CUMPLIDOS 50 y SAN JUAN

Cayeron los 50 hace unos pocos días y mañana se cumplirán 50 de mi bautizo. Fechas que me gustan mucho, por razones obvias. De siempre he tenido querencia hacia el fuego, la luz, la energía potente, cálida y fuerte de la llama, las velas. Quizás se por lo de San Juan y las hogueras. Uno de mis primeros recuerdos de crío es ir con los amigos del barrio (de 5 a 15 años), todos juntos, a por ramas, arbustillos y muebles viejos donados por los vecinos para preparar la hoguera; la competencia con las hogueras de otros barrios (incluso la calle de al lado); el orgullo por construir la mejor pira y la satisfacción de verla arder junto con la gente congregada, la labor bien hecha y el verano por delante. Felicidad.

La semana pasada cumplí 50 años. Una fecha que para muchos es dramática pero a mi me gustó cumplir. No sólo porque soy afortunado de haber llegado a esta edad, sino también porque de alguna manera la redondez de la cifra supone una especie de tabula rasa para una nueva vida. No me encuentro donde hace 25 años esperaba estar y sigo sintiendo electricidad, ilusión por nuevos caminos, por nuevas experiencias. Echo de menos ciertas cosas que esperaba que tendría, pero la vida es lo que es y en la mía hay también muchas cosas que nunca esperé que habría, buenas también. Y eso me conforta. Como digo, los 50 no son el fin de de nada, sino el comienzo de otra etapa hermosa.

El cumple fue un día tranquilo, sin ninguna celebración especial en plan fiesta sorpresa ni nada por el estilo. Tengo pocos amigos a los que se les pudiera imaginar algo así y están dispersos. Traté de estar con quienes más cerca tengo y disfrutar de quienes se acordaron de mi. Hay que haber cumplido 50 para entender lo que significa y nadie a mi alrededor cumple ese requisito. Pero hice lo que deseé y disfruté un día de museo y jardines botánicos (Huntington) con James. Antes, desayuno en Antigua y compra de libros goxo en Vromans. Luego cena y tertulia con mis amigos argentinos Miguel y Sebastián, y al llegar a casa tarta de chocolate y apertura de Bourbon cortesía sorpresa –ésta sí– de James, la definición de un buen tipo. No hubo fuegos artificiales, ni 50 velas, ni regalos... Pero hubo salud, calor humano, recordatorios de amigos y amigas, algunos inesperados, y la charla con los padres, siempre el mejor regalo. Como es normal en la vida, hubo algunas sombras que trataron de oscurecerme el día, pero saqué el abanico y las ahuyenté suavemente. Era el 19 de junio, 50 años después de mi nacer a este mundo, y preferí gozar del sol brillante y la brisa fresca. Como casi siempre. Gracias.

Ps. Hoy me llega la tarjeta de felicitación de mis padres. Una hermosa amapola roja. Qué bien.

GOING ON 50

Fifty years old today. What a treat. Excited and a bit sad for not being able to be with loved ones to share this milestone in person. But I know love travels through the wind and I will be surrounded by good vibrations and warm thoughts. I feel that I am turning more than one corner. I am good and ready. Let's go.

ON CONFLICT

People love conflict. We say we don't but we lie. Either that or we are delusional. Or both. We love to take on other people, launch attacks, defend from them, compete, deride, criticize, punch or eat chocolate (as a passive aggressive strategy to deflect it, this time against ourselves). Maybe it's in the genes or maybe it's a social skill learned from childhood to create our seat at the table. "Quien no llora no mama" (those who don't cry, don't get to the tit) says a Spanish proverb. But we all know many of those proverbs have been sanitized to allow preachers and priests to nail us with them from the pulpit: The real words for that idea should sound something like "quien no pisa, no avanza" (those who don step on, don't move on), or "dog eats dog" in the more brutal modern American vernacular.

But that doesn't mean we go further, accomplish more or are happier. In fact, it may just be the opposite.

Perhaps conflict is indeed in our veins, but do we actually need to get sucked by it? Is it really a good coping strategy? Using a Nature metaphor, can we just not act like water and go around the rock instead of pound it? From childhood we are bombarded with tales about how hard things are, about fighting to get through, about no-pain-no-gain, and a myriad of other struggle-based life directives. No disputing here that life presents challenges. My dialogue is about whether those challenges are better dealt with through hardship, fight, conflict, battle, pain... Or whether sometimes (or always) there are other options that can be equally effective, if not more, but involve winding around the bend or sliding through the seams instead of pushing on or cutting through. In my most enlightened moments–at least I like to think of them that way–I hark back to the beautiful example provided by Miguel de Cervantes in The Quixote: In one of its most famous passages, when Alonso Quijano sees the windmills gyrating their wings in the distance, he decides they are evil ogres or giants and rambles onwards to attack them. Interestingly, not only does he not imagine they could be a bunch of affable creatures carousing in the La Mancha sun. No. Quijano (Cervantes) decides they must be bad guys and, then, goes right at them instead of, for example, taking a detour or meandering through the sharp wings (swords) in search of a better day or way to enderezar tuertos (right wrongs) in his idealist mind. Notice that I am not even referring to fleeing, but moving on without engaging in direct conflict, especially when conflict is not actively seeking us but it's just there. Granted, it may be hard to discern when we need or can skirt around, or wait for the storm to pass, and when it's necessary to clash. Perhaps if we practiced that skill or were reminded of that possibility more often instead of the constant barrage of war and conflict metaphors we might make things actually easier for us and, therefore, help ourselves to deal with obstacles in a more forgiving, less stressful and, I dare say, productive manner.

BARSTOW

If you drive north from Los Angeles on I-15 on your way to Las Vegas or Needles, Arizona, you will likely hit Barstow. At first glance this town appears to be a remnant of the old West. The city sprouted along the railroad lines laid out a century and a half ago to connect California to the rest of the country. Before Barstow it was called Water Junction. Not that the place is a beach resort but at the time there must have been either a river running through it or a water table underneath. Barstow sits in the Mohave desert, and it's as hot and it sounds. The first time I met Barstow was on a Vegas trip with Jesús. We stopped at a Chinese diner right outside downtown and had a deep Americana experience. The owner, an Army man, cooked for us and regaled us with stories about the family photos hanging on the walls. We went back another time but the place was closed–or he didn't want to open it, another merchant said.

I developed a fondness for the town. Something in the dry, blasting heat and the silent emptiness of its streets screams backwater. But I connect with something that is valuable to me. Or perhaps I just like backwaters.

Ah, we also hiked Owl Canyon. Beautifully rocky, alluring, mysterious. Alive.