The New Cool

Spend a little time on social media and it's hard to see how cynicism has become the new cool. I will admit that I am something of a cynic. I was first told this when I was about nineteen years old. I dated a woman in her late twenties (I was mature for my age.) She was intelligent and sophisticated and had a couple of college degrees. I did my best to keep up but when you lack education, as I did at the time, you try to follow along as best you can. (I am still much less educated than I would like to be, but them's the breaks!)

When she called me a cynic, I wasn't a hundred percent sure of what it meant. I know now, and I guess I could say I am a part-time cynic. I spend a lot of time around politics, I read some news on occasion, and I have a Facebook account. How could I not be?

But there is a side of me that wants there to be meaning to everything. There's a part of me that looks for meaning and even tries to create meaning in the most ordinary of things.

But it's so easy to be a cynic. It's practically forced upon us. We're told to hurry, to move along. We're convinced we don't have time to be kind and thoughtful even as we sit on the couch and binge-watch every episode of "Friends" for the third time. Humor, real humor, has been replaced with sarcasm. Good deeds are viewed, you guessed it, cynically.

I think I'll try to become a little less cynical. I'll do my best to see things in a more open and accepting way. I'll try to prove that old girlfriend wrong. Not that's she'll notice. We haven't talked in decades and she'd probably on season whatever of the latest must-see rerun. Oops! There I go again!

Adolfo Jimenez is an author, poet, and blogger. He lives in Hollywood, Florida. He has published ten books, which you can find here.

What If I Don't Like Cake?

Today is my 50th Birthday! Holy crap, when you say it like that. All the cliches apply. I don't feel any different. I look the same as I did yesterday. Everything still works the same, for the most part.

I used to refer to my birthday as inventory day. I would take the day to reflect on the previous 365 days and determine if my life was moving in the right direction. Some people call it a Cake Day. I don't think that's fair to people who don't like cake. I love cake. Don't believe me? I can take my shirt off to prove it. We re-brand everything. This is nothing new, it's just that our re-branding, like everything else, happens faster than it used to. You hardly get used to the new word for something before it becomes the old world for something.

My wife and I have been together 21 years. We realized a couple of days ago, as we were signing documents for work to be done on our house, that it was the 18th anniversary of the day we moved in. It's nice to know that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Being married to the same woman and living in the same house for so long may sound unexciting to some, but I am happy and grateful, and while there have been some low points, we really manage to keep it exciting, fresh, and interesting. We never had a honeymoon, so we decided our life now will be one very long honeymoon with breaks for work and family, etc. Life gave us lemons. We froze them for a while and now we're making margaritas!

Now that I'm at the half-century mark, I am supposed to have new perspectives and wisdom. I don't. My philosophy and worldview did not change overnight. From this point of view, age is really just a number. My knees may disagree.

I got my convertible a few years ago. This year, I got a motorcycle. Who knows what sixty will bring?

Adolfo Jimenez is an author, poet, and blogger. He lives in Hollywood, Florida. He has published ten books, which you can find here.

Death and Distance

It’s about five in the morning Montana time. The sun is out though not yet shining as brightly as I hope it will the rest of the day. I am in bed. I hear the familiar, rhythmic buzz of my phone. A call is coming in. Someone back home on the East Coast. Someone who doesn’t know where I am. Not that it matters. I’ll only be here a week. I hope I keep my sleep pattern just as it is until I return.

It is a family friend calling. My uncle in Cuba passed away in the night. My mother’s brother. My mom is still sleeping. That’s good. She needs her rest with all she’s been through. The friend asks if she should wake mom and tell her the news or would I like to tell her. I think this kind of news should be delivered in person whenever possible.

I sent a message to my cousin in Cuba, offering her my condolences for the death of her father. She called me a few minutes later. We chat and I again offer my sympathies. My wife is awake now and I tell her what has happened while we were sleeping. The family friend calls a few minutes later to let me know she has spoken with my mom. I call her and she is, understandably, upset. I tell her to stay calm and to not drive or stress herself out. She tells me that if the initial shock didn’t kill her, none of this will. Her little brother is dead. She has to tell her big sister, my aunt.

The news of my uncle’s death passed from Cuba to Hialeah, Florida, to West Yellowstone, Montana, back to Hialeah, to my mother, who was right next to the family friend who called me with the news in the first place. In the meantime, I spoke to my cousin, who is about two thousand miles away but only about three hundred miles away from my mother, who will eventually call her sister who is about ten miles away in Pembroke Pines, Florida.

Because my uncle died in Cuba, we will not be able to attend his funeral. We will not get together and share memories and laugh and cry the way one does to cope with the loss. We will talk or text. We may receive pictures but we will not hear the music or the sobs. Our shoulders will remain dry as we will not be able to offer them to comfort a relative. We will each grieve our own grief and cry our own tears. Our pain will be more personal. The loss will not be shared, but divided. Each of us will carry our own piece of it.

Adolfo Jimenez is an author, poet, and blogger. He lives in Hollywood, Florida. He has published ten books, which you can find here.

The People In My Neighborhood

    I've lived in the same house for nearly 19 years. My daughters both took their first steps in this house and although the elder child did live in a different place before we moved here, it was for the first nine months of her life so she doesn't remember a minute of it. This is their home. It always has been, and in many ways it always will be.

    I rode my bike to the grocery store this morning to pick up a baguette and some coffee creamer. I live in south Florida so you can guess which grocery store I went to. There are two kinds of people in Florida: those who shop at Publix, and those who just moved here from somewhere horrible. They'll come around on the grocery thing, maybe, but they'll keep voting like assholes.

    I swung by the bakery to pick up a baguette because that's as European as I get. (Baguette on a bicycle? How Parisian!) I ran into a lady who has worked at this store for fifteen years. She knows us by name and asks about my wife and my daughters. I hadn't seen her for quite some time and she was surprised to know my daughter is away at college. We chatted a little more and she mentioned how she's known my daughter since she was a toddler and my younger daughter since she was still a bun in the oven. 

    The bond my family shares with this lady is real. There is more than the usual hi and bye, these are the people in your neighborhood thing. There is genuine warmth and caring there. That makes my neighborhood special to me.

    My neighbors across the street are closer, more personal friends. We go out together, we drink together, we hang out in the median that divides our street together. If they were to move away, I would miss them dearly. You can't really choose your neighbors anymore than you can choose your family, so they are a winning lottery ticket. The neighbors on either side of my house are another story. I'll save that for another day.

    The truth is that all these people make up my neighborhood. There are many others, some of which I like, others I don't care for, and some I downright hate. I'm sure I'm on each of those lists for other people, too. A neighborhood is a microcosm of the world, much the way a workplace or classroom or line at the grocery store is. There are over 7 billion people in the world. No way we're all going to like one another.

    Still, just because we don't all love each other, doesn't mean we need to hate each other. Although, it is your absolute right to hate people for any reason you see fit. You can hate people because of their race, their orientation, their religion, the way they dress, or any other reason. In fact, I will defend your right to be prejudiced against people. Because I'm smart enough to know that your feelings about people mean absolutely nothing. As long as you are never aggressive or violent, your hate is your problem. Drink up and choke on it enjoy! I choose to live and let live and to love as many people as I can. 

    Love is my default position. When I meet a person, I do so expecting to love that person. Sometimes I never see them again. Other times, they are part of my life for a season or for many years. I don't like everyone, though. In fact, I can honestly say there are more people I love than people I like.

    Have I digressed? Apologies.

    The people in my neighborhood, good or bad, make my neighborhood a place I enjoy living. Just like I tell my wife that the man she loves (me, I hope!) is who he is because of the good, bad, and ugly things he went through before he was lucky enough to find her.

Adolfo Jimenez is an author, poet, and blogger. He lives in Hollywood, Florida. He has published ten books, which you can find here.

Company Loves Misery

Or something like that...

I have attended a couple of meetings of a local writers' group. They meet at a library once a month. It's a casual gathering. A few people show up and we talk about books and someone might read. We talk movies, sports, hometowns, it's like a million first dates.

Part of me, a part I hardly recognize, wants structure. The part of me that is hones knows I'll probably complain about the meetings if they were structured. I have always hated structure. That ain't about to change.

I think the biggest benefit for me is that there are others who are going through the same thing I am going through. Someone understands. I told you that to tell you this:

It's okay to talk to someone. Not about writing, necessarily. I should say not only about writing. A friend of mine recently had a meltdown. She attacked me. I didn't take it personally. I recognized the symptoms. She was going through a lot and trying to take on the world by herself. Not a good idea. She had a couple of drinks and now has six stitches and what promises to be a fairly prominent scar on an otherwise beautiful face. I expect she'll rock the hell out of that scar.

Talk to someone who understands and cares. Talk to someone who's been there. Just talk to someone.




Adolfo Jimenez is not a mental health expert, though he has known several over the years. He is a writer, blogger, poet, husband, and dad living in Hollywood, Florida.