’s possible. I believe that someone who never felt guilt or empathy, can start to think and feel beyond their own lives. What I’ve noticed thus far is this: there almost has to be a catastrophic event in a person’s life in order to shake them up to the point of change. For example, a guy who has been selfish and self-serving who meets a wonderful woman who is willing to overlook all of his flaws, falls deathly ill. She has a horrible cancer that kills her slowly and she suffers with pain she cannot hide. This man watches the person who loves him unconditionally, waste away. During this time he can either play the victim and blame God or everyone else, or he might slowly realize that he is losing, or has lost, the one person who would tolerate his flawed character. He might miss her to the point of finally recognizing that the good in her could possibly save him from himself. I know this sounds far fetched and unrealistic; however, I’ve seen a glimpse of hope on a couple of occasions. The question is, would it last for that individual? Sometimes I guess it might.
My Wish
I stopped being Pollyannaish a long time ago. It’s a sure-fire way to set yourself up for disappointment. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be optimistic and realistic. What I want is a slow and steady move toward a better world for all of us — now and in the future; a world where humanity as a whole considers the well-being of all of humanity.
Climate change is a big one for me; I think about the planet and what we are doing to destroy it. Many of us would not be affected by future catastrophic events, but that shouldn’t matter to any of us. What we are passing down to our children and their children, should matter. Those who are in denial who deep down think it will not effect them personally, are the worst among us.
I bought this authentic Gabbeh (Turkey) rug on the Facebook Marketplace this week. I made a little adventure out of retrieving it. It’s a funny thing about a rug, I think you have to live with it awhile to learn to appreciate it. Paco liked it right from the start. It’s the green that has me concerned; fortunately it’s a muted green. Dark grey/charcoal would have been better, but I don’t think those colors were used 60 years ago. My Portuguese tutor looked at it Tuesday and she said, “It’s really old.” I do realize that I’m giving this rug too much attention.
Repeat after me: I like my new/used rug, I like my new/used rug . . .
Reblog w/updates:
Counting My Blessings
I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live overseas 20 or more years ago. Staying in touch with loved ones back home must have been very expensive and difficult. Facebook, Instagram, Whatsapp, and other forms of social media have made communicating and keeping up with friends fairly easy. Meeting friends through expat sites and Meetup groups is also a terrific and easy way to connect — sometimes too easy (update).
When you’ve been around the block a few times, you become more discerning. Picking and choosing who I spend my time with and how I spend my time has been of greater importance since moving abroad. It’s easy to regress back to my old ways; I have to remind myself that “my truth” is ultimately all that matters. As your truth should be all that matters to you. I needed a constant reminder, so a few years ago I stopped into a tattoo shop in Soho (Manhattan) and asked for this:
Forearm tattoo — TRUTH (Chinese)
Last year I had a palm tree tattooed on my ankle. It was done to mark my new life in Portugal.
It’s been proven to slow down the aging process
I fell in love with this piece last week. It was hanging on the wall at Carla’s Curve in Mexilhoeria Grande. I know it’s for sale; I am determined to make it mine.
Update: when I went back to buy this piece I noticed it was damaged so I didn’t get it. However, I did buy two others that are in the first photo above (over the sofa). The artist lives in Lisbon. I never get tired of them.
The decision to relocate abroad was an opportunity to take stock of how I was living my life; the food I am eating, the amount of alcohol I am drinking, and how I am spending my time. The mind, body and spirit; holistic approach to living, seems like a better way to live in the present and think about the future. A philosophy that would be difficult to argue; especially in my own mind.
What role does social media play in my life?
I love social media. I enjoy keeping up with friends near and far, I enjoy the posted photos, I like how upbeat most of the postings are, and I even enjoy the occasional not-so-positive back and forth disagreements. That being said, I think some people take it a bit too far. I have learned rather than getting all pissy about it, I have several options:
I can just quickly skim through postings and ignore the stuff that doesn’t speak to me.
I can follow certain people on Facebook. This is different from unfriending, which I have also done on occasion. I have to admit that it is a very empowering exercise.
I can stay away from social media for a few days and take a breather.
I can counter with overwhelmingly positive posts and impart guilt on others.
I can include my thoughts in my very subjective, highly personal blog.
A cortado is a Spanish-origin general term for a beverage consisting of espresso mixed with a roughly equal amount of warm milk to reduce the acidity (Wikipedia)
One of the things I have always loved about Europe is that you can visit a small town and find fantastic food prepared by creative chefs. Carla’s Curve (A Curva) in Mexihoeria Grande is just that kind of place. Carla came out of the kitchen to describe what she had purchased that day and how she intended to prepare it. I did not take pictures of the food because sometimes I feel that it’s better to just be in the moment and fully enjoy everything that comes your way. Carla’s clams were prepared in olive oil with white wine, garlic and parsley and they were so fresh the simple ingredients did not over power the clams; incredible. Then I had beef ribs in a delicious barbecue sauce. I have not been very impressed with the beef since I arrived here, so I was anxious to try Carla’s ribs . . . they were tender and flavorful. People all around me were expressing their satisfaction and raving about Carla; she’s a warm, animated individual. It was a truly wonderful local dining experience and I cannot wait to return. The restaurant is literally located on a huge curve as you meander down the hill. The next time I will take pictures of the food.
Carla, owner and chef at A Curva in Mexihoeria Grande in the Algarve.
New Stuff
There have been a couple of semi-lockdowns in the Algarve; mostly weekends. I have decided it is best to stick around Faro for a few months. I don’t want to expose myself to COVID-19 and I think it would be best to stay away from places that have a high rate of infection.
Faro has a new Italian restaurant and I’m becoming a regular. Forno Nero, excellent pizza and good pasta. Still need Thai, Korean, and BBQ. We have BBQ restaurants, but they’re not the same as our North Carolina or Texas BBQ in the U.S. I guess seeking out the food I love gives me a good reason to travel.
I’m focusing on learning Portuguese, making some home improvements, reading more, experimenting with some new dishes, and spending more time with Paco. He had a most unfortunate haircut in October, but his hair is fortunately growing back. How can you not love that face?
Paco, 2 years old, 4.5 kilos, & 100% love
No doubt I miss the States; I miss friends and family, I miss the smell of fall and the changing of the leaves, I miss the food, and I miss the familiarity of it all. I know all this would be true COVID-19 or not. It’s holiday time and it’s all very strange. I also know that what I have discovered in Portugal is very special and extremely beautiful in so many ways. I cannot take it for granted and I will not spend my days lamenting about what I had back home. Yes, Brooklyn will always be my home.
I’ve made some great friends since I arrived here. Also happy to report that a close friend from New York City purchased an apartment in Faro. She won’t be here full time, but she’ll be here a lot and that is making me very happy.
Finally, one of the owners of my croquet club in Tavira, Portugal has been in hospital for a few weeks now. He contracted the COVID-19 virus and became very ill pretty quickly. Unfortunately, he is not likely to survive. My thoughts are with his wife, family and friends. Anyone who still believes the virus is a hoax and that governments all over the world are overreacting, is a risk to the rest of us who would like to remain healthy. Please wear a mask when asked to do so, wash your hands frequently, and remain socially distant. Thank you.
Adults can be terribly stupid, reckless, and naive; that’s fine as long as they’re not hurting anyone but themselves. Unfortunately, supposed grown ups sneak around deceiving one another without giving much thought to what children see and hear. The damage that is done, cannot be undone.
My Story
Our bedrooms were across the hall from one another, with a shared bath a few feet between us. I liked being near my parents room when they were laughing and loving, but I didn’t get to hear that very often. Instead, I fell asleep to biting words and hostile resentment. I wondered then as I wonder now, if they truly believed their closed door kept the bitterness inside.
I must admit, as a child, I mostly placed blame on my mother. She was always in control, she set the tone and made it clear that it was her house. Considering seven children slept not far from one another, her house was always fairly quiet from 8:00 to 11:00 p.m.(the young ones were put to bed at 7:00 p.m.). That was until my father came home from work. As a restaurant worker, he kept late hours. I was never up to see him come in; I wasn’t asleep mind you. I would hear my mother verbally attack him as soon as he walked through the door. I’ve blocked out most of the vile things I recall hearing her say — it was mainly about leaving her alone to deal with us. He was a man of few words, English was his second language and he couldn’t always find words to express himself.
Physical and verbal abuse took place in my parent’s bedroom for the first eight years of my life (I’ve blogged about this in the past), but it was the final months that caused the most damage. I woke up one night to the sound of a man’s voice that was not my father’s. I laid awake quietly listening. It was masculine, but inaudible; from my mother I heard whispers and quiet laughter. I shivered in my bed and waited. My mother finally left her bedroom with a towel wrapped around her body. For some time, I heard only the sound of water running in the bathroom. The water stopped and a man I didn’t know, also wrapped in a towel, left the bedroom to join her. I was confused. I was fully aware that something bad was happening, however, I was powerless to act on it.
The same deception was repeated several nights a week. I told no one for fear of revealing a secret I wasn’t meant to know. I tried to push my mother’s cheating out of my mind, but it haunted me day and night. My mind wandered in the classroom and I became distant from my brothers and sisters. At night I went to bed, made myself as small as I could and mostly wept. My mother didn’t notice the change in my disposition; she was far too busy having an affair. An affair I wish I hadn’t witnessed first hand.
Over 50 years later I am still not sure how my father found out about my mother and Frank. It was messy for all of us for a time, but my mother and father eventually divorced and she married Frank. I never revealed to my mother what I saw during those painful months. However, I did confront my mother and Frank before they were married; I told them that I’d seen them kissing where the both worked. After all, I never did actually see them being intimate, it was circumstantial evidence that proved their guilt. They denied any intimacy, claiming they were only friends; more lies. I hated this man for exposing me to their disgusting deceitful behavior and I hated my mother for being a part of it.
When you’re eight years old and your innocence has been peeled away, you feel emotions you are unable to identify. I no longer trusted the people I loved the most. My father was abusive and neglectful, but I felt sorry for him. In my eyes he was a victim. Did my father’s physical abuse lead to my mother’s deception? Did he push my mother to the point of lying to herself and her children. It always seemed to be my mother who created the chaos and deceit. As far as I knew at the time, no one else in my immediate family knew of the affair. My oldest sister later told me that she had an idea that it was happening. She and my mother had a strained relationship; she hated her for valid reasons I won’t go into here.
Years of therapy revealed hidden anger and pain that stemmed from what I had seen and heard. I know now that extramarital affairs are common and that children often know that something deceitful is taking place, even if they were not exposed to the actual act. I wonder if mothers and fathers consider what a child might be going through when they engage in such deception? I don’t believe they do. They delude themselves with lies and pat themselves on the back for being discreet.
I won’t go into all the ways that my mother’s affair has impacted my life. I have made apologies to those whose lives I have hurt as a result of my own dysfunction and mistrust. The good news is that I am learning to trust again. I am learning how to forgive. I am learning about the power of a nurturing love. I am learning how a parent is obligated to protect a child’s innocence, not take it away. I am still learning why I have pushed away anyone who has tried to love me deeply and unconditionally. I also know that I can be quite righteous and annoyingly vocal. The work is difficult, but it must be done.
I have chosen to live alone as I work through these deeply rooted issues. The absence of drama at this point in my life is an absolute necessity. Keeping the noise volume low, allows for a more rapid repair.
It should be noted, I do not write to elicit pity, I write to enlighten those who may not know the pain they are causing or the hurt they are inflicting on their children.
I’m happy to see researchers and specialists are writing about this topic. I’m still not certain most parents recognize the damage infidelity causes.
Location this week:
I was away from home for few days in the Eastern Algarve this week. Not very concerned about COVID-19 because there are no tourists in the Algarve right now. I like to think I’m doing my part by supporting the Portuguese hospitality industry. If you’re looking for a beautiful, reasonable, quiet sanctuary, I recommend this place:
A topic I revisit from time-to-time; mostly as a reminder to myself; also to evaluate my progress. Letting go is something most of us struggle with. There is nothing like a Pandemic to help put things in perspective.
Letting Go of What?
someone you care about
someone you lost
a pet who has passed
a job you lost or need to leave
a competition you didn’t win
your ego
resentment
fear
the familiar
addiction
bad habits
a grudge
a notion
concerns about money
Hence, the list should illuminate the many reasons we struggle with letting go. I would argue that if you work hard enough to let go of just one thing that has caused you pain and/or anxiety, the next thing you tackle will hopefully be a little easier to address. Of course there are exceptions to just about everything.
When It Hurts So Much
Why we hold onto to something even when it causes you pain and suffering is a great mystery. Whether it’s a job, a relationship, or a place. We are sometimes unaware of the aforementioned pain and at other times we just ignore it; ignoring it is easier than confronting it.
I’ve been fortunate enough to have some fairly good therapists over the years. Just as effective is a friend who listens well. Those long walks where you tell a confidant what’s on your mind, can help you to choose a healthier path. When I was deciding whether or not to leave my position in New York, I spoke to total strangers. In the end, their objective thoughts helped me to make the right decision. In truth, I knew what I had to to, but hearing it from others is affirming.
Hanging On
It might be easier to stick with the familiar, rather than move on to the unknown.
Fear of loss, fear of loneliness, fear of abandonment, and fear in general.
Low self-esteem is often the culprit; love thy self. Remember you may take two steps back and need to reboot.
We sometimes doubt our own judgment: Am I being too harsh? Maybe I should be more forgiving? Perhaps if I ignore it, it will go away. I think you know by now, that it never just disappears.
How it Feels to Let Go
Replacing whatever it was that you no fret over with something positive and fun, can be extremely healthy. I have a friend who recently gave up smoking. She decided that if she didn’t do something physical, she’d gain a lot of weight. She started running to prevent that from happening and she discovered a pastime that she now loves; replacing an unhealthy addiction with a healthy one.
I have noticed that I am laughing and smiling more of late. I think that is a byproduct of letting go. The lighter you are, the less burdened by toxic people in your life or behaviours that cause you unease, the more your body will express relief — it too will breathe, you will breathe.
Time is one of those tricky aspects of letting go. We all want the pain to go away instantly — like magic — poof, wish it away. But it takes some time for that to happen and we must be patient. I have a friend who has been in AA for over 25 years. He has remained clean and sober and he is happy and healthy. We speak often; his pearls of wisdom are always appreciated. The principles of AA can be applied to any addiction, so I listen and often apply them to my own healing. My friend reminds me to allow myself to feel whatever it is I am feeling. If I am sad, it’s okay to feel the sadness, if I am angry, I need to allow myself to be angry, and if I am relieved, I need to feel that relief. Pushing thoughts and emotions away is not helpful. Instead of processing your feelings, your denial of the existence of these emotions, only delays the moving on process. These emotions don’t just disappear, they find a place inside your body to fester and then they manifest themselves in ways that are harmful and dangerous. Perhaps in the middle of the night when you need to be resting or on the road when you should be concentrating on your driving. You could be damaging your organs and therefore, putting your life at risk.
While your going through whatever it is you need to go through, be good to yourself. Go for long walks in your favorite places, buy yourself a new shirt, eat at a familiar restaurant, and if you meditate, meditate often. There is no magic formula for how much time it takes or how badly you will feel while your heart and mind repair, but if you allow the process to run its course, in time, you will be in better place. We all know this because it’s part of the human condition; however, we battle with ourselves because we want relief now and we want it without pain. We have become a society of dangerous remedies and quick fixes. It is these remedies that will kill us, not whatever it is we are are struggling with.
Celebrate Progress and Success
I have been dangling carrots in front of me for a long time. A piece of cake for finishing a term paper, a cocktail when the sun goes down, a steak dinner if I get my taxes done on time; you get the point. Giving yourself a reward for letting go or walking away from something is extremely effective.
Music and Dance Can Help You Find Relief
Send in the Clowns from A Little Night Music, is my favorite Sondheim ballad. I think I may have heard a hundred versions of it in my lifetime, but Judi Dench sings it with such amazing depth and passion, I’d have to say it’s my favorite. There have been many different interpretations of the lyrics and Sondheim never really gives away what he was thinking when he wrote it. As with many of Sondheim’s songs, he is telling a story. It’s about so many different things, but what it says to me is accept whatever comes your way. Come to terms with who you have become, relative to who you may have been. Yes, life is hard and there is so much to deal with, but in the end we have hope to hang onto, hence the final verse, “. . . maybe next year.” I know that now more than ever.
I usually start my blogs on Monday morning. This week I sat down and wrote a few lines on Sunday afternoon because I knew what I wanted to write about this week. I noted as the week went on that nearly everything I read or heard or talked about was somehow related to letting go. It’s either the times we live in or a funny coincidence, probably both. Whatever is it, it is one of our greatest challenges; a challenge that lasts a lifetime.
I flood my mind with conundrums, so that I don’t have time to think about what really matters:
Life Sometimes Deals You An Impossible Hand
A friend sent me the above text this week and at first I read it and thought oh, that’s poignant. Then I spent the next few days thinking about Sherman’s words. I often contemplate projects that I have not completed, however, I am fairly certain I am finished with them (e.g., becoming an accountant in my twenties or trying to be hetersexual early on in my life — more difficult than the former).
Then there are projects that I believe I have completed, but as life often dictates, I cannot finish. One of many examples is my teeth. I pine over a tooth that I lost and I go to the dentist for an expensive, but necessary, implant. After much discomfort, a great deal of money, and many office visits, I get a new tooth. I walk away satisfied and feeling complete; however, I am far from finished. A few months will go by and I’ll either have implant problems or another tooth becomes problematic. I am never finished dealing with my teeth. Unfortunately, teeth issues will persist throughout my life. I feel better when I recall that both my parents had a mouth full of dentures.
What I had to see everyday in our only bathroom growing up
As I have said before, I am an avid list maker. The satisfaction I get from being able to check a project off as completed is greater than I can or should admit. However, the number of times I thought something was done and done and it wasn’t, is too many times. You get to sit and just enjoy and admire your completed deck only to see paint peel during the next rain. You finally save enough to buy the latest iphone and then you drop it three days after removing the packaging. You tie the knot and smile lovingly at your new husband only to have him spend the day in his underwear on the sofa (the last not my story). We seldom completely finish anything.
Completed Projects
There have been a few instances in my life when I felt that I had completely finished something. Sometimes this knowledge give me a feeling of satisfaction and gratitude and other times, it leaves me feeling blue. I have to stop and tell myself that these mixed emotions are to be expected.
There is a danger in convincing yourself that you are done with something and then having it resurface or even worse, having it thrown in your face. It has become apparent to me as I grow older, that being prepared for any outcome is helpful for peace of mind — the worst case scenario. I’m learning to take a deep breath before I react; sometimes I’m more successful than others. The power and ability to forgive, is all yours.
Why Finishing Something Matters
How many times have you silently said, “I’m finished with you?” Self-preservation is a gift not all of have embraced. Walking away from anything toxic is a good thing, but not always easy to do. If someone does something terribly egregious to us or to humanity, they do not deserve our love.
Another thing that seems to be difficult for many people, is allowing others to finish their sentences. I often wonder if people who are poor listeners have any clue about how rude it can be to cut people off. We’ve become terrible listeners and one of the reasons for this is that so few people are willing to confront the culprits. Every so often I get very angry with someone for constantly cutting me off before I finish a thought. I say something like, please let me finish, but it doesn’t stop them from doing it over and over again. The old, “I was so excited I couldn’t help myself,” just doesn’t work for me anymore. Let’s try to be courteous people. It shows respect and caring when we listen. Good listeners go far in life; mostly because it’s such a rare asset.
Finishing matters because a sense of accomplishment feels good.
On to the Next Thing . . .
I’m going to keep making lists and dreaming up new projects until the day I die. It provides purpose and hope.
Here are some of the things I have finished, but not completed:
learning how to speak Spanish. Funny thing is, as I learn Portuguese, the Spanish resurfaces.
traveling to all 50 states in the U.S. (there are some states I have decided to stay away from)
cooking organ meats
a novel I started 25 years ago (trust me you wouldn’t want to read it)
I started learning how to paint landscapes years ago and decided I’d never complete a painting . . . I haven’t and I won’t
musical instruments have forever been spared my lips and fingers
I started reading the classics 20 years ago and stopped six months in
I once started the process for finding a surrogate mother for a child I never fathered
I did Rogaine for awhile
tried mushrooms — not shiitakes
collected antique furniture (thank God that’s over)
I ran marathons for a few years and ruined my right knee; stupid man
I lived in North Carolina, South Carolina, and Maine (although I do miss the lobster)
The list goes on . . .
What’s Next in Travel
I was scheduled to travel to Stockholm in a couple of weeks, but due to COVID-19 the airlines and hotels have cancelled my plans. If Berlin opens back up to travellers in December, I will go there for a few days. As always, I will be cautious and careful.I was scheduled to be on a Crystal cruise to four Asian countries on January 6, 2021; that cruise has been cancelled. I have booked myself on an Asian cruise in January of 2022 — this one will be longer and it starts in Hong Kong. COVID-19 has taught me patience. . . oh *shush.
*shush: verb 1.tell or signal (someone) to be silent.”she shushed him with a wave”
Feeling hope in lieu of despair
Watching as we repair
Trust is truth again
Allowing a smile and a tear
Who are we . . . a quandary
Who do we want to be
What have we learned
Will we remember and mend
The heart feels
The mind knows
But doubt is persuasive
Listen carefully and learn
Then the waiting for change
The self-reflection
Outside Influences sting
Impaired vision blurs
Strength in fits and starts
Conviction with patience
Honor without bravado
Justice and grace
Thank you so much to my brothers and sisters in the United States.
I wrote a blog about moving to Portugal three weeks into my relocation (May 2018) and thought it would be fun to make some revisions and add new observations (as updates):
The view from the Hotel Faro, my favorite watering hole(was, see update)
Update: It is no longer true that Hotel Faro is my favorite spot in town for a cocktail. I’ve discovered Columbus Cocktail & Wine Bar, not far from Hotel Faro, you still get the view of the marina, but unfortunately you’re on the ground level. Cocktails are creative, delicious, and reasonable. Great indoor and outdoor seating. If you’re coming from a big city in the U.S., the UK, Italy, Australia, etc., you’ll be getting a bargain at 8 Euros a pop.
Whoever said, “Don’t sweat the small stuff,” did not live in Portugal. I knew some things would be different and in fact, I looked forward to change. In truth, I haven’t even been here three weeks and I hesitate to start complaining, but heck, it’s my nature to piss and moan so why wait.
I purposely decided not to purchase a vehicle for several reasons: 1) I wanted to reduce my carbon footprint, 2) I was hoping I’d get more exercise by walking, and finally, 3) I figured I could save a little money (more in the bank for food). I’ve spent quite a bit of time studying the Faro bus schedule. It’s complicated, convoluted and I have no idea where buses end up in the city. There are at least 10 different bus lines very close to my building, but I can’t figure out how to get from A to B. So I decided to go to the mall Saturday. The schedule clearly said that the number 5 goes to Forum every 30 minutes on Saturday. I took my time and meandered over to the bus stop; there I sat for over an hour. You guessed it, no bus. The good news is that Uber is cheap and a car arrived in minutes to whisk me off to the mall.
Update: I continue to be frustrated by a limited bus and train schedule; however, I’m still committed to reducing my carbon footprint; now more than ever in fact. I have finally figured out the schedules, and I’m using Bolt and Uber more often. I figure it’s a compromise and it gets me there most of the time. I am renting a car for the month of November in order to do some things that I have not been able to do without a car. For example, I rented a little place on the beach and I’ll need a car to make it work. I’m more excited about having wheels than I should be.
Intervalo is intermission in Portuguese and if you love film, be prepared. I recall now that this same thing did happen to me in Spain a number of years ago, but frankly, I wasn’t expecting it and I was startled. I was watching a dumb American film at the mall last week and the film stopped mid-scene for an “intervalo.” Although it is clearly a minor issue, I have several problems with it:
If you’re going to have an intermission, why do it in the middle of a scene?
Part of the excitement of a film is anticipating what is coming next and I’d rather not have interruptions. Holding it in because the film is that good, is a good thing. It’s two hours and easy to prepare for, no?
Because I had time to kill, I felt compelled to purchase a snack and although candy at the movies is a lot less expensive in Portugal (1.25 Euros or $1.55 for a pack of M & Ms), I don’t need the calories.
I’d rather not be thinking, “I like the way we do it in the States better.”
I guess I needed the comfort of an American film as part of my adjustment to a new home abroad. It worked, I felt better, and I don’t see it happening again anytime soon. Update: COVID-19 has changed the way we live and the intervalo has gone away. I guess they’d prefer you stayed seated and not have everyone getting up at the same time. I kind of got used to it, but I’m hoping it’s gone for good. The mid-scene break was annoying.
The good people of Portugal do not pick up their dog’s poop! I’m serious, I have to look down everywhere I go. After living in Maine where you rarely see poop on the ground, this has been difficult to deal with. Poop bags are on every other lamp-post and they still don’t pick it up. What makes this insane is that the Portuguese recycle everything. There is a bin for just about every kind of trash and people are psychotic about sorting it, but they leave the dog shit right there on the sidewalk. If it kills me I’m going to be THAT guy that calls out every pet owner in Faro who doesn’t pick up their dog’s poop. Update: Nothing has changed and I’m even more frustrated by it. I step in poop at least once a month. I think this is my 10th blog on this shitty subject.
Gyms don’t open until 9:00 a.m. and they’re closed on weekends; now how silly is that? People here do not workout before work. Back home, gyms were full by 6:00 a.m., and how can they be closed on weekends? Isn’t that when you catch up on workouts you may have missed during the week? Perhaps it’s when you extend your workout a bit? I’m a big believer is providing employees a good quality of life, but as far as I’m concerned, if choose to be employed in a gym, you should expect to work weekends; sort of like restaurants and grocery stores. Update: Well over a year ago I was touring a new gym close to my home. I was unhappy with the set-up; there was very little cardio equipment and not a lot of free weights. It was the kind of gym where you mainly work with a trainer — expensive and not for me. I left the gym and a young Portuguese man who had also done a tour, spoke to me in English. He told me that he could tell that I was unhappy with the gym’s set-up. He shared his thoughts on Centro de Ferro, a gym I had not heard of (gyms do not advertise here). I went to check it out that very day and I’ve been a member ever since; just renewed recently for 80 Euros less than last year and it was already reasonable. They open at 6:30 a.m. and they are open everyday except Sunday. It’s large and clean and for the most part, I like the clientele. All of this makes a huge difference in my life. This gym has been open since the end of the lockdown, however, my old gym never reopened. Had that Portuguese fella not told me about Centro de Ferro, I’m not sure I would have ever found it. This is why “they” say there are no coincidences — Nuno (his name) does not represent or work at Centro, he was just being helpful. I’ve thanked him many times.
Shocked, stunned, bewildered, and frustrated, that I have not received a single piece of Portuguese mail in my mailbox. I’m getting packages from Amazon and even a couple of forwarded pieces of mail from the U.S.; however, no Portuguese mail. Perhaps the post office knows I can’t read the mail anyway. My bank here will not allow me to change my U.S. address until I show them an official piece of mail with my new Portugal address. Considering I have owned my condo for over four months, it doesn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon. I never thought I’d say this, but I miss my AARP junk mail. And by the way, I don’t have a U.S. address Mr. Banker. Update: Since writing this, I do receive Portuguese mail, however, not much of it. There are occasional flyers for stores, but for the most part, the Portuguese do not do junk mail; perhaps businesses are not permitted or maybe, it’s just too expensive. Either way, I like it this way.
So what I am about to share is very embarrassing: my attorney contacted me and said, “Have you checked your mailbox?”
I was extremely insulted and fired back, “Yes, of course I checked my mailbox.”
I was shown my mailbox on move-in day and used my key and the mailbox opened. I thought, “Good the key works,” and I have been checking the mailbox everyday since; as I shared earlier, no mail. Last night I met the head of the condo association in the lobby.
She said, “I will put all this in your mailbox,” and looked to her right.
I thought that was odd because my mailbox was on the left. Well, today I went to the mailbox she sort of turned to and alas, it was my mailbox. I have been checking the wrong mailbox for three weeks. How my key worked on another person’s mailbox, I haven’t a clue. Further, how is it that my neighbor has not gotten any mail? So now you know what it might be like living overseas. Update: I’m still embarrassed that this happened.
My quest to find San Marzanotomatoes has begun. I started cooking with these delicious Italian canned tomatoes over 25 years ago after taking a cooking class with Grace Balducci in New York City. They’ve been readily available to me throughout the years — that is until I moved to Portugal. It doesn’t make sense being that I am so much closer to Italy than I have ever been. I’m sure it has something to do with Italian migration to the United States and other countries. I know that I am fussy about ingredients, but if I have to take a train to Italy to find my tomatoes, then that’s what I’ll do. If you’re reading this and you know a place in or around Faro (75 kilometer radius) that sells these tomatoes, I’d be happy to end my search. Better yet, it’s a good excuse to travel to Italy soon. Update: A French grocery chain took over two of the main grocery stores in Faro. The canned tomatoes they sell are not San Marzano (the absolute best); however, they are a close second. The only time I can truly tell the difference is when I make pizza. I also use the beautiful fresh tomatoes grown in Portugal whenever possible (still not as good as San Marzano). A fact is fact.
There are no Walmart stores in Portugal, however, we do have Chinese discount stores. You can expect to find just about anything other than food (save for American candy) at these stores and they are everywhere — like Rite Aid in the U.S.. You have to be a discerning shopper, because no doubt, some products will fall apart before you take them out of your shopping bag. If I’m going to be honest, most products I have purchased at these stores are a great value. For example aluminum foil: most of it is crap no matter where you buy it — the brand I always purchased in the States is not available here — our local grocery store has a decent size roll for a little over four euros. Four euros is a lot of cash for foil and that’s why a one euro roll of foil at the Chinese dime store works for me. I double it up and still save money. And this is how I spend my time. Update: I have since found decent foil at a decent price at the French supermarket. I love Auchan (the supermarket) and I’ve become hooked on many of the products. If you don’t shower or bathe with French soap you’re missing out — less than a Euro a bar, oh, la, la.
Martinis are hands down my favorite cocktail. It’s the combination of the amount of alcohol, the three olive garnish (considered a snack), and the classic martini glass it’s served in. I’ve been ordering martinis since it was legal for me to imbibe. Well, it’s a bit of a problem in my new home country. The Portuguese drink an aperitif bottled by Martini,Martini is a brand of Italian vermouth, named after the Martini & Rossi Distilleria Nazionale di Spirito di Vino, in Turin. I ordered a Martini straight up on two occasions and I was served this vermouth chilled — not what I wanted. I have found a couple of places that serve it just the way I like it; however, I’m still looking for a bar with the glassware I prefer. These are the things in life that truly matter and I am not above bringing my own glass to a bar.
Pictured: the perfect martini!
Update: Hotel Faro makes a great martini, in the correct glass, and you get a great view of the marina as well. I believe I pay eight Euros. It will do just fine.
Finally, life in Portugal has far exceeded all of my expectations. I will probably mention this often, but the people are welcoming and wonderful, the weather would be hard to beat and the food is in some ways, almost too good. I love knowing the differences one experiences when living somewhere abroad; hence my reason for sharing.
Update: I have been exploring Portugal as a resident for three years now. There are so few negatives to being here that I think it’s more important to focus on the positive (not necessarily most positive to least positive):
Travel — Being in Europe positions me closer to many countries making travel easier and more affordable. Budget airlines such as RyanAir and EasyJet are normally (sans COVID-19) easy to book and if you can travel light, very inexpensive. TAP (Portuguese airline) is an excellent way to travel to and from the U.S. and all over Europe.
Value — It seems more like products are priced according to their true value. I’m fairly certain less money is spent on marketing and distribution. I hesitate to state this, however, sometimes I feel like the quality is superior (e.g., Portuguese cotton, ceramic tiles). Conversely, there are non-American made products here that are poorly manufactured. If you’re a good shopper, you can get the best of just about anything.
People — I’ve said this before, but it’s worth repeating: Portuguese people are lovely in just about every way — sorry I will be generalizing. I love how they treat people; I love how they care for their elderly; I think the decriminalization of drug use is humane and compassionate; social democracy works and is embraced; people like their privacy and do not get in your business; they are usually calm; riots are few and far between; crime rates are extremely low; “live and let live” is the cultural norm. Since I’m keeping my notes to the positive, I won’t talk about gay men here.
Food — fresh, beautiful, affordable food at the markets (all markets). Portuguese restaurant menus can be tired and ordinary. The traditional dishes are good, however, most of them are not very complex and way too easy to make. There are a few excellent Portuguese restaurants, but you have to look for them and sometimes travel quite far to experience them. I’ve been here almost three years and I would say that I now know of a dozen exceptional Portuguese restaurants in Portugal. Unfortunately, Portuguese people enjoy their own food; therefore, finding variety outside of Lisbon or Porto, can be difficult. There are very beautiful seaport towns here that can use some ethnic variety in their offerings. Faro now has a good ramen restaurant and an excellent burger spot. I’m waiting for Korean, Thai, Moroccan (it’s so close), African variety (also so close), Malaysian, etc. If you live practically anywhere in the U.S. these days, you are accustomed to variety and excellence.
Safety — I have never felt safer in my life and I mean that in every way. I have been very impressed with the handling of COVID-19 and although you do not see police officers everywhere, you know they are close by and keeping you safe.
Weather — the Algarve weather is near perfect, nearly all year round. Winters are mild, spring is pleasant and the air is fragrant, summer is warm but dry, and autumn is cooler and breezier. With 300 or more days of sunshine a year and no tornadoes or hurricanes, it would be ridiculous to complain.
My apartment — It didn’t cost me an arm and a leg and I have a magnificent view of the Ria Formosa: Classified as a Natural Park in 1987, Ria Formosa encompasses an area of about 18 000 hectares, and is protected from the sea by 5 barrier-islands and 2 peninsulas: the Peninsula of Ancão that the locals call Ilha de Faro, the Barreta Island also known asIlha Deserta, the Culatra Island (where the lighthouse of Santa Maria is located), the Island of Armona, the Island of Tavira, Cabanas Island and, finally, the Peninsula of Cacela. This awesome area extends along the leeward coast of the Algarve through the municipalities of Loulé, Faro, Olhão, Tavira and Vila Real de Santo António. The Atlantic ocean can be seen just beyond the Ria. The view out of the back of my apartment are beautiful homes, gardens, and mountains. I live on a wide, tree-lined cobblestone avenue; filled with gorgeous architecture. I have a public park across the street from my building (for Paco), numerous cafés and restaurants, schools, a dog run, churches, and a magnificent convent with breathtaking grounds. Why would I ever leave?
No vehicle — Reducing my carbon footprint has been my personal crusade. I know I can only do so much to save the planet, but I have to do something. I walk more more because I don’t have a car and I am burning calories and saving money. Admittedly, it’s not always convenient; however, convenience is overrated and the lazier option. I miss having a car, but I do not miss looking for parking or paying for gas. I’m a stubborn fella; sleeping with less guilt is essential for my peace of mind.
Admittedly, I am tempted to provide a list of my favorite places in Portugal to visit. I have blogged about many of these cities and towns and you can access these blogs (see table of contents). There are “top of my list” spots that a traveler should not miss: Lisbon, Madeira, Porto and the Algarve. There you will find natural beauty, history, excellent cuisine, vineyards, great architecture, value, and something for everyone. As with everything in Portugal, people are extremely humble and the country is only minimally promoted to the rest of the world; perhaps it’s intentional.
The shrimp here are really THAT BIG
Photos, starting at the top of the blog and up to here:
Sitting on the roof deck of Hotel Faro in the marina (Old Town). It has become my favorite watering hole.
The view from the bus stop outside my apartment — Avenida 5 de Outubro. Strangely there is a good deal of exotic vegetation on this avenue, but you don’t see any of it in this photo. Palm trees, succulents, etc. This is a roundabout which saves me from hearing honking horns and keeps the traffic moving. A large public park is on the other side of the avenue.
The back of a ceramic tile shop in Olhao. I met the ceramic artist after purchasing a tile wall piece I’m excited to have plastered to one of my walls. I’ll post a photo when it’s done.
Caprese salad at L’Osteria, an Italian restaurant way too close to home.
The foliage outside my building which I referred to in #2. The tops of the trees come right up to my floor (5th floor). Well in Europe it’s the 4th floor because the first floor is zero — go figure.
My condominium — built in the 60s and built to last.
See Instagram, cpapagni (linked) for additional photos.
A few months ago I posted something on Facebook about possibly moving. I was intentionally vague, having no idea if I will stay-put or migrate somewhere else in the world at some time. Many people find a place they like and remain there for as long as possible. I have a close friend in her sixties, who lives in the house she grew up in. She seems extremely content and has never spoken of leaving (at least not to me). No judgment, but that’s just not me.
How Your Belief System Drives You
Religion plays a big part in decision making for many people. I respect that. I consider myself spiritual, introspective, and organized religion-averse. I think I’ve been an atheist since pre-school. What this means for me, is that the here and now is pretty much it. I can choose to embrace this journey and try to fulfill my hopes and dreams or I can choose to settle in and just be comfortable. It’s not in my nature to choose the latter. It is for this reason that I have decided to leave all of my options open.
I’ve said this before, however, it’s worth repeating: I am well aware that not all individuals have been afforded this kind of freedom. I know that marriage, family, career, etc., all play a role in the decisions we make in our lives. I have created a life where I am unencumbered by these restraints; I can live in many different places. To deny or ignore this magnificent gift would be unfortunate.
What Have You Got To Lose
I always play the worst case scenario game with myself. Many of my decisions have been based on the worst that could happen. In the case of a big move, the answer has always been that if it doesn’t work out, I’d move. I believe that there are opportunities to learn life lessons and experience magical moments just about anywhere. I did not love Portland, Maine, however, it was there that I found out who I am and what I want out of life; invaluable knowledge, reinforcing my beliefs and helping me choose my future goals. I met some people there that are friends for life; that’s about as good as it gets.
When Your Roots Strangle You
Many of our beliefs and values form early on in our lives. What our parents teach us, what we learn in school, what we see in our environment, and what the media tries to instil in us. Much of what we are taught or shown is for our own good and necessary, however, a good deal of it is an attempt to short circuit our ambition. A lot of people in our lives would prefer that we play it safe, keep the peace, color inside the lines. A bit of rebellious thinking is a good thing. Life is all about balance.
“Know the rules well, so you can break them effectively.”
— Dalai Lama XIV
Culture is not something we think or talk about very much. Having lived in several different places has helped me to realize that culture is a driving force in the way we behave and think. The culture of a community is developed over a long period of time. Many factors contribute to the culture of a place. There are community cultures that are so strong that it feels as if a physical force intended to keep you in your place, surrounds you. If you can, get to know what that culture is before you decide whether or not to live in a place.
My biggest pet peeve is being judged by others. Some people put you in a box before they have any idea of who you are. There are cities and towns where this could be a big issue. One of my favorite things about New York City, is that people who choose to live with 8.5 million people from all over the world, all races, all religions, all nationalities, every possible sexual orientation and gender choice, often choose New York because of those things — diversity and differences are celebrated. I’m not saying it’s a utopia; however, in my mind it’s a better choice for most than random town U.S.A. with one church, one race, and one biased mentality.
Group Speak is one of the scariest things I’ve ever encountered; when whole groups of people espouse the same jargon, the same lies, the same hate. I have found places in the world where followers flock to stand behind one individual or a group of individuals with almost cult-like devotion. These people choose to live in what they think is the “right” kind of place — a safe place to raise your children or retire. I believe these places are dangerous and sad. It’s best you know about a place like this before you accidentally end up there.
Religious Condemnation is more prevalent in parts of the world than we are often aware. There are communities of religious groups that will welcome and embrace you, but only if you abide by their beliefs. I’m afraid that if you do not go along with their dogma, you will be ostracized and punished. This is a whole other blog topic. For now, let’s just agree that this may not be the best choice for a place to call home.
It seems to me that more and more, some of our political leaders and influencers are giving us permission to:
impose our beliefs on others
criticize and scrutinize those who do not think the way we do
make others uncomfortable and unsafe in their chosen space
be toxic and publicly vocal in social media and in an open forum
This makes living in a place where your values may not line up difficult. Changing the way people think and behave is nearly impossible; therefore, it may be best to avoid these places and settle elsewhere. I may have written something very different when I was in my 20s; young, rebellious, and intent on changing the world. I would have said fight the establishment and make a difference. I’m afraid that once you’ve been around for awhile, you realize some things are greater than yourself.
The Future
The subtitle of this piece was, “Or Having a Home Choose you.” Sometimes it feels as if all the stars are lining up in order to tell us something. I recall walking up for flights of stairs in a 1890 brownstown in Brooklyn and feeling as if I was home. It was almost surreal.
Before we even stepped foot in the building my broker said, “Now Chris, I’m not showing you this apartment because I think you should buy it; I want to hear what you think about brownstone living, the layout, finishes, stairs, etc. It doesn’t have a fireplace which is your number one requirement (true).”
The owner opened the door and I immediately noticed a beautiful large fireplace in the corner of the living room. I’m not sure how exactly I ended up there that day, but I am quite sure that this apartment was meant to be my home. Of all the places I have owned in my life, this will always be my favorite. This was the first apartment I saw, the first apartment I purchased, it was a dump. I had a great time turning into a comfortable, beautiful home. You just never know when your next place will present itself to you. Just be open to the possibility.
I believe that the absolute best thing about my life right now is not knowing what the future holds. Big questions like: will I remain healthy? Will my savings hold out? Will I meet someone who will become my partner? All a big mystery and that’s the way I like it. I’m a fairly realistic and practical person, however, when it comes to life’s big questions about the future, it’s the not knowing that I find exciting and intriguing. I Know that I can determine some of what happens to me tomorrow and the day after that, beyond that who knows. What I have learned is that fear can and will prevent you from fully embracing whatever is yet to come. I am not fearless; what I fear is that others will attempt to interfere with my happiness and for that I am prepared to guard and defend what is yet to come.
Thank you so much to my brothers and sisters in the United States.
Papagni Pages 