The camp is over. I planned a few days in Granada Spain after the trip by myself. You could say this is forced recovery. But really its more for me. It’s a walk-about. A soul quest of sorts. Forgive me my tri reader as the next few days will have little to do with tri. I am off the bike. Its in la caja por bicyclatas and I am checked into a hotel for a few days in Granada one of the coolest cities on earth (btw traveling right now is insane, ½ off airfair 2/3 of hotels, if you haven’t lost your job you should go on vacation). The next few days are gonna be more of a travelers journal then training blog.
I am in full on tourista mode. Which is great. I spent the day, all day, hours and hours, just walking and to be honest, trying to clear my head. Its amazing how differently one acts when no one is around. Well me anyways. For 4 years there was almost always someone around. Like a tree that would havegrown differently but the building next to it.
I just walked and walked and watched; that’s what being a tourista is. The life in Granada is amazing. Punks, artistists, activists, dogs, food, coffee, people kissing-talking- laughing-debating, and an entire city that comes out for the sunset (not so much for the sunrise). It’s a mix of Moorish, Roman, Visocgot (pagan), Roma (Gypse) all contribute to an oldness that mixes with the new found freedom of Spain and the youthfulness of a country that recently got democracy and this town is a centro for the creation of art fueld by the university and the youth. It’s a golden age here, now, at this city. But I am a tourista, I just walk, and watch. Its not my life, and I am just here to see it, to try to soak it in if I can, but my exeprience is removed. I am not Spainish, not living in Granada. These funky people who would be my friends are not my friends. This is there city, their scene but I take joy is watching them live their lives the same as I hope I would if this was my home. But this is not my home and that’s the point isn’t it? To walk and see and reflect on my own life, my own home, my own friends and when seeing that reflection to reflect on who I am. Its like looking at a mirror. And right now I am asking: do I like what I see?
The answer isn’t easy and its not binary. Its not yes or no. Its as complicated as the emotions and the situations we find ourselves in. But if you want to improve at anything, even if its simply being, you need to be honest, and find faults. Like Mao said “always self criticism.” Seeing all these people, I realized I am lacking paz, peace. I am rageful. And often that rage fuels me. Mi es mal. In fact it drives me to most of the things I have done in my life. There is a behavioral acspect to it ala BF Skinner: rage = success for me so I am classically conditioned to want rage. Like a dog a bell and a bone. But rage is destructive emotionally. I am simply spent and exhusted from being angry all the time (and 120 hours of training). Worse, I can’t seem to recall a moment where my anger wasn’t too close to the surface. In the past, when my life was balanced there was peace and peaceful moments. Balance. I lost my balance and this walk-about is about finding that peace. It might have to be inner peace, paz solo, the peace you find when you are alone and can let your guard down. I have had to be so gaurded over the last 6 months because at every turn was someone willing to eat me alive if I let my guard down, if I appeared peaceful.
But like I said, we can act differently when we are alone. As I wondered I found myself doing all the things that bring me peace. I walked, which brings me peace in and of itself. I sat in the sun in a lovely square where dogs and people played and soaked up the mild early spring sun. I visited old parts of the city, which remind me that the moments pass and to take things in stride, that while problems come and go in the end solid and strong things wih good foundations remain. I visited an 600 year old church, me and the dogma of the catholic church had a falling out a long time ago, but the quiteness, the beuaty of the building and memories of the peace that churches brought my father and mother was appricated. I even made confession for the first time in 20 years. I did it in Spainish and honestly, I am not sure the priest knew what the hell I was saying. But I needed to get a few things off my chest (and to pratice my spainish) and say them in words. Speaking something aloud is emotionally powerful and cathartic. Sometimes the world pushes into places were we have to do things we don’t like, but that doesn’t mean we can’t feel bad even when we do what we have to do. When the surivors of a plane crash ate the dead to live(they later went on to make a film call Alive based on this ordeal) they all went to church for confession. Of course they did what was right, but that doesn’t make it right in our hearts sometimes. And maybe that is what I am doing. Healing a heart that has been bleeding a little too much rage these past days, even if that rage kept me alive. That heart has been heavy with angry and on guard when it really needed to let its guard down, and to heal. So I am taking these days to heal because some of the wounds were made and reopened repeatedly recently. And while I did what was right, my heart isn’t right, my head isn’t right, and I need peace. Paz es muy nesserio pora mi.
