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.

The Gray Hours

 The greatest con ever perpetrated against humanity, is convincing people that time is not precious. I am nearly fifty years old. Statistically, I have lived more than half the years I will get to live. I find myself in the interesting spot of anticipating my regrets. I am proactively thinking of things to put in the bucket list so I don't end up regretting things I didn't do.

I have always been an early riser. I also get by on relatively little sleep. I learned long ago to put this to my advantage though I need to remind myself of this every now and then. I need to remind myself that just because the day starts early for me, doesn't mean I get more time. I get 24 hours like everyone else. Wasting the extra hours I don't spend sleeping makes no sense. Might as well sleep.

I am in my new office, at my new desk in my house. I am in the gray early morning with a window to my left that faces east. The sun is up somewhere out there but it's still warming up so there is more shadow than light in this little room. Everyone else in my house is asleep. Even the dogs want nothing to do with the day. I'm glad for it. This is the part of time that belongs to me.

So, use your time wisely. Even when there is nothing that needs doing, don't waste your life doing nothing.

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

Staring Down The Barrel

In six days, I will be fifty years old. Damn. It only matters when you think about it. Unfortunately, you think about it all the time. I feel no different than I did yesterday. The same aches and pains have followed me around for years. My fault for living a relatively sedentary life. I do walk a lot and my business keeps me active, but I don't exercise in the traditional sense.

So the years keep coming. Until they don't. Who knows what's next.

Age shows up in strange ways. Like having a coffee with your cheeseburger at McDonald's. And mail seems to be very important to me now. I mean, I check the mailbox on Sundays and national holidays. Yesterday, I got home and I looked and,,, no mail! I was genuinely baffled. I came inside and it turned out my daughter had brought it in. I grounded her. Took away her phone. If she wants to cut off my communication with the outside world, so be it! Two can play at that game.

I find that even though I know I will likely live another 30-plus years, I feel like I have to squeeze in as much as possible. I wish I'd had this feeling when I was twenty. How much more could I have accomplished? God only knows.

I am at once crankier and more laid back. I let things go that used to drive me up the wall, and I am annoyed by things that didn't matter a few short years ago. 

I spent so much of my youth worrying about the world and consuming every scrap of news I could get my hands on that now, when I see the world is burning, I make s'mores.

I am convinced the world is worse than it's ever been, just like my father did. And his father before him, and his father, and so on and so forth.

I am proud of the things I can still do. I miss the things I no longer can do. The ones I remember, anyway.

I am proud to still be married. I am prouder still that I love her more than ever.

I value my time and do all I can to save it and make it count. Then I plop my fat ass down in front of the TV, which is something I didn't used to do.

I am self-aware. This essay proves it.

I have no idea what is going on in the world around me. This essay proves it. (I'm proud of that one.) I let my children live their lives. I only guide when I am invited onto the raft. Otherwise, like everything in this life, I just let them go with the flow.

I guess I should confess that I didn't take my kid's phone away or ground her. But I thought about it.

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

Something About A Horse

If you’ve never ridden a horse, you probably should try it. The younger you are, the better. It’s hard on the knees and the hips. It’s also tough to know that your life is in the hands of an animal that can throw you off and trample you in a heartbeat. If it was so inclined.

As I write this, I can feel the pain in my knees subsiding. I spent three hours on a horse this morning. I am in Montana, one of my favorite and least favorite places in the world. I love it here because it is beautiful and it’s where my daughter lives. I hate it here because the beauty and nature of the place makes me forget that guys with knees as bad as mine probably shouldn’t ride horses up in the mountains for three hours.

Not that I won’t do it again. I will do it until the pain gets to be too much or until the wranglers sit me down and tell me that this particular horse has gone to pasture. I did not grow up around horses. I went on my first horse ride two years ago. I am not sure if I’ll be back. 

But you should definitely give it a try. It’s fun and it’s a nice, relaxing way to give up control for a while. It’s nice to be a passenger and not a driver. I am not speaking for experienced horsemen and women when I say this, but you are never really in control when riding a horse. You are driving in the rain at night in  a car with bald tires. You might get through it in one piece but no one would be shocked if you come home with a busted collarbone. You can kick the horse to make it move. You can pull the reins to stop it or pull them left or right to steer the horse. But these are just suggestions. If the horse doesn’t want to cooperate, it won’t. I don’t know about you, but I don’t kick that hard.

Of course, if you do get through it, if you are able to relax enough to enjoy being a passenger, if you are able to live in that particular moment, listen to the birds, admire the trees and feel the breeze in your face, you might come away with a different perspective. You might find something you didn’t know you were looking for.

 

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.

2 Flights in 22 Years

 The first time I traveled on business, and possibly the first time I flew by myself, was in 1999. I was twenty-eight years old. Now, as I am somewhere above the Rocky Mountains with my wife and daughters, I have to reflect on how much has changed. I remember that first business trip. I flew American from Miami to Dallas on a mostly empty plane. I had a row of seats to myself. I was given a meal. I was even offered seconds. Ditto the return flight. Now, this plane is packed, barely room for a thought. The first leg was Miami to Dallas and now we’re on our way to Bozeman, Montana for a vacation. Our third consecutive year of flying out here and spending a week at a ranch in West Yellowstone. We’ll ride horses, make smores, go whitewater rafting and eat a surprisingly good slice of pizza.

I am, as I write this, sick to my stomach. I had a 7-11 breakfast in Dallas and cookies and a Coke on the flight. We’re three hours or so behind schedule because Texans seem to be afraid of rain. I live in South Florida. Rain is something that’s just… there.

This is not just a fat guy whining because he didn’t get a meal on the flight. I feel bad for the crew. I hope they brown-bagged it today. It’s just that as I evaluate my current situation 26,000 feet above the earth, I can’t help feeling sad. We’ve lost so much.

I remember being on flights, next to complete strangers, and striking up conversations that lasted from wheels up to touchdown. Now, in-flight entertainment, cellphones and tablets have done away with conversations besides that awkward look that says, “Excuse me, I have to go pee. Get up and let me pass.”

It’s not different from all aspects of life, really. Think back to the last time you were in a doctor’s office. Were there magazines to read? Did you chit chat with others who were waiting? Or, did you just stare at your phone? The more connected we are, the more disconnected we are.This is not an original thought and I don’t mean to try passing it off as one. It just seems worth discussing.

There is a certain irony in the disconnected connection we experience now. We’re able to instantly access news, updates, stock quotes, hotel prices, a ride to the airport or pictures of people far away, some we may know, others we may not know. We gawk at celebrities and gush over kittens while ignoring people with whom we are literally rubbing elbows. I don’t know if it’s right or wrong, but it’s weird. 

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

Counting Down

In five days, my daughter will be going away to college. I am dying. I knew this day would come. In fact, I always encouraged her to look for schools in other states. I told her being away from home is a legit part of the college - learning - growing up experience. The one time the kid listens to her father!

I am happy for her and I am proud. She applied to one school and was accepted. She is the only one of her graduating class that is going to be attending college away from home. She'll be nearly two thousand miles and two time zones away. I've never lived that far from her or even from my own parents. It's scary and it's exciting. And I'm sad that she won't be here every day. I'm sad that this place, which has been her home since before her first birthday, will seem  a little emptier without her. Okay, a lot emptier. She took her first steps here. She was potty trained here. She is an enormous part of what makes this a home.

So, I'm a little depressed and I am hating the march of time this week. I want my little girl to stay forever, but I know this simply cannot be. She will always be my little girl, even when she is far away. I have to accept it, but I sure as hell don't have to like it.

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

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The Nomadic Imperative

Often you will hear someone tell you they want to live a nice quiet life. We have been convinced that all we really want is some variation of what we see on TV. A spouse, a kid or two, maybe a dog or a cat, perhaps a witty guinea pig or a bird. We want a car and we want two weeks vacation every year plus weekends off. Except the guinea pig and the bird. They're relatively new. And I'm allergic to cats so I have two dogs.

This has been my life for nearly thirty years and I can tell you I was sold a lie.

This is not to say I haven't been happy. I have been. I am happy. But, I am also restless. I feel like I am cheating myself. I feel like I am giving up on my dreams. I remind myself that I am young enough to still go out and do the things I want to do. Then my back hurts, and I remember I am not as young as I imagine myself to be. Young at heart, old just about everywhere else.

Is this what Thoreau meant when he talked about men living lives of quiet desperation? Is this why I work to fill the void? I don't really know. I don't think anyone could know. I do know it sucks and while the intensity of these feelings increases and decreases, they never quite go away.

I've lived in the same area most of my life. I am, as I write this, 30 minutes from where I grew up, went to school, learned to drive, and lost my virginity. I long to move, but I have responsibilities. I want to walk, to seize the road, but I can't. It would be irresponsible, and I can't do that.

Ernest Hemingway said that to live in one land is captivity. Well, shit. He was right. Not that everyone who lives a stable, successful middle-class existence is unhappy. I can see people choosing this life. I can see its appeal. Maybe it's because I have no choice that I feel the urge to move on.

I feel the urge, but I will fight the urge. I ain't going nowhere. For now. But if I do decide to go, you'll read it here first.

The views expressed by the author are his alone and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of anyone anywhere.

Adolfo Jimenez is the chair of the elections committee of the Libertarian Party of Broward County. He is an author, poet, and blogger. He lives in Hollywood, Florida. He has published eight books, which you can find here.

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