1300 miles of driving, 12 days and 1 cancelled festival later, I am sitting on the ground at JFK airport. It’s 7:17 PM here in New York City. I am happy.
To say that I am happy might seem trite, but I think it is anything but trite given how much has been required to bring me to this point — a point at which I am sitting in an airport in Queens, New York waiting for an Iberia flight that will bring me home to Madrid. “Home to Madrid”, now there is a phrase with power in it, derived from the surprise that Madrid is home.
I met with a friend today who reminded me of one thing: I live a life basically unlike the lives nearly all of the people my age live. There are quite a few (though still but a few) who leave the States to live in Europe for a few years, but far fewer who left the States with every intention of placing oneself into perpetual exile, with the intention to never return to the States as a longterm home again. That is but a part of it. I live a life with many, many plans for the year, but plans of adventure. My life has no rhythm. I asked my friend Howie what his plans for the year were and he said, “for the year?” as if the question were strange. His plans were to go on doing as he was doing today: working and studying for a higher level job. Once plans like that were the only thing I had, but hearing them from him, I could only think:
I wonder how you can stand knowing what each new day will bring.
Once those words made sense to me, but seemed somehow not to apply to my life. I was happy enough. That, though, is why I am writing right now: I was happy enough. I think the truth is that I was not happy. I remember beautiful moments from those days, but they seem almost trite now — like a shadow of my current existence. I think they were simply necessary preparations for this.
For all of the pain I have felt in my life, I would like to say that I am grateful for what it has made of me. I do not think I should be where I am right now without it. I have no interest in more pains, though I am sure they will come regardless, but the pains thus far have brought me somewhere wonderful.
For that is what this life of mine is: wonderful. Many of my friends say they would love to live my life and they are not wrong to think it is a life one should be glad to live. I am becoming a destiny — and that is something neither age nor comparison can ever diminish.