Dipping churros into chocolate, I could feel the blood throbbing in my left knee.
After walking 26,986 steps (13.34 miles) on a mostly-still-broken foot, inside a surgical boot that was actively coming apart, it was time for new shoes.
Most people don’t put hundreds of miles on their surgical boots.
Most people don’t buy a second surgical boot so both feet will be even.
Most people don’t sprint through Dallas/Fort Worth Airport in surgical boots when the announcement says they have three minutes to board, even though their ticket insists they really have eighteen.
I am not most people.
We landed in Madrid at 5:45 a.m. By 6:45 a.m., we were failing to locate our Uber and choosing the subway instead.
Our exit train from Madrid left at 4:45 p.m.
Ten hours in Spain’s capital.
After eight of them, my feet were finished. The boot—kept out of an abundance of caution—was now increasing my risk. Three weeks ago, I’d been cleared to wear normal shoes. I hadn’t. I’d stuck with the boot.
Safety, it turns out, has an expiration date.
I spotted a discount shoe store.
Since I return to France on Friday, I only needed shoes that would last five days.
The clerk showed me a pair of decent-looking sneakers: twenty euros. I tried them on. He only had the left shoe in size 44 and the right shoe in 45. The clerk agrees to a discount, and apologizes he cannot give us a greater one. After all, what shoe store only sells mismatched shoes?
Little does he know, my right foot is the broken one. Mismatched shoes is actually a plus!
I ate a second ham croissant. It rivaled the ones I’ve had in France. (It wasn’t a croissant in the way they make them there. But it was delicious.)
We strolled through Madrid’s central plaza. We passed photos of gored bullfighters and Jimmy Carter.
I learned I could buy an apartment of the same cost and size as my future one in this square. I concluded I’d rather have mine.
Why do people prefer the artsy second city?
Melbourne over Sydney.
Barcelona over Madrid.
In both, I have a strong preference. In both, it’s the business hub.
I prefer places where real people are real. Where life isn’t a reflection or performance of itself. And in Madrid, the live music is more prevalent than in Barcelona.
Ten hours. Too-big, mismatched shoes.
Clown.
[Get the title? Squeaking? Like clown shoes? How they squeak?
In which Our Hero notes the ways that behaviors cover emotions
I might have hurt my pec muscle while lifting weights earlier. Immediately after, I was more fun and entertaining than I’ve been during this entire trip (to see friends over the last week). Is this causal? I think maybe.
When something is on my mind, it’s much easier to do something else. It’s almost a distraction. In pain? Be entertaining. I read an article on professional comics that said something like “many comics are feeling a lot of pain/sadness when they’re being most entertaining”. (Per this article: “British comedian Stephen Fry confessed to the common mental state he experiences when performing; “there are times when I’m doing QI and I’m going ‘ha ha, yeah, yeah’, and inside I’m going ‘I want to fucking die. I… want… to… fucking… die.'”)
It was nice to arrive at recognizing that pain and fear. It’s never pleasant to be afraid for one’s body or health. (I should note that the concern is not a big one: if it’s injured in a meaningful way, odds are very high it’s only minor and will resolve itself over the next week or two.)
It’s also just a fact of life that my failure makes me better elsewhere. Like I’m distracting myself / compensating for something.
In which Our Hero stumbles upon something interesting…
My partner wants to improve at poker. She 1) has the sort of mind that could be very good at the game, and 2) wants to improve her comfort in situations where she makes the right decision but the outcome turns out bad. [She also 3) wants to improve her comfort in situations where she made the wrong decision and the outcome comes out bad.]
We watched some theory videos together today. It was very fun. I enjoyed it. I’m excited for more!
–
My partner asks whether there exist little poker drills, à la “hit the ball at this bucket” in tennis, so you can have fun while learning the skill. I said I didn’t know any.
We therefore invented a way to teach a particular, very-important poker skill in a manner that’s actually fun. Perhaps we will expand this, refine it, and share it with others!
At the grocery store to purchase oranges for non-alcoholic New Year’s mimosas, I tossed oranges toward my partner so she could catch them in the plastic bag. A simple game; a fun game; a game that hurts no one.
My partner caught the first one.
A store employee approached us.
My partner caught the second one.
The employee stood beside us, continuing to watch.
My partner missed the third one. (I shorted the toss.) She retrieved the orange and placed it in the bag.
“Could I ask you to do something?” the clerk said.
“Sure,” I replied, expecting him to tell us to stop. I had expected him to tell us to stop since the moment I saw him walking over.
“I had cataract surgery recently. Could you toss me one of those oranges? I want to see if I can catch it.”
“Sure,” I said. “Tell me when.”
“Now’s good.”
I tossed the orange. He caught it. His face released sunlight it had been holding back for years.
“I used to juggle three balls,” he said. “Not well, but I could keep ‘em in the air. Then cataracts got to me. It’s good to be back.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I didn’t want to ask a friend to toss me something. That would be too intimate. So I figured I’d ask a stranger.”
“Glad I could help.”
My partner and I returned to our toss-and-catch with the oranges. We purchased six pounds of oranges and drove home.
Too often, we stop playing out of fear that someone will tell us to stop, when all they wanted was to play along.
It’s nice to be in community. I’m visiting some friends in the Northwest. I’ve lived with them for a month or two each of the past two years. If I could tolerate their city, I might live here. We cook, play games, banter. I’d enjoy co-parenting with them.
I’d like the same in New York. I hunch I can do so. I prefer New York. Better weather (Portland seems to almost always be cold and wet), more activity, greater life. I like the vibrancy and culture.
—
I exercised today for the first time in four weeks. Stationary bike. 30mins. Watched an episode of The Bear. My friends and family recommended this show to me back when it came out. Sometimes I’m reticent at the outset but then end up loving it. I wish I would accept it sooner. (But also I just don’t watch much tv / movies.)
—
I spent dinner with eight friends. I like these people. It’s very nice. I’d like more.
We talked about AI and clown school. I think clowning is a skill AI won’t replace. At least the very human act of finding pleasure and sharing it.
But people have already invented mind- and mood-affecting drugs. What’s the real difference?
In which Our Hero remains visible without belonging.
Let’s talk about social place.
In 2018, I bought a van. My most formative non-familial relationship was ending, and I was on a personal journey.
I spent seven years seeking my place. Living in a van, driving around. My place had been shattered, my foundation upended. I sought the right group of people, the right social place.
I found the regional Burning Man community. Not the community at the big Burning Man festival itself, but the smaller independent organizations that circle the same principles. I found, perhaps for the first time, a community that accepted me and to which I wanted to contribute. I made art that touched people’s lives. Some of them still speak about it, 5+ years later.
I moved to New York City in search of a partner. Nearing 30, with my friends all partnering and beginning to spawn, my situation became one of “Is this a part of life you want to have? Because you can seek it later… but it’s much easier if you try now.” One woman broke my heart. I flew to Australia to write a play. Returning to New York a year later, I met my now-partner. Our first date was 11 days long. For our second date, we drove across the country together. She sublet her apartment, and joined me in nomadicness for the last 2 years.
I wonder sometimes about social place. I occupy an unusual position. Enough of a dilettante in most areas to be able to hold my own. Friendly and affable, generally found to be helpful, but without roots.
For most of my childhood, I had a single dedicated friend. Schoolwork was trivial; most of my fellow students I found uninteresting. I’ve left each major experience with some dedicated friends. And a host of pleasant acquaintances, too.
I’ve never really been a group guy. I have the sort of preference: “Instead of camping with your Burning Man group, how about I camp next to you and we hang out every day?”
If part of life is finding who you are and doing it on purpose,
at some point it’s worth accepting that I’ve never found a group to be home.
And probably never will.
Perhaps my belonging is episodic, relational, and lateral (not collective).
Today I drove in silence. My partner in the passenger seat, surrounded by calm empty space.
Usually I drive with music or a podcast. This drive was 3.5 hours.
For the first two hours, just being.
Once in a while adding a comment. Saying something. Mostly quiet.
It was nice.
—
It reminded me of some time spent on stage. The increased comfort that comes from increased experience. The greater ease that comes from an acceptance of emptiness.
I’m reminded of the idea variously attributed to Miles Davis and other musical greats: playing the spaces between the notes.
It’s pleasant to play the spaces between the notes.
It’s even more enjoyable to let the spaces between the notes play.
What is it like to add a new player to an established team?
Today we added a new player to our 3-person cooperative poker game.
Upon adding this fourth person, we reverted back to the basic version of the game as it was a fitting level for them.
Here’s what the experience was like for me:
Less psychologically engaging. The game was simpler so the intensity was lower.
More meta-play. I asked more questions, engaged in more conversation, made more jokes. We all did. The game itself was less of the game. We added other games to fill the empty space.
It was fun for a different reason. The relationship is one I care about. So I prioritized connection and play with this new player. The other players did too. We all wanted them to have a good time. So we left having enjoyed ourselves, but not as much due to the game itself as we had previously. Instead, it was more due to compersion.
Our new player stepped away. We returned to our triumvirate crew. We took one round to re-acclimate and then clicked back into it.
Perhaps much of socialization is knowing what game you’re playing at any given time and effectively switching between them. If you have more capacity, add another game. If you’re overwhelmed, let go more. If you’re welcoming a wobbly player you care about, play with them more (outside of the main game itself). And always know which game is most important.
Julian Wise 