Stranger Than Most

After five years without a break, today I walked out of my last exam ever as a graduate of The University of Texas at Austin. I am also in Spain and have been for a very long time and that is a long way from Texas and Austin. What a sentence to be able to write.

It is something very profound to me and I suspect that will sink in at some point but probably later and not today or tonight. As I opened a door and entered into the sunlight I asked myself what I wanted and I first thought I wanted to walk a little and than thought I wanted a beer and perhaps a pizza to go with it and so I walked to Orsinis by the river and sat down and had all three. I might want some ice cream later but I won't know that for awhile.



Five years is a long time. Some people never lived five years and others will not live five years more. To sign up for a five year program is assuming a lot. It was also expensive. The amount of money that went in to five years of school is more than many will make in their entire lives once you start venturing out in the world. It also took time. I invested time that many cannot have or simply choose not to. The last five years are as much a gift as they are an accomplishment and it is apart of more characters than I.

I remember driving down to Austin for the first time and asking someone carrying books where the tower was. I remember changing schools because I discovered I hated chemistry but maybe liked business. I remember the night I lived in a common room on campus because I had to and I would fall asleep at home. I remember very well studying for a finance exam and thinking how much more beneficial to my career the New York Times would be over the time value of money and deciding to read the Times for a little and that ended up affecting my grade but that would not matter much in the end. I remember Austin too. I almost forgot about Austin.

I also remember long nights at work before an early class and going for swims between other classes and getting on a plane for Australia that summer and a plane for Spain that winter where it would all end in style. And today I was surrounded by Spanish students and not Americans. That was strange. And after ten Spanish questions it all ended very suddenly like it began.

My diploma will arrive in the mail in a few months but I do not know when. I missed my graduation by over a month and will miss the next one too. It is possible I will miss my third chance to walk if I am where I expect to be. I do not know if that bothers my parents but I think it does not if it does not bother me. We all know what happened and my mother and I will cheers with a glass of Spanish wine very soon and my dad and I will do something similar come the fall and these things I much prefer to sitting and watching myself and others get recognized for something that was supposed to happen.

No one entered this agreement expecting not to graduate and if they did that was very silly. What I feel now is not surprise and it should not be because there is an expectation that to accept and to finish are synonyms. Therefore to recognize someone as special is like patting a teenager on the back for arriving on time to his first day on the job. When I am eating with my mother in a week I will feel a level of mutual acknowledgment. Acknowledgment that I worked hard and did well and was lucky enough to be given that chance and came out very different than the person that went in. I am very different now than I was before.



So what now. What happens now. In my youth I often brought up extravagant ideas to my parents about cruises and roadtrips and they responded saying that was the kind of thing people did when they graduated and I hated that phrase than but love it very much now. I have almost three months of my life free. That is another wonderful sentence to write. I might see the Tour de France in July. I might see the Olympics in August. I might do neither and go to an isolated island with a hammock in Greece. I might not even leave Spain. It is a good country and a big country and I speak well now and feel very fine here. I am writing something big and that could be nothing or everything and we will see on that too.

After that. What about after that. I sure get asked that a lot. I could be on three continents and the opportunities are there and I can feel them very well and I am not too worried because things have always flown like they should and they flow very well now and there is no reason to think they will not continue to.



Who am I. How is this possible. When will I wake up and see a light at the end of a tunnel which is hopefully just me being born again.

Orsinis is very quiet at this hour and myself, the bartender and the cook are the only people present. Earlier there was a girl working and when I walked in her eyes were red and she had been crying. She tried to pretend and smiled when she brought me a beer and I asked if she was okay but she said she was fine. She left and I will never know why she was crying. It is funny how the world does not change much though we might feel very differently.

I watched the new bartender pour a beer just now and I see myself, but myself in a different time. We are now in a much different time.

Morning Time

I awoke this morning in dim light around 7am. I had a small spasm in my leg and the small parrot in the kitchen made occasional noises, but other than that it was peaceful and I lied there watching the fan spin overhead. It was confusing, because I had nowhere to go, no reason to get up, and I sat back without any covers thinking of years going to bed as the sun came up and waking up well into the afternoon with errands to run. It seems strange and distant in the morning light, on the eve of a graduation. It feels strange to think of objects I no longer have and errands that would not make sense to run anymore.

I was tempted, as I sat there, to feel some sort of guilt, because I could be doing something. I could be out meeting someone or walking another dark corner of Seville or practicing Spanish with that bartender who knows my name, or taking in my last few weeks by the river or reading at my coffee shop, or shuffling through today's newspaper or running out the beers from last night's soccer game. Yes, there are lots of things I could do today, but I am going to lay in bed a bit longer and pretend if I have to that doing just what I am doing is a reward after all those tough years. Before too long there will be plenty of early mornings to go around, plenty of things to do, and I will do them all well. By the time I wake up I hope that parrot has shut up.

Briefly, as a Critic

I have been doing a large amount of reading lately, more than I ever have in my life. I read by the river with new baby ducklings and in a bar drinking red wine, and later in my bed with the air conditioner running. From Hemingway's bullfights to Cervantes and La Mancha to Spain's role in an ever progressing Euro-crisis, I have managed to make a lot of it compliment the Spain outside my door. It makes you appreciate the world around you, and makes you literate. Who doesn't want to sound cool at parties.

Ray Bradbury, the author of Fahrenheit 451 and hundreds of other short stories, just died. He was 91 years old. I watched a short video of a speech of his, given late in life. He looks plump and old, but happy and fulfilled. He said people often complain about not being able to afford an education. He says that's bull, because as a kid he walked to his library and spent hours and days writing and reading. Everything we need -- enough to absorb in a lifetime -- is free to us; we just aren't willing to work for it. I liked listening to him talk. People's voices always more inspiring after death.

What we choose to read is everything. You know a lot about someone by the book resting in their hands, because we have lives and jobs and families and the time we can spend alone with a book is precious and deliberate and our only connection with the candlelight flickering rooms of the past. I criticize how people use their time these days, and what they even decide to read, because it's all so limited, and they do such wasteful things. What's to our lives if we don't make them better.

Electrico touched the 12-year-old Bradbury with his sword and commanded, "Live forever!"

"I decided that was the greatest idea I had ever heard. I started writing every day. I never stopped."

The Canary Islands

Roughly 100 km off the coast of Africa, next to Morocco and Western Sahara, sit the Spanish Canary Islands. There are seven of them, all volcanic, and all very different. They are close too, and you can see some from others if you are high enough and if it is clear. The weather is perfect and the same no matter the season; the relaxed lifestyles that draws 12 million tourists a year make it hard to imagine the destructive magma flows and eruptions and landslides that created such an extraterrestrial landscape not even that long ago. The big one erupted last in 1909. Columbus saw, "a great fire in the Orotava Valley" as he sailed past Tenerife in 1492. The small island of Hierro was active in 2011. Thoughts like this as you stand 12,000 feet on Teide's peak, seeing everything in all directions, are like thoughts about Jellyfish while swimming in the ocean when you cannot feel the bottom. Every bubble starts to look hostile and you feel very out of control.

Months ago I decided to come here because I had never been to an island and had never seen a volcano. There were volcanos in Spain, and I didn't want to leave Spain, so it all worked and I passed on Mallorca. The German beaches and the discotecas of Ibiza are for another time, and it's better that way. I was drawn out into the Atlantic for nine days for some reason and I am glad I went.

I spent the first few days on the beach in the capital city. It was nice to unwind and swim and run along the water, but the coasts within las Palmas were far too easy and what most people would do. I needed to get into the mountains, because they were there, so I climbed higher than anyone else, to the highest municipality, and saw ocean on all sides and Tenerife in the distance.

The days in that small hostel on the side of the cliff were as simple as I have ever had. I cooked easy meals and at night I sat under an amazing set of stars, next to a delightful girl from Bavaria. A Swedish machine keen on escaping the terrible winters of his country took me on a two hour run one afternoon, up to the many places you cannot reach by car. I love the views you must work for, and we certainly worked for this one. The people at the top are in a common sort of bond, fit enough and wanting it badly enough to make it all happen. When I will not climb for a view, you know I am withering away.

An early morning bus took me off the mountain as the sun just started peaking above the clouds. I got on a ferry and went three hours across the ocean with the tall volcano on Tenerife beconing forward all the way. The next chapter, the next island, had arrived, but would quickly depart a few days later on a plane back to Seville.

A girl I know complained about the Canary Islands when she returned. She said she was expecting waterfalls and lakes and colorful parrots -- tropical Hawaiian paradises. Instead she got a dry and barren landscape that could be mars or the moon. For me it was exactly why I fell in love, and thats typical of me to like what other people hate.

My Swedish friend told me one night how much he hates seeing places. He lived in London and never once went to see Big Ben. He hates crowds and noises and cities, cathedrals and bridges and all the things you are supposed to see. He was not antisocial -- he just didn't need it -- and as we ran in silence, burning under the sun, I think our minds wandered to the same simple places alone on the trail.

I took a bus to Teide my last day in the Canaries, high above the clouds of Tenerife. It's the highest peak in Spain, and the third highest volcano in the world; it was the highest I had ever been in my life, really. The last 30 minutes of hiking to the crater was prohibited without a permit, so I hiked around to the other side where there were no people, left the designated trail, and crawled up until it got too steep. I sat back and closed my eyes and listened to how absolutely still and quiet it was and when I opened them I could see the curve of earth before me. My dad uses the word humbling a lot, and I think it was a good time to use it. I hugged the side of the volcano, slipping on volcanic rock, watching it descend into the clouds and islands and oceans below.

My cab driver said Teide is only sleeping. He made the motion with his hands and pretended to snore. Some say it could be another Vesuvius or Etna with all the small cities below. Humans flirt so much with disaster, but it is accompanied by the best of things. We make our choices in a great balancing act, or maybe we don't think at all.