59 Days

I haven't turned the ringer on in weeks. It's been nice. I wonder why the world (well, at least this side of the Atlantic) starts the days so early. Wake up at 6am, scarfing down a bagel, gulping down hot coffee, crashing at 9pm — talk about tragedy. We all need siestas, don't you think? We too often forget the night! Who are we to devote ourselves to the day so completely that we end up abandoning and neglecting la noche as if she were the unwanted, second-rate sister? I have found that some things are more beautiful at night – like lights...

Makes sense though, doesn't it? That sometimes, it takes the darkness to see the brightest things. Like stars. Great metaphor, isn't it?

A small puddle of milk sits at the bottom of my elephant glass. A few cookie crumbs and chocolate smudges on a tiny plate we use to hold teacups (why do teacups need their own plates, anyway?). Strange; one of the living room cushions that my grandmother left teetering on the armrest somehow found its way halfway between the table and the sofa, and just sits, as well — suspended above the carpet, like someone wanted to build something there, but got bored.

I saw a young man today who looked no older than 17, but he had a beard. A full-grown beard, too, but on one of those faces that will always be boyish and bright. He spoke erratically, sometimes pulling his words out with his hands, then waving them in the air, sort of shoving them at us gently, as if his words refused to speak for themselves – reminded me of when my mom would introduce me to her friends when I was younger, and she would nudge me forward (sort of forcefully, actually), and make me tell them my name. "Joanne," I would say shyly. Then hold up five or six fingers, depending on how old I was/what I felt like saying. I don't think I was even shy when I was younger. I just liked the idea of it.

I like the idea of lots of things, which isn't always bad, contrary to what "they" say. Whoever "they" is. I like the idea of sitting at an outdoor café, people-watching while drinking cold cerveza and eating some obscure Catalonian seafood dish and writing. I like the idea of walking alone at night on old streets, smelling cigarette smoke while hugging myself with a leather jacket.

I also like the idea of bullfighting. I know there are a handful of animal rights issues with bullfighting, which I won't get into (mainly because I honestly don't know enough) — but that is probably why I like the idea of it, and not really the bullfighting itself. Well, I don't know. I've only seen bullfights in movies. But like I said, I like the idea of it — man mating with death, man facing himself and the bull as equals — if only for the fight — then engaging in this dance, this enchanting tease of man's mortality. In a movie I watched recently, the main character said, "One decides to become a bullfighter on an empty stomach." I liked that. Another man in the movie said, "To be a bullfighter, one must like the idea of death" (or something like that). I don't like the idea of death, necessarily — but I like the idea of accepting it.

I do not know why we are so possessive of this life. It is a blessing to be alive, and we should treat it as such — a blessing. We are not enough to take credit for it. We just aren't.

Forgive me, if I'm completely wrong about any of this — seriously, forgive me: this is why I am drawn to Spain. It is a people of tradition, and celebration, sure... but also a people of tragedy. How morbid!, you're thinking. Ha, for a second I imagined what someone else might think, reading that — masses of wandering Spaniards, smoking cigarettes and grimly staring into the night sky, cursing life and all its atrocities! That's not the picture I'm painting here.

I mean to say, a people of tragedy that understands our finitude, and because of this, truly lives. I feel like we try too hard to make a living in America. We are constantly fighting against/for ourselves, trying to live longer, work harder, be better, move faster — and for what? As if we stand a chance against death. If you figure that one out, let me know. Even so, I can't wait to see what is beyond this life.

But for now, in our strange condition, why not really live — why not find work that fulfills us, that sets our hearts on fire or brings our soul to rest, and real peace? Why not fill our days (yes, fill our days, not spend our time) talking over wine and tapas, resting when we feel tired, and really living when we don't?

That said, I haven't even been to Spain yet. So maybe none of this is true. I guess we'll see. For now, I like the idea of it all... don't you?