One of the difficult facts one must face when you grow older: we live in a world shaped and dominated by the young. I’m not mad about this, it’s just a fact. It’s difficult to shield your eyes from beautiful young people everywhere. It’s a reminder of two things: 1) you’re not young anymore, and 2) you’re not young anymore. I was never the “turn heads” stud I secretly wanted to be. I was average looking with decent pecs. I accepted this fact knowing that if I added a bit of charm and a big sincere smile, I could probably nab a beau or two in my lifetime. And I did.
Now if someone looks my way, it’s usually just to make sure I’m still breathing. I jest of course, but the plain truth is, my number in years is rising while my chest, chin, and buttocks, are falling. I can either accept it or call it quits — I think the former is the best option. So what does that mean?
I’ve written about aging before. The older you get, the more you think about it. How can you not think about it?
Truth & Acceptance
Reality sucks. Coming to terms with loss is never easy. Losing one’s youth is no exception. We troubled old folk, go through the stages of grief, and I seem to be stuck on #6. I’ve been working through these feelings for a long time.
The 7 stages of grief (according to Google and who knows better than Google?)
Shock and denial. This is a state of disbelief and numbed feelings.
Pain and guilt. …
Anger and bargaining. …
Depression. …
The upward turn. …
Reconstruction and working through…
Acceptance and hope.
Some of the Awful Things an Aging Body Experiences (I’ve been spared a few on the following list):
Okay, I’ll stop. It’s way too disturbing to continue.
Some Ridiculous Affirmations and Mind Games that Work
Some of these I have done and continue to do in order to feel better and cope:
The gym makes me feel like I’m doing something about slowing the process.
Stretching for about 10 minutes helps loosen me up and alleviates some of the arthritis pain.
I “try” to keep my weight now — a lifelong struggle.
I tell myself that my body is just a vessel.
I compensate for certain body issues by covering those parts with clothing (i.e., longer t-shirts, higher waisted pants). I’m not ready for a man bra, but I’m getting there.
I still get an occasional pimple, therefore, I must still be adolescent, no?
I tell myself I never liked sports anyway.
Meditation
I daydream about the past and then let it go (for that moment)
I blog. Sometimes (like now), it makes me feel worse.
Can’t Reverse the Process So You Might As Well Make the Best of it
There are a few things that happen as you grow older that are truly wonderful and worth noting. Not that any young person will read this and think, “Oh wow, can’t wait for that to happen.”
There is a lot of crap you no longer care about. For example, caring about what people think. If you no longer have to worry about job security or a place at your brother-in-law’s Easter table, what certain people say or think becomes insignificant and that feels really good.
If sweat pants feel good on you, you can live in them.
Paying off your own college loan debt is no longer worrisome.
The closer you get to dying, the less you worry about it. Not speaking for everyone here. As the years go on and you experience more and more death, you realize how inevitable it is. You also start to feel your years physically and think at some point I’m going to want to rest . . . eternally.
Your lifelong friends will pretty much accept any stupid thing that comes out of your mouth and you, them.
I have read that your taste buds lose their ability to distinguish between certain levels of taste and that this causes a suppressed appetite (not so far, I’m waiting).
If I want to go to bed at 9:00 a.m., no one can stop me.
Thankfully, most older folks are not tethered to their cell phones. I say most because I know a few who are.
I’m struggling with coming up with this list. I feel like I’m reaching.
I’m waiting for some magic pill that turns you into a twenty-something year old for 24 hours. You can stay awake, feel no pain, wear form-fitting attire, dance the night away, attract others with similar desires, and wake-up without regrets.
Two Things to add to the last blog post publishing:
You can no longer fly to Toulouse on an EasyJet direct flight from Faro. I’m not sure why or if they’ll ever bring back the route. It’s a hard pill to swallow. Instead, I will be returning to Lyon; a city in France I also love. Side note: I did a search and found this strange airline called Volotea. It’s a low budget Spanish Airline that will fly you to Toulouse for next to nothing and then quadruple the return flight. I won’t even consider using them unless I book a flight without a return.
I wrapped up my last blog before leaving Toulouse. I wanted to share that I enjoyed a wonderful Easter lunch at Café Maurice in the centre of Toulouse (see photos below). They opened the entire front of the restaurant because the weather was ideal for fresh air and al fresco dining. I sat inside close to the open doors to avoid the smokers. Europeans are still big smokers. Everything about this restaurant is done well.
I also had excellent Korean food in Toulouse; I can’t get Korean in Faro and I don’t see it happening anytime soon.
Traveling to Berlin on the 29th of this month for one week. I’m looking forward to returning to a vibrant, artsy, and fairly close to Faro, city. Amsterdam, Geneva, Milan and a northern Europe cruise after that. And after years of wondering what has happened to detroit, I’ll be going in September (part of a bigger trip to be fleshed out).
When you live in a place where they speak a different language and the customs are not what your accustomed to, you cannot help but ponder on how you fit in. The truth is that I have never fit in. Family, school, neighborhood, work, social gatherings — you name it, I was out-of-place; sometimes I still am. Mind you, it wasn’t always people who made me feel this way; it was mostly my own voice telling me I didn’t belong.
So when I decided to move to Portugal, for many who know me well, the first question was: how will you be able to live in a foreign country? Having rehearsed for this move my entire life, my answer was: oh that’s the easy part.
In the past, I have mostly written about logistics and concrete matters related to my move abroad; today I want to write about how it feels to be an American overseas. First allow me to describe the setting.
Home
[Covering an area of 4,997 km (3,105 miles), Algarve is home to 438,406 permanent residents. According to statistics from Pordata, 10 percent of the population is expats.] It is my understanding that about 11 percent of the Portugal expat population is American. I would say that this figure is far smaller in the Algarve. If you break it down, the number of Americans living in Faro is actually quite small.
The Algarve (the region of Portugal where I reside), is the southernmost part of Portugal. It is a tourist destination for many Europeans seeking predictably good weather, an affordable holiday, outdoor activity, and a safe place to hang your hat. My earlier blogs will tell you why I chose Portugal and Faro; I’ll spare you those details here.
People who look and sound like me are difficult to find in Faro. I workout at a large gym and I am one of two Americans. The other, Al, is also from Brooklyn, but he has lived in Portugal for a long time. It took several years of walking by him at the gym before I learned that he was from Carroll Gardens, a neighborhood not far from my own. Al’s a big guy who is probably a teddy bear, but he looks like someone you wouldn’t want to make angry. I think I look that way when I’m not smiling.
My apartment building is entirely Portuguese and the restaurants I tend to eat in are patronized by a majority of Portuguese people. I’m simply stating fact, no judgment.
Having described feeling out-of-place my entire life, you would think I might feel that way in the Algarve, but I don’t. I feel welcomed, accepted, and like I belong. I’m sure most of these feelings reside in my head and are not based on reality, but does that really matter? I could get all philosophical about what is real and what is made up in our imagination, but I don’t want to scare you.
Thoughts that Swirl and Machinate
These days, I feel as if I’m living outside of myself. I’m like a voyeur watching this old guy navigate a life he cannot quite believe he is living. It’s fascinating for me to watch him fumble. I’m not concerned that you’ll think me mad, because I am certain most people feel this way from time-to-time. Who am I? Where do I belong? How do I fit in? If you’re human, you frequently consciously or unconsciously, ask yourself these questions.
So why do I feel so much at home in Portugal? I will refrain from creating a list and instead, try to describe my dominant feelings. But first . . .
An aside: I flew into Bordeaux because EasyJet cancelled my flight directly into Toulouse and I rebooked on RyanAir to Toulouse which is two hours away. I like the train system in most of Europe, so I figured I’d spend a couple of days in Bordeaux and five days in Toulouse; a city I have come to love. I literally just missed my train from Bordeaux to Toulouse because I booked the wrong time and didn’t notice it on the ticket until I was on the bus to the train station. I jumped off the bus to call an Uber. It was sort of like a scene in a film . . . me leaning into the front seat asking the driver to please try and get me to the station quickly, but unfortunately traffic and slow drivers made it impossible. I tried to book a ticket for the next train, but it’s full so I’m stuck in Bordeaux — not a bad place to be stuck — a 5 hour wait I’m afraid. When I booked this trip, I was unaware that it was Easter week. What do they say about breathing or that things happen the way they’re supposed to? I’ll blog and people watch and eat and answer emails and people watch and sulk. I get to sulk just a little. It was a stupid mistake. This too shall pass . . .
I saw this restaurant in Bordeaux on-line while I was waiting for my train. I took a shot at a reservation and they had one seat left (sometimes traveling alone has its advantages). I sort of thought they were lying until I sat down and people started flooding in. I ended up having one of the best sirloin steaks of my life. I almost went all out for a 50 Euro dry aged T-Bone, but I held back having had already incurred extra expenses from missing my 10:28. A nice Medoc and some potatoes au gratin . . . yada, yada, yada. All that for 25 Euros; now I understand why they were all booked-up.
BDX Café is attached to a stylish boutique hotel near the Gare St. Jean in Bordeaux. I’m killing time here while I wait several hours for my train to Toulouse. The homemade chocolate cake with fresh whip cream is divine and I’m sipping a Kressmann’s Blanc Grande Reserve while I type away on my fully charged laptop (multiple outlets at my feet).
I met a very nice young lady on the train who helped me pass the time and gave me a good restaurant recommendation. She was smart, very pretty, and delightful. I suppose I was meant to meet her. I hated saying goodbye at the station. People come and go so quickly here (movie reference; know which one?).
Back to the Main Reason for this Blog
Let’s return to why I feel so good about my life in Portugal. First and foremost, removing myself from a place where I wasn’t very happy, was a tremendous boost to my spirits and self-esteem. I took life by the balls so to speak. When you enter into a situation knowing that the change could and hopefully will improve your life, it gives you hope and the drive to push forward.
I found myself and Giorgio (my pooch at the time) in the position to reinvent myself. I wanted to relax more, care less about what others thought, embrace the European lifestyle, travel, and most importantly, take better care of myself — eat better, sleep more, have regular check-ups, and leave the world of answering to others behind.
It didn’t hurt that I found myself a place overlooking the Ria Formosa and Atlantic Ocean. When the high school is not holding classes, it’s peaceful and perfect and when the students are there it’s youthful and nerve-racking. I think it’s good to have the former to look forward to.
I am a man of many hobbies (e.g., cooking, reading, gardening, writing, film watching, home decorating, learning Portuguese, and keeping up with friends); therefore, I am never bored or at a loss for projects. You’ve heard retirees say, “How did I have time to work?” — that’s me.
I’m close to a large market for fresh fish and beautiful groceries (French owned with many French products), an open air farmers market on Sundays, two Lidl’s, an Aldi’s, many restaurants, numerous good coffee shops (latté one Euro everywhere — café com leite), several closed-to-traffic shopping streets with great stores for clothing, etc. a mall, a multi-screen cinema, a jazz club, great pet shops, good doctors, a wonderful vet, several rooftop bars with magnificent views, and parks everywhere. There is a big park next across from my apartment; it’s being totally renovated and I’m excited to see how it turns out — I liked how rustic it was before they started.
Now I’m certain you will read what I just wrote and think, “No wonder he loves Faro,” and you’d be right. But for some reason expats have stigmatized Faro as a town you only go to for the airport and train station. Whenever I have an expat friend over from another town, they make a comment about how they’d misjudged Faro. Some say, “I could live here.” I don’t really need the validation, but it’s nice to hear that others think I made a good choice. A friend from Manhattan recently purchased in Faro. She is a person of great taste and doesn’t decide anything lightly. This has been not only gratifying for me, but also validates my decision to settle here.
Odd as it may seem, I am happy to be one of a small minority of Americans. I navigate through Faro as a proud resident of a beautiful country and I think, I am an American in Faro.
Toulouse
Toulouse is quickly becoming my second city after Faro. I love everything about this French gem (I have blogged about Toulouse in the past). Ninety quick minutes on a budget airline and I am eating French classic dishes and drinking beautiful French wines. This city has everything I love about Paris, except that it’s less crowded, friendlier, and more affordable. I will only point out a couple of highlights since I am here to just be. Now pass the foie gras.
My airbnb is close to the center of Toulouse and has everything I could possibly need. My first night was quiet and comfortable and I slept nine hours. I think last time I slept-in was 1989. Nice hotels in Toulouse are close to 200 Euros a night and this Airbnb was just a little over 60 Euros a night. I don’t always choose an Airbnb, but for five nights I like a kitchenette and a quiet neighborhood (near everything).
I booked this very popular, modern French cuisine restaurant well over a year ago and then I had to cancel several times due to COVID-19 cancellations. They were extremely accommodating and it finally happened my second night in Toulouse. My one big splurge. The dishes were visually appealing and tasted magical. You have a choice between two tasting menus and nicely paired wines (optional). I spent about 65 Euros and for a meal of this caliber, that’s pretty good.
Went to Victor Hugo Market at lunchtime; it’s my favorite and a five minute walk from my Airbnb. After a sweet walkabout, I had lunch upstairs at L’Impériale. If you’re in the mood for authentic country French, it doesn’t get much better. Get there early because the place fills up quickly. They’ve got the charm and the service down pat. The cassoulet made me think about small country inns on the outskirts of Paris; a warm fire and hearty cuisine.
The dish pictured in the middle is an escargot crumble. It must have been cooked in reduced red wine; like many French country dishes. I never had anything like it. I lapped up the sauce with some good crunchy bread.
I sat across an elderly country at lunch. I assume it was a Good Friday fish day for them. It was one of those couples who have been together for 50 or 60 years; they say nothing out loud, but the words between them are sweet, filled with tortured and loving memories. Watching them through my invisible window was a privilege I do not take lightly.
Tonight I booked a Vietnamese meal to prepared in the home of a Vietnamese home cook. I found it on Airbnb. No doubt it will be memorable. I will add more tomorrow.
Vietnamese dinner at Vivi’s home: I love these “dine in someone’s home” experiences. Vivi moved to Toulouse after studying in Montreal. Born and raised in Vietnam where her family resides, Vivi was a delight to be with. She’s authentic, young, smart, a developer, a writer, and an excellent cook. There were two amazing things about this enchanting evening: first, it was just the two of us (not so good for Vivi) and second, Vivi’s warmth and willingness to share her story. Once again, I am grateful.
Vivi
I have a few more days here in France. Vivi told me about a Korean restaurant I will try for lunch. I purchased some good eats at the market yesterday and I’m just back from buying a crisp baguette at the local boulangerie. After a few days in a particular place you get to know where to shop and who serves the best latté. My favorite thing about an Airbnb is the ability to buy local food and eat in in a comfortable apartment setting. I will post now rather than wait so that I can enjoy the rest of my trip. If anything amazing or out-of-the-ordinary happens (it probably will), I will include it in my next blog.
Upcoming Travel Plans
In a few weeks I travel to Berlin, then on to Amsterdam, followed by Geneva, Milan, and Nantes. There are some small local excursions in between and a Northern European cruise in October. I have COVID-19 doubts about the cruise, but we shall see.
Lately I’ve been thinking that I am travelling too much and it’s wearing me out. I miss Paco and my creature comforts (the familiar). I admit my desire to explore and experience new things is currently stronger than the wish to curl under a blanket on my sofa with a good book and a glass of Portuguese red, but I suspect the latter will become more attractive over time. Until that happens, I will fight the urge to hibernate.
Feedback
I was feeling a bit down about my blog until my birthday came around. I received birthday wishes from quite a few friends and acquaintances and many of them encouraged me to keep blogging and posting photos. Honestly, I wasn’t sure anyone was listening or watching. Some of you have been following me since the beginning and I appreciate that. Since I am not one to disappoint . . . there’s no stopping me now (four years of consistent blogging). I’ve thought about self-publishing a book about living overseas, but isn’t that what I have right here on these pages? Perhaps a book containing chronicling highlights in the future. For now, this suits me just fine.
Au revoir pour le moment mes amis.
Please forgive spelling and grammatical errors; my proofreader is on vacation (ha!).
Much of the blog below was written at my one year milestone in Portugal. I thought after three years, a pandemic, a great deal of reflection, and trips to many places, I should provide new insights.
A Brief Overview(I’ll note updates)
I have pondered living outside of the United States my entire adult life. Until a couple of years ago, the opportunity had not presented itself. I moved to Maine, but it never felt like the right fit. When I’m unhappy I usually consider something I might do to change things up; leaving the country was my best option. I love America and will never give-up my citizenship. You just never know what the future has in store for you. Update: If anything, my decision to keep my U.S. citizenship is even stronger, without any doubt.
The Highs
I think the best part of leaving the States has been the ability to gain some perspective. A big move, such as the one I made, forces you to take inventory of your life. I left most of my material belongings behind. I didn’t put my things in storage, I got rid of them. I brought five suitcases full of memories I did not want to part with and clothing I hoped would fit for a long time. The purging of most of my material belongings was a good exercise for me. It made me realize that I can live without so much of what I have accumulated. It was also nice to start fresh. Update: I’ve always enjoyed buying new clothing as the seasons changed and my wardrobe wore out; not sure why, but when I left the U.S. I imagined myself wearing the same thing and buying very few new articles of clothing. After a short period of time I started feeling better about myself and I decided it would be good to wear comfortable, but stylish clothing. I came to Portugal and I found a style that I’m completely comfortable with: casual, smart and mostly cotton. The warmer climate is perfect for cotton fabric and I find the brighter colors and comfortable fit perfect for travel and local outings.
Having my little Paco (see photo above) in my life has been a wonderful and pleasant surprise. Giorgio is forever in my heart and I am forever grateful that he got me to Portugal and stayed with me until I was all tucked in.
The people in Portugal are gracious and welcoming. I have never felt like an outsider. I had dinner in a restaurant last week and when the owner learned that I was living in Faro, she gave me her cell number and said that I should call her if I ever needed anything. That’s just one example of the reception I have received. Update: I only went back to that restaurant once. I loved the coconut milk Thai soup and they took it off the menu — damn!It’s still true that Portuguese people are by and large, gracious and warm. I’ve made several close Portuguese friends (Swedish, British, Canadian, Brazilian, French, and German as well).
Taxes on property are much lower in Portugal. Condo maintenance is one-fourth the cost in Maine and one-tenth of what I paid in New York. Groceries are about 30% less. Insurance costs are a lot lower. There are bargain airlines that allow you to fly for less than 30 euros each way (if you carry a small bag onto the plane — I’ve learned how to pack more efficiently). Sometimes I wonder why things cost so much more in the States.
I know this is odd, but I had no idea that I would be only a little over two hours away from Seville, Spain and that it was an easy bus ride. It’s been a huge bonus to take two or three-day trips to one of my favorite cities. I love everything about Seville. Spanish culture is very different from Portuguese culture and there’s a whole lot to discover. Update: I actually spend a lot of time in Monte Gordo/Vila Real de Santo Antonio (VRSO)on the Portuguese side of the Spanish border. From there I can take a quick ferry over to Ayamonte, Spain. It’s about an hour by train, very reasonable, and a nice, easy respite. I have also been able to see parts of Spain I had not visited when I travelled with Alejandro.
The weather in the Algarve is amazing all year-round. With an average 300 days of sunshine, no humidity most of the year, and the temperature never dipping below 45 degrees, I have to say it’s hard to beat. There is often a beautiful breeze in Faro during the summer months because of where we are on the south side of the Atlantic. The beautiful and diverse beaches here are also more than I could have hoped for. Update: I rarely go to the beach, but it sure is nice to have it nearby. My skin doesn’t like the sun anymore.
The Little things that make a big difference:
Because there is very little humidity here, things like sponges and clothes never get that damp, musty odor.
No snow . . . ever! I loved snow until I couldn’t ski anymore (knee issues).
The Portuguese government has regulations prohibiting the use of pesticides in farming, no hormones, no food additives, etc. Eggs are bright orange and delicious and do not have to be labeled organic — all food is grown naturally.
Very little crime. I feel very safe. Update: a bit more since COVID.
Public transportation is cheap and efficient. City buses are less than a euro a ride and run frequently. Going outside the city is also easy and only a few euros. Buses and trains are never overcrowded. Not owning a car has been freeing and has saved me a good deal of money. My commitment to lessen my carbon footprint has been rewarding. It took me a while to figure out the system, but once I did, it was fairly easy. Update: I take the train rather than fly when possible. It’s that balance between doing what you love and doing what’s right.
Because we have an abundance of sunshine and great weather, I can cycle all year-round.
I have discovered many European healthcare products that are inexpensive and work well (i.e., face cream, toothpaste, pimple cream). I have a French grocery store a few blocks away and a fresh food market right above it. The outdoor farmer’s market travels from town to town and it’s in Faro on Sundays.
Labor is inexpensive. I have been able to do some very nice renovations to my apartment that did not cost me a fortune (i.e., french doors in my kitchen, tile work, painting).
Furniture is well-made here.
Update: Restaurants are increasing in number and quality in Faro. More ethnic food and close to home.
Incredible new friends
I love my gym and I try to get there six days a week.Annual membership, 245 Euros!
I have joined a croquet club: The Pink Flamingos. I usually play on Wednesdays; sometimes on Sunday as well. I also play Mah Jongg on Fridays and Mexican Train on occasion on Tuesday. My official retirement schedule and activities. I do all of this outside of a retirement community.
The Lows
Losing Giorgio to heart disease has been the worst thing that has happened in Portugal thus far. In truth, he would have had to be put down in the U.S. at some point; however, knowing that the climate change adversely affected his heart, made his death more difficult. The wide sidewalks were great because I could walk him without a leash. He loved our new home (parks and beaches) and that gives me great comfort.
I indeed miss my friends and family and that can be tough at times. I fortunately chose a place people want to visit and so, I’ve had more friends and family come to see me than I ever anticipated. It’s been quite a treat to show the people I love, my new home.
I’ve gained some weight and I’m not happy about that. Delicious pastries are everywhere and they’re so cheap. I think the novelty will soon wear off; either that or I’ll get tired of buying new pants. I’ve always had to work hard to keep the weight off, but aging makes this even more difficult. Update: I’ve been the same weight for a few years now. I keep active and I have accepted the fact that I will always be a bit overweight. I refuse to give up the food and drink that bring me happiness. All things in moderation.
Also, I hate my condo association and I will not go into why.
Flying back to the States is expensive. Currently, airfare back to the U.S. is 900 euros during the high season, April to July. I won’t be returning very often. There are bargain fares; however, you have to accept long layovers and not-so-great airlines. I like TAP — Air Portugal.
Update: A Canadian airline has a new route to Toronto from Faro. I will not recommend them until I’ve tried them. It looks like I can get there and back for 650 Euros. I’ll probably fly to a U.S. city from Toronto. I hate flying into Newark, JFK or Miami.
Did I Make the Right Choice?
There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that I chose the right country at the right time. Portugal is becoming more attractive to expats because real estate prices are reasonable; however, in the year since I purchased my condo, the value has risen by 20 percent. It will soon be just as expensive as everywhere else. I saw this happening with Spain 20 years ago. More importantly, I love it here. I love the people, I love the food, I love the weather, the quality of life, my location in Faro, my healthcare, and I love how it all makes me feel. I’ve mentioned this before, but I am 45 minutes to Spain by car and I can fly or take a train to several other European countries very easily. The time difference in other countries is only an hour or two and that’s manageable.
Update: I believe that I found my place.
Access to Travel
Faro is not a very large city; however, it is the capital of the Algarve and the airport is a fairly large hub. Multiple airlines fly direct to many cities throughout Europe. The rail system in Europe is also quite extensive and efficient. I can see the world more easily from my new home. I know that as I get older I will want to stay closer to home where I get to enjoy all the creature comforts. I sleep better in my own bed than anywhere else. Still I know it’s best to travel as much as possible; while I still can. Update: I have fully embraced the notion that I will someday (soon) be an old fuddy duddy that likes to stay home.
From Original Blog. Photos: I took these photos in Sagres, Portugal, a couple of days ago. Sagres is the furthest south and west you can go on the Iberian continent. It’s difficult to capture how truly peaceful and spectacular this part of the world is. It was an easy two and a half hour drive from my home. Update: I’ve returned numerous times.I have also fallen in love with Alvor (off-season).
I have decided to stop thinking long-term. I am open to possibilities I might not have ever considered before. I have two big trips coming up in 2019. After I return, perhaps a rescue dog? A pet would probably force me to stay put for a while, but that’s not a bad thing. I’m going to go the organic route on this decision and see where the future takes me. Getting older means aches and pains I did not anticipate and other small medical issues that I have to be dealt with. Staying on top of these things is important for long-term good health. When you get older, health becomes a priority. Update: all remains true. I did rescue Paco and I’m still “fairly” healthy. I thought I’d stop planning way ahead, however, I’ve given up trying, it’s what I do.
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” ― Soren Kierkegaard
“I have learned that if you must leave a place that you have lived in and loved and where all your yesteryears are buried deep, leave it any way except a slow way, leave it the fastest way you can. Never turn back and never believe that an hour you remember is a better hour because it is dead. Passed years seem safe ones, vanquished ones, while the future lives in a cloud, formidable from a distance.” ― Beryl Markham, West with the Night
“We don’t have to be defined by the things we did or didn’t do in our past. Some people allow themselves to be controlled by regret. Maybe it’s a regret, maybe it’s not. It’s merely something that happened. Get over it.” ― Pittacus Lore, I Am Number Four
Liverpool at the end of this coming week. Other travel will be mentioned in my Liverpool post. I’ve cancelled Asia in 2023. Due to COVID-19, there are too many considerations and changes to worry about. It will happen someday. The long flight to and from Cuba did me in, keeping me closer to Europe for a while.
No doubt I will disappoint a lot of people with this post. I never thought of this trip as a pleasure trip. I had read about, saw things and heard about injustices going on in Cuba my entire life; seeing it for myself has been something I felt I had to do for a long, long time.
This blog will not provide a great deal of information on sites to see or restaurants to visit (I will include some of that). It will be more about what I saw with my own eyes and what I learned speaking to the people who live in Cuba. Jet lag will play a role as well — moving through time zones has always been an issue for me.
I studied Sociology and I have an endless appetite for observing and taking apart human behavior; especially group think. Cuba, as I expected it would be, is unique and special in so many ways. Many people fled the country after the 1959 revolution (click for history) and more have fled since. I don’t want to make this a white paper on Cuban politics and how the United States places in all of that. Still, I’d like to make a few observations and share some thoughts on current conditions. You may sense some strong emotions; it’s still very raw.
Hotel
My travel agent gave me two options for my four nights in Havana. I decided to spoil myself for the housing part of the trip.
SO/Paseo del Prado, La Habana, was probably the most beautiful chain hotel (Sofitel) I have ever stayed in. Five star luxury with some kinks to work out. The property had been closed for a long while because of COVID. They were understaffed and the details were not attended to: no towels or water in the gym, one front desk receptionist, not ready at breakfast, etc. The view of the Atlantic from my room and the location of the hotel, made it a good choice. It is in the Malecón district in Havana.
First named Avenida del Golfo, is Cuba’s most famous sea-side avenue. The project was undertaken by Don Francisco de Albear, Cuba’s greatest engineer at the time. Albear came up with a complex but smart design for the seawall, which was to be a lot more than just a promenade.
SO/Paseo del Prado
Be warned: hotels in Cuba are owned by both private companies and the government. I believe the government has a 51% ownership, but I’m not 100% certain of that. You cannot use Cuban Pesos (CUPs) in hotels; you are have to use your credit card or ATM card and you are charged in U.S. dollars. This troubled me while I was there. I prefer not to get into the politics of the matter. I spoke to several hotel guests who disagree with the policy, but they shrug and say they have no control or say. I did, however, learn that individuals who work in these properties are State workers and they earn a bit more money than most people working in Cuba. Breakfast at the hotel was delicious; especially the made-to-order omelets. The pastries were just okay — probably better for me in the long run.
The other thing to mention was that I asked to remain in my room longer because I had a 11:30 p.m. (horrible time to fly) flight to Madrid. I was told it would be $50 for three hours or $250 till 7:00 p.m. Crazy to pay that kind of money; instead I used a “transit room” which had an ocean view and very comfortable furniture. It was secure and free of charge.
The hotel could exchange your dollars or euros, however, the rate is the government’s exchange rate (24 CUPs to the Euro) and I got 95 CPUs to the Euro on the street. People trade money on the street all over Havana. I don’t know how they get away with it or how it works, but it’s good for them and for you. I was told the government turns a blind eye to this practice. One of many oddities in Cuba.
Eateries
A vast majority of the restaurants in Havana are traditional and very basic. You will not see chain restaurants (a good thing) or a variety of ethnic non-Cuban restaurants. I did pass a couple of Italian restaurants with limited menus and I saw a Chinese restaurant, however, I’m pretty sure it was closed. Many restaurants were permanently closed all over Havana.
La Macorina, @LaComidaCubana, has live music on weekends and the food is excellent and well-priced. Higher-end traditional Cuban fair.
Elizalde, Empedrado, e\ Avenida Belgica y Villegas, La Habana Vieja, is in the Old Town. They have a more extended menu than most and the food is very good — extensive and excellent cocktail menu.
I had several other meals in Havana, however, I would have to say that the cuisine was not remarkable. I had lobster tail in one restaurant and although I was told it was fresh (off-the-boat) and local, it was overcooked. It’s almost a sin to overcook lobster, but I think the dish was $8.
It’s also important to keep in mind that food is scarce these days; I would imagine that restaurants have to fight for product. I did see many corner produce stands with decent fruits & vegetables displayed.
I did not travel to Cuba for the cuisine. I’ve been told that the best meals are prepared in people’s homes. Perhaps because of COVID, only one of these opportunities was presented to me and I thought 30 Euros was a bit high for a home cooked meal in Havana.
Music
Live music is everywhere; on the streets, in bars, in restaurants and coming from homes. Cubans love their Latin beats and so do I. I was extremely pleased to hear and see musicians throughout my trip. See Buena Vista Social Club later in this blog.
Art
Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes is located in the center of the city (near the Parque Central Hotel). Filled with Cuban art dating back to the 16th century, this is a must see. It’s a modern building where you can easily spend hours strolling many galleries.
Local artists were either featured in galleries or had their own galleries throughout the city. Most of what I saw was commercial art designed for tourists, but there were some galleries displaying expensive and magnificent art. I did buy a tile piece (see end of blog).
Two Excellent Tours
I booked an Airbnb walking tour for my first day in Havana. I had just come from a 2.5 ride from Varadero and I had many questions about what I had seen along the way. I also wanted to learn as much as I could about Cuba and Havana. Daniel was an excellent guide. A group of five Austrians had booked the tour, but they were no-shows. It was one of those tours where you pay a small amount and then tip accordingly. It basically means more money in the guide’s pocket as a result of a lower Airbnb service fee. Brilliant for Cubans who earn very little income.
Daniel sold this as a two tour. It was causal and informative. Daniel is a journalist who had recently graduated from university. He was candid and very much in love with his country. It was clear he had some strong thoughts regarding U.S. politics, but he was polite and checked-in before saying anything controversial. He got a large tip.
The second booking on my second day in Havana, was a Cigar and Rum Experience. Abel and his wife have just recently opened Café Virgo where the experience took place. I ended up being the only taker for this 1.5 hour tutorial. Good for me, not-so-good for Abel.
I had a slice of homemade buttercream frosted vanilla and chocolate cake at the café before the start of the experience. Abel was the perfect companion for my afternoon of learning how rum and cigars are made and why they pair so well — each compliments the other and both prime you for good conversation. It was relaxing and informative. Apparently, Romeo y Julieta are the primo cigars, made famous by Fidel Castro and other national treasures. I’m not much of a cigar smoker, but I now know how they are made and how to light them and smoke them. I also learned that a seven year old rum is a mixed blend of barrel aged rum, the minimum barrel having been aged seven years; some barrels can be older than seven years. We drank a Club Havana Rum aged at least seven years; smooth and smokey. It’s about 23 Euros a bottle ($25.50) and considered to be one of the best tasting rums in the world. We drank it straight; my way to drink fine alcohol and Abel told me that it was the correct way to drink it. Café Virgo is a sweet little café across the street from the American Embassy. Side note: I would never have imagined that the U.S. had an embassy in Cuba. I wish I’d known this prior to my visit, I would have felt safer going there.
Abel Carmenate: Facebook and Instagram, Cuba Tailor Made Tours with Abel, 53 52811152 (whatsapp), abelholacubatours@gmail.com. I highly recommend this experience.
Abel Carmenate
And So This Happened
I started posting some of my photos while I was in Havana. But first, I wanted to share what I’d seen on the streets of Cuba that day. I wrote about seeing a theft and it disappeared before I could finish. Then I thought, well, perhaps I accidentally erased it? I tried posting it again and it was once again removed. I know it’s a conspiracy theory, but I think the government monitored internet, saw what I was posting and removed it before it could be seen by others. I imagine this sort of thing happens in places like Russia, China, and many Middle East countries. I take my freedoms for granted, because that is all I know.
The Theft
I was walking on a crowded Old Town street and saw a man grab a woman’s neck and then run. It happened quickly and I wasn’t sure what I’d seen. The woman who was attacked was breathing heavily and holding her throat. Apparently, a man tried to steal her gold necklace. Since it didn’t come right off, he ran. She was fairly shaken by the incident and in truth, so was I. I was carrying a man bag with my phone, credit cards, and cash. I moved the phone and cash to my pocket and held my man bag close to my person. I was going to walk around for a few hours, but decided to go back to my hotel instead; I just didn’t feel safe. The rooftop pool and a novel, became my afternoon activity.
The following day I decided to go out with a small amount of cash (CUPs) and my phone. The weather was decent most of my trip; a bit humid, but not too hot.
The Buena Vista Social Club, was an option I chose to ignore. I had seen the documentary a few years ago and my interest was peaked, but when I looked at the menu, I decided it was not worth the money. I had a few people in Cuba tell me that people go there for the music, not the food. Admittedly, if I did go, the food would matter; therefore, I stayed away.
What I Learned From the Locals (I’ll be brief)
Looking for milk: My hotel room had an espresso machine (always good because of my wake-up time). I like milk in my coffee and I had a small refrigerator in my room where I could store it. I ventured out about 30 minutes after my arrival and before my walking tour. I went to a small grocery store near the hotel, however, they were closed for a private party. This was the first time I have ever encountered a grocery store closed for a party, but that’s Cuba for you. I asked the person who came to the door if it would be possible to purchase a small container of milk. Her English was poor and my Spanish is worse. She told me that I wouldn’t find leche anywhere in Havana. I laughed out loud and went back to the streets. This is when I discovered that people ran small businesses out of their homes. They will sell you just about anything they have, but no one had milk. They either shook their heads or said “no leche.”
I was out for about an hour looking for milk; during this time I was approached by no fewer than 20 people. They asked me where I was from and why I was there. While walking, I noticed all of the buildings were run down and the odor from many of them was foul. I engaged with some of these people and learned that milk might or might not be available the next day. I said, what about babies? How do babies get milk? I was told that they got milk when milk was available. This blew me away. Most of the individuals who approached me were looking for a handout. Honestly, I believe they truly need the money.
I went back to the hotel feeling sad and disappointed. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask the bartender in the lobby if he was selling milk. I was given a large glass of milk free of charge — he too received a large tip.
I was hounded by driver’s of the old iconic cars you see wherever you go. They all asked if I wanted a ride. I had no desire whatsoever to spend 30 Euros or more just to ride around Havana in an old car. I know that this is how these men made their living and that it is part of the tourist experience, but it’s not my sort of thing. I’m just an old cynic.
In the days that followed I spoke to several Cubans. I was surprised to learn that they, for the most part, are very happy people. Havana residents mostly live in once beautiful and opulent mansions with a large center courtyard. They are all now divided into many small living spaces. The buildings are mostly falling apart. My tour guide told me that the government (the State they call it) is responsible for repairs, but there are too many in need and no money available to get the job done. There were many unemployed people spending time on the street. I guess few people own cars, making for no traffic in most places. The Cuban government blames the American trade embargo. The United States is one of many countries who will not trade with Cuba. Yet still, Havana residents are happy and have great pride in their country.
Written the Morning of My Departure
I took this photo of the moon (see below) outside my window a few minutes ago. I am extremely emotional today. What I have seen over the last 10 days leaves me with with sobering and conflicting feelings. Although I was born in poverty and lived with little my entire childhood, what I experienced in Coney Island was nothing like what I have seen in Cuba. The poverty here is not so much about money; it has more to do with freedom; the freedom to find work that is fulfilling and feeds the family, the freedom to love freely (homophobia), the freedom to . . .
Yet, so many people I spoke to expressed happiness. Many told me that although they do not have much in the way of material things, they have life, they have loved ones, they have friends, a bed to sleep in, food to eat most of the time, and they have hope. Who am I to say they’re wrong or misguided. For most in Cuba, what they have is all they’ve ever known.
My tour guide told me that religion was forbidden after the revolution. I don’t know enough about this to address it. I did pass a couple of churches, but I do not believe they are currently used for worship.
I found this on the internet:
Is religion banned in Cuba?
The constitution provides for freedom of conscience and religion and prohibits discrimination based on religion; however, the Cuban Communist Party, through its Office of Religious Affairs (ORA) and the government’s Ministry of Justice (MOJ), continues to control most aspects of religious life, June 27, 2019.
Home
I know that it is the combination of weary travel and the abject poverty I just experienced, but am so happy to be home in Portugal. I chose a home where social democracy allows for people to live knowing that they will have food, water, healthcare, housing and a government that supports their freedom. Portugal is not a wealthy country, but most people here are well cared for.
It amazes me that I have to leave home to appreciate just how beautiful home is.
What I Purchased (besides rum)
She’s glued together
This is a ceramic tile I brought back, unfortunately, in four pieces. I told the gallery owner that I was afraid it might break and she assured me that she had packed tiles a thousand times and that it would not break. Someday I will listen to my own inner voice. Anyhow, here it is glued back together, a forever reminder of my journey to Cuba.
“Cuba may be the only place in the world where you can be yourself and more than yourself at the same time.“
Pedro Juan Gutierrez
Part One
MELIÁ INTERNACIONAL VARADERO Varadero, Cuba
I’m going to do something a bit different this trip; I’m going to write about it in two parts. Part One will be while I am in Varadero and Part Two will be after I leave Havana.
Not many things give me more satisfaction than to rant, therefore, I will begin with one that will placate my soul.
Impressions Thus Far
I don’t like to fly east when I’m headed west. There are over 25,000 commercial airplanes and more than 5,000 airlines in the world and they couldn’t create a more direct route to Cuba? These days when you have to vaccinate, no triple vaccinate, test, inform governments of your whereabouts, spend hours and hours at the airport while airlines drag you through the tedious process of checking-in; making sure that every ridiculously random requirement is met , mask up for the entire duration of a flight (but no worries, the virus doesn’t show itself when 400 people are eating their much anticipated airline food), deal with angry people who resent having to go through this tedious process so that they can finally hug grandma after two years of waving on Facetime. After two flights and 12 hours suffocating in a petri dish in the sky, I arrived in Cuba. “They’ll be someone outside the baggage area holding up a sign with your name on it;” at least that’s what the travel agent told me. So after taking an Uber to the train in Faro, and then another train to the Lisbon station, followed by yet another train to the airport, a three hour wait for a flight to Madrid — chaotic and way out-of-the-way mind you, another long wait for a flight to Havana, the last thing I wanted to do at midnight in a different time zone, is look for my name among hundreds of frustrated tourists and thick tropical humidity I haven’t experienced in several years. Nope no Christopher Papagni or Chris Papigmy or Mr. Pagannini, C. Papa, Papadopolous, none of the above. I was delirious and asking random strangers if they knew that I was coming to Cuba. It was another one of those “he must be American” moments. After dozens of fruitless inquiries, I came upon a very relaxed gentleman holding up a “Travelplan” sign. I approached anticipating rejection and and rigorous head shaking . He asked me my name and then said, “Yes, I’ve been waiting for you.” How the fuck was I to know to look for a sign that read Travelplan. I took and deep breath and followed him. We walked for quite a bit. When you’re that tired your mind starts to come up with all sorts of possible scenarios. If I’m murdered in Cuba will the American government try to find my body? I am still American after all. Come on, I thought, the Cuban MIssile Crisis was a long, long time ago and Fidel Castro is no longer a threat. We arrive at a large transport bus and I ask if that’s how I’m being taken to Varadero — no reply. I’m handed over to two Cuban gentleman who inform me that I am the first of 18 passengers going to various hotels in Varadero. I said, no, no, no, I’m going to take a taxi. I was informed that Varadero was 2.5 hours away and that a taxi would run me quite a few pesos. The bus driver said, “No te preocupes, la tuya es la segunda parada.” (Don’t worry, yours is the second stop). In my deranged and irrational mind, my travel agent was, at that very moment, being roughed up by a thug or two in a dark alley in Warsaw. The bus driver told me to have a seat in the bus while we wait for the remaining 17 passengers. I could see in the distance that the hundreds of people waiting outside of the terminal, were gone. Holy shit, I thought, these people we are waiting for could be on an early morning flight. I boarded the bus and prayed that an early death would come and put me out of my misery. I dozed off and was awakened by Russians chatting all around me. Yes, the other passengers were Russian and they seemed to have a lot to say. One of the two Cubans I had originally encountered approached me and and informed me that if I wanted Cuban pesos, I had better get them from him. He pulled up the government’s exchange rate on his phone and told me that my hotel’s rate would be even less to my advantage. He could give me a 35 pesos to one euro rate and that my friend is one hell-of-a-deal! At that point I was happy to have something good come my way and I handed him forty euros; in return I received 1400 pesos in small bills. I’m going to momentarily take a detour and share that my bellman at the hotel offered me a 70 to one exchange rate only hours later. It was a minor con job, but my lifetime belief that I am a savvy traveller has forever been shattered. I digress a bit, but you see, I am jet lagged and broken. The bus ride to Varadero took an eternity and all I could think was that I paid for this night at the hotel and wouldn’t be using it; this is not some flea bag spot in an obscure location, this is a five star, all inclusive resort we’re talking about. Was it a late check-in or an early check-in? A question that will haunt me for the rest of my life.
I should tell you tell two things: 1) I normally do not do travel agencies; I love the process of doing research and finding bargains and gems, and, 2) I don’t do all inclusives.
But this trip was different. I couldn’t just book a trip to Cuba when I lived in the United States. The government made it difficult to go and my one solid opportunity fell through when I was volunteering with the James Beard Foundation. The owner of The French Culinary Institute informed me that she needed me more than I needed Cuba. So for years, this journey has been calling my name in the wee hours of the night. By being a Portuguese National, I could get a visa and finally go. I started searching on the internet; where to stay and how much it would cost me, however, I quickly learned that the information was convoluted and confusing; I’m pretty sure that’s on purpose. A travel agent who could navigate the confusion was the only way to go.
So yes, I finally made it to the resort close to sunrise. I entered my very beautiful room on the straits of Florida (the body of water outside my window). I was told that breakfast would be available in two hours, but I figured sleep was more important than food; I drew the curtains and closed my eyes for 45 minutes. Despite my comatose state, I was too excited to sleep.
First Impressions
I need to begin with a disclaimer:
As a result of my position at The French Culinary Institute in New York City, I have travelled extensively and wined and dined at some of the most famous restaurants in the world. This has made me a food snob and I make no apologies. I also had a father whom I still consider to be one of the finest cooks I’ve ever known. Hence, the reason I despise all-inclusives. I prefer dishes prepared for one person or a small group of people, to those prepared for the masses. I also live in Portugal where hospitality standards are high and the people who provide services are exceptionally nice. And the food in New York City where I was born, is hard to beat as well.
In addition to all of this snobbery, I also like what I like and I prefer to sleep on a good mattress and not have to worry about bed bugs. Judge me as you wish.
And . . . people always say take lots of pictures. Let it be known that I am practicing living in the moment; that usually does not include picture taking — I will try my best.
Keep in mind that I booked this trip over two years ago and it’s been postponed three times. Getting to Cuba has been more difficult than running in the New York City marathon and that was painful, emotionally trying, and mentally exhausting.
I’ll start with the negatives I have experienced thus far:
The coffee in the dining room (breakfast and lunch) at this resort is like subterranean mud served with watered down milk. I am seriously addicted to caffeine, therefore, I have no other option but to suffer in silence. Starbucks would be a good option and I hate Starbucks. The pastries taste like cardboard covered in way too sweet cream. Savory dishes have very little seasoning and the bread is . . . let’s just say, an imposter — looks can be deceiving.
There are small children everywhere. I was pretty certain I would be in Cuba while school was in session all over the work, on-line or in-person. Aren’t these people at all concerned about COVID and/or the attainment of knowledge?
The hotel does not take Cuban pesos. I know. I’m in Cuba and I was conned into a shady exchange, but nobody told me I couldn’t pay with the countries currency. I asked the receptionist who checked me in and her reply was: “This is Cuba.” I have since heard the same words uttered 63 times and it’s only my second day in the country. Fortunately, they prefer euros and I did bring some of those.
As promised, the resort does have “free” WiFi. It’s setup so that you can only be connected on one device at a time. The username is 18 characters and the password another ten. If you move 15 feet, you are disconnected and you have to sign in again. I’ve signed in so many times in 48 hours, I know all 28 characters by heart and my memory is not one of my strong suits. I can’t get into many of my accounts or go onto secure sites; I can only guess why that is. Life without Spotify is meaningless.
One more gripe and then I will share some good stuff. I have come to an all inclusive high-end resort. But . . . you know how it feels when you’re sitting in the first row after first class on a plane? You see things through the crack of the curtain, the curtain designed to protect you from the reality of your economic status. Lest not my hotel remind me that I am middle class and on a retiree budget; you see, they have this thing called “the level.” If your wealthy enough to afford it, you stay in an “adults only” section of the hotel, dine in separate spaces with elevated cuisine (I think the food is better), and enjoy other amenities I have chosen to block out. I have seen several guests go there; not to be seen or heard from again. To this I say, let them eat cake.
What I Love So Far
The Cuban people I have had the pleasure to meet, are gracious, proud, lovely and they appreciate that you have come to their country to enjoy yourself and spend money; money they badly need. They cannot do enough to make you happy. It’s genuine and sincere. This alone was reason enough to come.
My mattress is unbelievable. My bed is firm and cushiony at the same time and the linen on my bed is buttery soft. The pillows are equally as comfortable and numerous. My room is spacious; the ocean can be viewed from my bed or the large balcony. When I close the door to the room or balcony, I hear nothing; open and the waves soothe any thoughts of the outside world.
To my pleasant surprise all beverages were included in the price I paid. Gratuities are welcome, but that I am happy to oblige. The wine is Chilean and actually quite good. Cuban rum flows like water and you don’t have to wait long for anything. There are numerous beautiful and tasteful places to enjoy the sun, a cocktail, and a good book. The beach is directly in front of the resort; the sand is powdery soft, and the turquoise sea is warm and calm.
I was not told the following when I booked the resort or when I checked in, but I get to eat at two of the four restaurants onsite (an alternative to all-you-can-eat) for dinner. I have already talked my way into a third. They do this sort of thing on cruises; it’s designed to make you feel special and that you have an abundance of marvelous choices. I admit it’s nice to have options. There is also a 24 hour snack bar just in case you become peckish between. You know how much energy it takes to sit by a pool or walk to and from the dining hall. I would have preferred quality over quantity, but my opinion doesn’t matter, I am alone in this world.
The weather is close to perfection; you get an abundance of sun and then a fantastic downpour at the end of the day (the case so far). The Algarve doesn’t get much rain, therefore, when the sky opens here, I rejoice. The warmest part of the day goes up to about 85 degrees and the nights are pleasant. There is a bit of humidity, but I tell myself it’s better for my skin.
The resort has live music day and night. The gym is excellent. They fill your mini bar twice a day — also included in the price I paid.
I found a beautiful painted tile by Manuel Hernandez, a well-known Cuban artist (see photo in my next blog; it’s all wrapped up for travel). I will cherish it and it will always remind me of this journey.
No excursions until I get to Havana. This part of the trip is about resting my mind. Swimming with dolphins and party boats have their time and place, not now.
Prologue: I had dinner at Casa Nostra, the Italian option, last night. It may be considered Italian in Littlerock, but I expected better from a five star resort.
Reading
I am reading The Every by Dave Eggers. It takes place about twenty years into the future; it’s foreboding and way too realistic. Social media, government intervention, political correctness; it will scare the shit out of you and you will laugh your ass off, but only because we are headed in the direction Eggers writes about. I highly recommend this read.
Side note: Today I tried the snack bar as an alternative to the buffet lunch. Unless it were 3:00 a.m. and you couldn’t pick yourself out in a line-up, you’ll want to stay away.
One of the many reasons I wanted to come to Cuba
Forgive any typos or unkind remarks, I have awful jet lag.
Spontaneity is a meticulously prepared art. — Oscar Wilde
I’m plugging this bit in before publishing: After writing and updating this blog, I have come to realize that I will always be a planner; one who is rarely, very rarely, spontaneous. I think I’m okay with that. As a matter of fact, I know that I am okay with that.
An unplanned and lovely, long weekend in Alvor, Portugal — met up with friends, old and new.
This is Roger. We meet a couple of years at a boat graveyard in Faro. Roger is a very interesting chap with a history that can entertain for hours. By chance, Roger just happened to be docked in Alvor for the winter. We had two spontaneous get togethers over the course of an unplanned weekend.
So How Does this On the Fly Thing Work?
I blogged this statement over a year ago . . .
Spontaneity is a goal I have been striving to achieve since I could spell the word. Seriously, I could teach the armed forces a thing or two about order and precision. I want to be unpredictable, but that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.
Why Routine and Checking Boxes Work
We are creatures of habit and we find great comfort in routine. For me, it’s waking up, playing ‘torture Paco’ in bed, and quiet time with my morning coffee out on the terrace (weather permitting). It delights me so; it gets me out of bed in the morning excited to start the day. I add the gym and a trip to the market to the mix and I am thrilled to be alive, but that’s not good enough.
My “To Do” list also offers great comfort. Chores and projects I am eager to check off as completed. It provides a sense of accomplishment and a satisfying feeling. I don’t like how good it makes me feel because like any addiction, it’s hard to stay away from the things that make you feel good.
Don’t try this at home: I actually fill my hourly calendar with small chores (i.e., feed Paco, tighten eyeglasses) so that it makes me feel like I have a lot going on. Throughout the day I delete these items and each time I remove something from my date book, I get a little adrenalin rush — sick right? And I’m only sharing part of it.
The Benefits of Spontaneity
I have been telling myself that being more spontaneous and less scheduled, is good for me. When I have been able to break out of my daily routine and do something just because I felt like it or because someone called and said let’s do xy or z, it was more often than not, very satisfying.
There have been several unforgettable moments in my life that I can happily recall; the irony is, many of these moments were unplanned. If this is the case, why do people like me spend so much time mapping out every minute of their lives. The satisfaction I get from checking boxes on my to do list doesn’t come close to the positive feelings I have taken away from an unplanned outing. The only explanation I have is that the routine is daily and the unplanned is rare. The mind is so powerful, it forces your “go to” behavior right back to the safe, the familiar, the known. Like any other thing in life you are committed to, you have to work hard to change it.
What I force myself to consider:
The feeling I have when a surprise is exciting and new.
What occurs in my life when something unexpected changes my day. The snowball effect of positivity.
How changing things up takes your mind away from the small/minor things that bog you down.
How short life truly is and how the mondaine can eat up your time.
My desire for adventure and change.
How much I believe other people enjoy my spontaneity.
Coloring outside of the lines can be risky because you never know what the outcome might be. This makes whatever it is you are doing that much more exciting. The unknown can be titillating and growth fostering.
A short story: A few years ago I was riding the subway; the same train I squeezed myself into daily. After another horrendous day at work, I got home and thought something has got to give. I called a friend who had joined me on a couple of adventures and asked her if she might like to meet me in Belize. Without hesitation, she said yes. There was a Madonna song that I heard in my head a thousand times; the lyrics went like, “. . . last night I dreamt of San Pedro,” and that’s where I had to go. San Pedro is a small island. You can get to it by ferry from Belize City — it’s a very pleasant two hours on your way to paradise.
This trip was without a doubt one of the most memorable getaways of my life. I only had a short time to plan and hardly any of the details were mapped out (eg., excursions, meals). I decided to allow my days in Belize to be organic; to wake up naturally, to eat when I was hungry, and to do basically nothing unless I was moved to do otherwise. For the most part Kathy, who is much more relaxed than I am, and I, stuck to our plan. The resort was fairly quiet and clearly, this is an island you go to to chillout. This was a time in my life when chilling was medicinal and restorative. Keeping my mind and days uncluttered allowed me to think freely. I was able to take long walks with Kathy and spend quite a bit of alone time on an unspoiled, virtually empty beach. I returned home enlightened and resolute. It was during this time that I made the decision to resign from my position at The International Culinary Center and leave New York City. Possibly two of the best decisions of my life.
This is one of the many reasons I am convinced that spontaneity provides a space for out-of-the-box thinking. I believe we schedule ourselves to the max in order to avoid organic thinking; our fear of the possibilities life might present bog us down and keep us from truly being free.
Ways to Get Yourself to Loosen Up
Here are some of the the things you can do to be more spontaneous:
I know this will seem crazy, but you can pencil it in. Don’t write what you will do, but when you might do it. Say you open your date book or laptop calendar on on Thursday morning you’ve written “do something you’ve never done before.” It will force you to think of something on the spot and then follow through and do it.
Tell your friends you are trying to be more spontaneous and have them call you when they are about to do something fun or different. Although this never happens to me because my friends know that if it’s not planned in advance, it’s probably not happening.
Allow yourself days where absolutely nothing is planned.
Talk to yourself about the pleasures of discovering the unknown.
Wake up, pack a bag, and take a trip to a place you’ve never be.
Throw away the leftovers and go to a new restaurant (call someone and ask them to join you and then treat them).
If you have a guest room, do something as simple as sleeping in a different room in your own house.
Imagine a Life Where You Do What You Want, When You Want
Use your imagination to consider a world where you are free of the bondage you have inflicted upon yourself. We lie to ourselves to keep from doing something crazy. We tell ourselves we’ll get into trouble, that we have no money or that we’ll lose all of our money, that freedom will make us seem undisciplined, hard work is the only way to achieve happiness, that minor indulgence leads to frivolity and a loss of control, and so on and so forth.
I will, no doubt, continue to plan most of my life going forward. It’s not even about teaching an old dog new tricks, it’s about comfort — the older you get, the more you seek comfort, stability, and routine. Still, I figure if I keep reminding myself about Belize, I may occasionally surprise myself by choosing to hit the road less travelled.
Last bit before publishing: I decided today to do something that I’ve not done since moving to Portugal. I’m going to Tavira to play Mexican Train (a fun domino-like game). I’m taking the train to meet the group this morning. This is as spontaneous as I get; it should be fun.
Travel Update
It looks like Cuba is actually happening. This is literally my fifth attempt. I have plane and train tickets, hotels reservations (three different hotels: Lisbon, Varadero, and Havana), Airbnb experiences booked, and it’s less than two weeks away, but I have already started packing — this is not a spontaneous trip.
Liverpool in March and then back to Toulouse in April. I’m thinking of perhaps a couple of spontaneous three day trips here in Portugal in between.
Lots planned for the spring and summer, but I have learned that with our unpredictable virus, it’s best not to get too excited, too soon.
“There are only two things. Truth and lies. Truth is indivisible, hence it cannot recognize itself; anyone who wants to recognize it has to be a lie.” Franz Kafka
My mother’s lies taught me two things: First, and most harmful, it was acceptable to lie, and second, secrets are impossible to keep and dangerous.
I had a beautiful half-sister who died a horrible premature death several years ago; she was in her mid-forties. Shortly before she passed, Grace found our brother Anthony, dead, with a needle in his arm; it was her birthday. She was already mentally and physically far gone by then and I’m certain, finding Anthony lifeless in her own home, must have sealed her fate.
My sister Grace or Gasha (the way we spelled it), as she was known to close family, was a troubled child. She wore thick glasses and was labeled “four eyes” by her siblings and peers. We also called her monkey because of her button nose; kids can be mean and we, her brothers and sisters, were the cruelest of all. I am not claiming innocence; in fact, I may have been the worst culprit. Perhaps it was the secret I held onto that drove me to cruelty.
My parents argued a lot; in fact, they argued night and day. My father would come home from work at midnight and my mother would dig in her hateful claws. Having been exposed to this behavior early on, I worked hard to tune them out and fantasize about a quieter world that I knew existed elsewhere. In fact, this is the reason I choose to spend a lot of time alone today. My memory of their relentless rage goes back to pre-school and a time when I was too young to understand the complicated world of adult behavior. One particular memory is vivid because it involved a lie I did not understand at the time; I may have been five or six years old.
Many angry words were exchanged during one very loud shouting match and most of those words were as difficult to comprehend as a foreign language. For some reason I held onto something my father said, “Gasha is not my child.” At the time I thought it was odd for my father to say such a thing and so, I dismissed those words from my thoughts. Every so often I found myself daydreaming and reflecting on what he said. As I grew older and more inquisitive, I continued to wonder why my father said this to my mother. I looked at my sister differently because of what my father said. I naturally wondered who her father might be, if it were not my father. I was not aware of an affair my mother had with her first husband while she was married to my father.
When I turned nine, there was a lot going on around me; my only living grandparent passed, my mother was divorcing my father and marrying my stepfather, and I was repressing my sexuality (I remember having some strong feelings toward one of my mother’s male friends). My mom and I would occasionally spend quality alone time together — rare because she had seven children. On one of these occasions, I decided I would ask her about Gasha. My mother had a way of drawing me in as a close confidant and then shoving me away. I can’t blame alcohol because she wasn’t a drunk, but her father was an alcoholic and physically abusive; perhaps it was his influence. As a child I longed for the kind of closeness where you felt honest love and affection — not likely to get it from my mother, but I never stopped trying. Psychologists would say that I will continue to search for this love until I die; I’m fairly certain that is true.
We were sitting on her bed watching an old black and white film and she was running her fingers through my hair. I may have been as happy with my mom at that moment as I would ever be. I thought it was a good time to address my curiosity.
Ma, who is Gasha’s father?
My mother pushed me to the edge of the bed and said, “Where do you get these ideas?”
I told her that I had overheard an argument she had with my father a few years earlier; she told me that I was imagining things.
“Who would Gasha’s father be if it wasn’t your father? Honestly Chris, I worry about you.”
I wanted to believe my mother, so I let it go . . . until a few years later when this happened:
I was having dinner with my father at the restaurant where he worked; a once a week ritual. Our meals were very special to me. We spoke openly and earnestly. I’m pretty sure I was in my teens at this point. I had accidentally seen my parents marriage license and came to learn that my mother and father didn’t marry until I was three years old. I’m not sure why, but it didn’t bother me. My dad told me that they couldn’t marry because my mother’s first husband was in prison and there was a law about divorce and incarceration back then. He said that they married as soon as they legally could. I shrugged and decided this would be a good time to ask about Gasha. I sort of tricked my dad and acted like I knew for certain that Gasha was not his biological daughter.
When I asked him who Gasha’s father was he said, “Joe is her father, but I adopted her and so she’s legally my daughter. How did you know about this? Did your mother tell you?”
I shared that I had overheard an argument between the two of them when I was a kid and he grabbed my face and squeezed my cheeks; something he did to show affection. He hardly ever said anything negative about my mother; I wish I could say the reverse were true.
When I asked him how she ended up with Joe while married to him, he said, “Your mother has always been a bit wild.”
Truer words had never been spoken. Now that I knew my suspicions about Gasha were true, I had to consider what this meant for my relationship with her, how I felt about my mother lying to me, and whether or not I should share the truth with Gasha and our siblings. I knew early on that it would not be fair to share the truth with her. It was my mother’s place to tell her. I was tormented by the lie. I did not approve of my mother’s infidelity and I could not understand why she denied the truth all those years ago. In my mind, I could never truly trust my mother again — in truth, I doubted her always. I’m also certain that I felt betrayed by my mother and it has had an affect on every loving relationship in my life.
My mother did eventually tell Gasha who her biological father was. I’m not sure when or where it happened. My brothers and sisters found out at some point as well. It seemed to me at the time that no one cared about the indiscretion or the lie. I questioned my own reaction to it: had I made too much of it? Did it really matter? As an older adult, I am still questioning the lies I faced as a child and young adult — there were many others.
I recall often looking at Gasha and wondering who she resembled. When she would behave a certain way that was odd to me, I would explain it by considering who her father was or was not. Gasha had a severe eating disorder and made several bad choices in her life. She was angry, she isolated herself from those who cared about her, she refused to acknowledge her disorder, and she trusted no one. I cannot help but wonder if the knowledge that she was conceived during a torrid affair, had had a huge impact on her life and her ability to cope. Knowing her biological father was willing to allow my father to adopt her, must have tormented Gasha throughout her life; her self-worth was shattered.
My mother had a very complicated relationship with her and Gasha was resentful of the way she saw my mother treating the rest of us; she seemed to always feel slighted. I was aware of both the way she was treated and the way Gasha perceived it. I had conflicting feelings about my sister. There was a part of me that believed she didn’t belong and I’m not proud of those feelings. At the same time, I felt sorry for her.
Gasha’s downward spiral was difficult for me to watch. She married trailer park trash and she had a child with him. Her husband shot himself in the head early on in their marriage. I remember visiting her in Knoxville, Tennessee and thinking that there was hope that she’d come out on top of all the drama in her life. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Bulimia took hold of my sister in her early 20s and never let go. All four of my mother’s daughters suffered from some sort of eating disorder as a result of my mother’s obsession with weight. Gasha lived in complete denial — the disease and the consequences of starving one’s body of nutrients eventually ended her life. Her two children suffered the most; watching her abuse herself on a daily basis, had to be impossible to observe. Out of respect for my niece and nephew, I will refrain from commenting on their current lives.
The question is, was it the lie that destroyed Gasha’s life or was it her personality and the circumstances of her illness? I guess we’ll never know for sure. What we do know is that shielding her from the truth all of those years was not productive or right. If her biological father had stepped up and assumed his role as her father, might she have been stronger and felt more loved? I have to believe she would have embraced her father and adjusted to her circumstances. After all her two oldest sisters had the same biological father. But after being adopted by my father, Gasha, was instead forced into a situation she did not ask to be in and was prevented from being with a father she might have grown close with. I’m not a psychologist, however, I am fairly certain that Gasha was thrust into a situation that would have caused anyone pain and anxiety. It was a lot for a young person to take on, and in truth, she had to endure the ramifications of this terrible lie, on her own. It’s a small miracle she was even with us into her forties.
When faced with the reality of a difficult truth or keeping a secret, always go with the truth. As hard as it is to share that secret and cope with its consequences, that reality is far better than living a lie — that’s my truth.
“When you check your own mind properly, you stop blaming others for your problems.”
Thubten Yeshe
I have grown to love Alvor, Portugal and have returned to the same hotel room several times. Peaceful sounds of nature never disappoint.
Travel
So far Cuba next month is a go. There will be testing on both ends. I know there will be additional hassles, but this is something I have wanted to do for a long time. I couldn’t travel to Cuba when I lived in the States, so now is a good time to make the trip. I promise a blog or two when I return.
There are scheduled trips to France, Italy, the UK, Northern Ireland, Germany, the U.S., Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, and Hong Kong, in 2022 and early 2023. COVID-19 has put the kibosh on many planned trips over the last two years; I can only hope I’ll get to go.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately; 2040 is not so far away and no doubt, the world will have changed; just wondering how much. The big questions seem silly to ask, but curiosity has gotten the better of me. What’s the weather like? How many mutations of Coronavirus have been discovered? Is Ivanka Trump president? Who in your orbit is still around?
There are of course things I’m certain remain true. Those certainties that have stood the test of time: the fear of God, every man or woman for his or her self, stupidity, denial, illness, religion, love and Cher. Self-destruction of humankind seems inevitable; however, I can’t help wondering if that’s how you’ll go.
The planet has always gone through stages of birth, death, and re-birth; that is a constant. The big question on my mind is what lessons have been learned? Knowing that society’s changes are often temporary and uneven, I cannot help wondering how the billions of earth’s inhabitants are experiencing their current reality. How many billions are there by the way? As usual, I digress.
Allow me to explain my reason for writing. As a pragmatic cynic, I never had much faith in my fellow human. I watched too many of my neighbors place plastic in the organic bin. It wasn’t that I wondered if they cared, it was more that I knew they didn’t. Unfortunately, that’s what age does to you — you’ve seen too much to hold onto blind hope. Yes, there are rare exceptions to the rule. There are moments when you think that people have changed. But, as we know, history repeats itself and humankind makes more missteps than progress. Isn’t that what being human is?
You were always one to defend ignorance, therefore, I’m certain you’re spending more time defending and less time explaining. But are you mostly happy? Or maybe you been around long enough now to realize that happiness is relative.
Knowing that you are a dreamer, there are some other things I have been wondering about. For instance do you continue to care what others think? I suspect you do. That was an elusive lesson no matter how much you tried to detach; proving that imprinting early on is almost impossible to alter. I’m hopeful that the effects of gossip and idle chatter have softened you over time. As your taste buds only got stronger as you got older, I’m hopeful that this consistent pleasure, remains intact. I can’t help imagining that the walks have gotten longer and your bedtime earlier. The quiet of the morning hours becoming more of a comfort, as the messages from loved ones are more than likely, less frequent. I’m certain you expect less and long for even less.
What I hope for more than anything else, is that you have found peace. The ability to laugh at absurdity; comfort in your tears. Also, that loss has somehow passed you by or that time has only taken those you were prepared to let go. I know that you often think fondly of Ashley, Giorgio, and Paco. The dogs who taught you more about life and love than most of the humans you encountered.
If there is anything I can help you with as the get closer to death, let it be this: time is your most precious possession. Cherish time, forget regret, love yourself first, dance when you feel like dancing, sing anywhere you like, love without fear, embrace your authentic self, if the play sucks, walk out, do not give away time to those who do not deserve it and spend time with those who do. And for once in your life, do not allow guilt to enter your heart and/or mind.
I want to be a good listener, truly I do. I also want to believe that everyone has a right to an opinion and that one’s opinion is valid. These days everything gets blamed on social media, disinformation, and fake news. However, I suspect that human beings had opinions way before the advent of social media.
Are you tired of a particular person expressing their opinion? Some people seem to believe that they have the god given right to share their opinion with everyone. Does it seem like some individuals believe that they are an expert on every subject, therefore, their opinion is gospel?
It seems that the world is so divided that the opinion of others is not truly valid unless it is an opinion that you (the collective you) share. Trying to convince another person that their opinion might be less than 100% correct, is nearly impossible in most cases.
I have been trying to figure out a way to mitigate the universe of opinions I appear to reside in. Do I just listen and stay quiet? Do I interrupt and politely let the individual know that I am not interested? Do I listen and then try to engage in a debate? Do I assume that the person I am listening to is open minded or are they more likely locked-in to a certain mindset? I know you might be wondering if it matters. I’m here to tell you it matters.
The Know it All
This personality type is hard to take. Doesn’t matter what topic comes up at the table, this person knows better. I’ve learned that staying quiet is the only way to shut this individual down. If you speak up and attempt to argue, you are only fueling the fire. Sometimes this person comes with their entourage, their tribe, the people who agree with everything they say and suck-up to them. If you encounter this unfortunate situation, the thing to do is either leave the party or walk into another room. If you’re reading this thinking: “I wonder if Chris is talking about me?” I am.
One of the many maddening things this person does is interrupt you as soon as you open your mouth to speak. If you dare try to continue and speak your truth, they raise their voice and succeed in drowning you out. This type will never change and therefore, it’s best to let them go or pay them no mind. Any of this ring true for you?
The Individual Who Agrees With the Opinion of the Moment
I once had an acquaintance who found great satisfaction is touting whatever the leader at the moment was selling. Didn’t matter what oral diarrhea was spewing forth, those were the very words this person shouted for all to hear. I wanted to say, do you have your own opinion? But I dared not, knowing they would only get defensive and tell me that I needed to respect this leader because they were “fill in the blank.” I have been banned from a party because I presented an opposing argument. Well, that’s a party I’d prefer not to attend.
The Person(s) Who Follows the Opinion of Just One Other Person
There is an individual in my world who is the “unofficial” head of the family or tribe. He or she is funny, charismatic, attractive, and ultimately the keeper of the keys. Just about everyone in his or her orbit waits to hear their opinion and then they follow whatever it is. Don’t you dare try to challenge this person or have your own opinion, because if you do, you will be labeled “the black sheep, the crazy liberal, the person who only believes these silly notions because he’s gay or black or brown or gullable.”
What troubles me most about this particular individual, is that their beliefs and ideals are ultimately racist, sexist, elitist, and/or homophobic, but they are smart enough never to say the words black or women or gay; instead they use the words God, immigration, and values, to cloak their truth and instead spew hate and fear.
I know, it’s a dark opinion, but here, in my blog, is where I get to speak my truth.
People Who Are Afraid to State Their Opinion
These are the people I pity the most. I know they have an opinion, but for whatever reason, they are afraid to speak up. There are actually people among us that believe if they oppose the leaders of our country, they will be jailed or audited by the IRS. I cannot imagine having to live with this kind of fear. Freedom of speech is one of the many privileges of being a U.S. citizen.
The Individual Who Will Always Oppose Your Opinion, No Matter What That Opinion Is
I enjoy a good debate with an intelligent and informed individual. It’s stimulating, provocative and ultimately, may persuade me to change my way of thinking; nothing wrong with that. But among us are people who get off on arguing with others, whether they believe what they are putting out there or not. It’s impossible to reason with them; their goal being to make you look bad and admit you are wrong. I have no patience for this character; if this is you, please target someone else. I implore you to look elsewhere for a victim.
The Person With No Opinion
This is the person who will always say, “I don’t know what to think,” or I don’t have enough information to respond.” Really? Do a little research: what do the scientists say, historians, experts who have studied the subject matter for many years, study the facts, for example.
I know, I know, it means one has to put forth a bit of effort. This is what I find troubling about the freedom to vote; so many of us who vote, have not done any fact finding — it’s about what the average Joe on the street says instead. This is how conspiracy theories are perpetuated. The saddest thing is when an intelligent person who once had a mind of their own, succumbs; it’s an awful thing to watch.
You
That leaves you. Wondering what to say and how to say it? Deciding what to believe? Daring to speak up when your brain is telling you to remain silent. Living with the pain of alienation or betrayal. Just remember, you answer to yourself. It is your head that hits the pillow when you attempt to fall asleep. And it is you who will ultimately take inventory of your words and deeds. You decide how your opinion is formed and how you choose to be heard. You, after all, inspire me.
An example showing how opinions are expressed and can be dangerous
“I never make the same mistake twice. I make it five or six times, just to be sure.”
Anonymous
“The greatest deception men suffer is from their own opinions.”
Leonardo da Vinci
By the way, this entire piece is just my opinion of course.
Travel
Back to Alvor, Portugal in a few weeks (one hour and 20 minutes by train). I’m enjoying being by the rocky sea, off-season. Truly wonderful restaurants, peaceful, gorgeous, close to home, and affordable.
The Power of the Mind and How to Mitigate Your Thoughts
My ego punching my gut
Have you ever wondered whether or not those voices in your head are worth listening to? If my voices had it their way, I’d be reduced to solitary confinement without supper. I keep telling myself it’s not about you because that’s what all of the wise asses tell me. “It’s not you, it’s them.” But is it them?
We get to inhabit this amazing planet ever so briefly. Yet still, we spend way too much time ganging up on ourselves. A part of you knows this. You know time is precious and that you are enough. Still, self-doubt and blame seem to be an easy go-to. I’m fucking tired of it. Two steps forward, three steps back . . . it’s exhausting.
“Fear and self-doubt are the greatest killers of personal genius.”
— Ziad K. Abdelnou
How many times have you been with a small little person (not child, a creep) and walked away thinking something was wrong with you? There is only one explanation for this kind of self-flagellation: a very damaged sense-of-self. I’ve learned through talking with friends and strangers, that many of us suffer from this serious affliction. Professionals believe that it is prudent to explore the origin of self-doubt, for you. For me it goes back to a mother who did not believe one should congratulate oneself. If I even came close to anything that resembled self-praise, I was shut down, scolded, and put in my place.
A few weeks ago I was sitting with acquaintances; I shared that I had a Ph.D. and that my dissertation was about homophobia. I don’t remember why I mentioned it except that we were talking about being gay. I beat myself up for two days after mentioning my degree. Sound ridiculous? Yes it was. Welcome to my world.
I often wonder if knowing how my open wounds were created, helps in the healing process. The answer for me is that I’m certain it does help; however, clearly it’s not a cure. There is a great deal of work that has to be done beyond discovery. Confronting demons is one of the more difficult things we have to do in order to move on. Why did you do this to me? Do you have regrets? Would you do it differently if you could do it all over again? What does a do over look like? Tell me what I mean to you and how far you’re willing to go to protect what we have?
How Your Friends Can Help
I have a couple of friends that I know can be brutally honest and that’s a good thing. I will occasionally ask this kind of question: That conversation we just had, do you think I was being sincere? Did any of it sound like bullshit? If you’re open to their honest perception of what went down, you can make some serious positive changes in your life.
You have to pick and choose who you do this with and how often you do it; it’s asking a lot. I have one friend who usually nails it — I don’t always like what she has to say, but I know it’s insightful and useful. When you know someone loves you a great deal, you can trust that their words are coming from a good place.
When people only tell you what they think you want to hear, it does you no good. It tends to validate mistakes or bad behavior. I’m refraining from providing examples; then I’d have to relive some difficult situations.
Journaling
I’ve been journaling for over forty years and I find it therapeutic and useful for two reasons: first, it tends to help remove it from your mind. When thoughts swirl around in your head, they tend to need a release valve of some sort. Journaling helps you clarify and purge. Secondly, and not as straightforward, if you’re willing to go back later and read your thoughts, it helps you to see that you may or may not have made progress. It can be a good gauge of success, failure, and change. Just don’t beat yourself up if you didn’t accomplish your goal or meet your own unrealistic expectations (i.e., last year I told myself that enough was enough and that I needed to speak Portuguese. I set a personal goal to speak conversational Portuguese by January 2022 — not realistic at all. I had to revise that goal several times and that’s okay.)
I will usually sit down with my journal sometime in late December to review the year. If I have sketched out some goals in January, it’s always good to see how far I have come. I have also realized that some goals are better not pursued. Travel helps me to see things in new and different ways. It gets me out-of-my-head; new surroundings help with out-of-the-box thinking and creativity.
Stepping Outside of Your Comfort Zone
There are several ways that I choose to challenge myself. Some are more difficult than others:
Set a goal and work toward surpassing my marker. For example, organizing my home. I’ll plan to tackle a room at a time and finish in a week. Once I get started, I will challenge myself to get it done in five days with a reward (dinner in a nice restaurant) if I succeed.
If I find myself with a thoughts(s) that I believe are damaging my sense-of-self, I will work toward either walking away from the source of these thoughts, or changing the situation so that the outcome will be positive. I am currently in a situation where a couple of people I spend time with, derive pleasure from belittling others. They’re subtle and subversive in their actions. I’m having to decide whether to stay and ignore their toxicity or walk away from it. Accepting that there are people and things I cannot change, has always been challenging. It also good to remind yourself of your own flaws and shortcomings.
Therapy entails a lot of work; however, the payoff can be enormous. I have been in therapy on and off since my early twenties. It’s difficult to quantify the benefits, but my gut tells me that I am a better person for having done the work. It’s is certainly not a one and done experience. I believe for most, some kind of therapy, is a lifetime commitment. The pursuit of sanity?
Exercise helps me sort out toxic thoughts and put things in perspective. You’re are accomplishing multiple goals when you physically challenge yourself. Let it become a good habit. I miss a workout and I feel it deeply. There are instances when I’m not near a gym or time does not allow a workout; a good long walk can be a positive replacement or substitute.
Meditation. I will always recommend meditation. Give yourself a few minutes a day to to free up your mind and make room for possibilities. There are so many ways to meditate and most of them provide benefits.
Travel for me is probably my #1 mind opener. It allows you to experience the world in different ways and see things in a different light. It’s a good way to step out of your comfort zone. It’s also a terrific way to meet interesting people and make friends all over the world. I know/knew a couple who travelled into their 90s (one of them has passed). Their stories were enlightening and their dreams were contagious. They are my model for experiencing the wonders of our planet.
Travel
I have plans and tickets for France in a few weeks, but if I’m going to be realistic, I just don’t see it happening [I just postponed this trip until August]. Testing and restrictions make it difficult to enjoy touring. Cuba has been postponed twice already and my February plans also seem doomed for cancellation. It is a Cuba, Toronto, Baltimore itinerary; I’ll be surprised if I can pull it off. I know this isn’t fair to say because so many have been negatively impacted by COVID-19, but I am fucking tired of it. People need to be vaccinated and follow protocols.
One thing is for certain, COVID-19 has helped me to be more flexible and understanding. I have never had to navigate so much uncertainty and change — I’m getting better about going with it. Truthfully, sometimes admitting that it’s getting to me, doesn’t seem to placate my anger. What I want, what I need, is for this virus to become normalized; like the common cold or flu perhaps. Forever the dreamer.
