clinging to the wreckage

  Sitting on the metro in Madrid, travelling from Ventas to Plaza de España… the first or second stop brought a vision of beauty beyond belief at the window. She was waiting to board the train and I could not help but smile at her. She smiled back. She stepped onto the train coyly and, after a little twirl and swirl, sat beside me. I was struggling to breathe and to cope with my heartbeat speed. I looked at our reflection in the window and we both had a grin on our face. The heat rose from within and I was staring at her shoes, her socks, I was seeking something… something to say. She started to message on her phone but almost as if she was trying to show me what was on the screen. My eyes flickered over it and I could see that her messages were in English. I pulled my headphones off and she seemed expectant. I looked at her face, it was beautiful, with a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. And, yet, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t speak. We pulled into Sol and she got up and left. ...

  I use social media to let people know I am still alive when I don’t show up at the bar in Dallas. Beyond that, I find myself increasingly disconnected from, and troubled by, social media. It’s the era of everyone believing they are a star… the whole world is watching them every moment of the day. No talent or training required, no unique character needed.   Alas, I am currently in Madrid, Spain, after a week in the South of France. France was work, this is holiday… but I am surrounded by people who are at a company event, and it makes me feel like I am working. It should not trouble me, the view is beautiful and the alcohol is flowing. Madrid is a wonderful city, my old home, one I cannot get tired of. It seems a little busier these days, but that may be because I am used to living in Texas where there is more space and less people.                     In terms of global events, it was ...

  25 years ago I wrote my name in a book I had just bought. I was in Tulsa, Oklahoma (I wrote Oklahoma like a drunk guy, but did not drink at the time). At the time the book was 82 years old and now it is 107. Demian, by Hermann Hesse. The book is about finding meaning and one’s inner self in a world that is on the brink of war. Two months after reading it, I flew American Airlines over the twin towers in New York, exactly two weeks before they were destroyed. 25 years later, I’ve just re-read the book. We are at war. I’m in Madrid, Spain, but now live as a British American in the USA. Times passes rapidly and so many suffer in this unspeakably cruel world. Yet there is also profound beauty, and all we can do is to try to make the most of it along the way. be kind to people. Smile. Survive.