#10 Why all this music?
If we're not supposed to dance...
My wife, who loves the summer, the sun, and the beach, stayed in Brazil for almost two months in one of the coldest cities in the country. It’s the summer vacations in Spain and she works remotely and for herself, so when we were planning the annual trip, we agreed she and the kids would go ahead of me.
She was happy, though; she was seeing her friends, staying with her parents, in the city where she grew up. Regardless of a terrible trip getting there, of being away from her husband, of her house, of her sun and her beach, she was happy.
But coming back (we were together on the way back), just as we got to Barcelona airport terminal and I said to them, Welcome home, family!, she started crying. (When you’re with someone for almost 15 years, you know when they are crying, even if you can’t see their faces.)
Are you ok?, I asked. More than my kids, I’m mostly preoccupied with her welfare; more than anything, I want her to be happy.
She looked back at me, smiling and sobbing.
I still can’t believe I call Barcelona ‘home’.
My mind raced through the path she and I made, all the crazy moves, all the sacrifices and difficult decisions and uncertainty that got us to live in Barcelona, and it all made sense at that exact moment. A sobbing smile as the true expression of gratitude for being alive.
WIIFM
When was the last time you cried of joy? What decisions you can make to put you into your desired life’s path? Life is more than checking off boxes.
Poet’s Corner
To be alive: not just the carcass but the spark. That’s crudely put, but… If we’re not supposed to dance, why all this music?
- Gregory Orr, To Be Alive