Focusing on what’s most important
An anti-romantic weekend. A stolen phone and a happy BBQ. Drama, death, and magic. I hope my children will remember the time spent with me as the most important.
We had planned last Saturday well: once the two children were asleep, I would leave them with the nanny and go to Athens to meet Irene, who was there for a journalism conference. What could go wrong? Everything that was not in the plans.
The adventure started to go awry fast. Halfway there, I overtook a police car and got a bad feeling: two blocks later the same patrol car followed me and blared its siren for me to stop.
The officer approached me and asked for my documents. He told me that I was going over 80 kilometers per hour. I told him that I had not realized that I had exceeded the limit, because in fact many cars were overtaking me — cars that the patrol car evidently chose not to stop.
“What do we do now?” he then said, and to no one's surprise, he stared at me as if waiting for an answer. He continued, “Are you carrying anything illegal, can I check in the back?”. He found the boys' toys and leftover food on the floor. I think that played in my favor and he finally let me go.
An ugly feeling stayed with me, in the background. Once in Athens, we headed with Irene to a bar: there was a lot of smoke even though it was a closed place — people smoke here inside as they did 30 years ago in Buenos Aires — and the music was too loud. We left.
I parked almost at the corner of a big avenue. I got out to ask a guy if I could leave the car there and he said yes, although he explained that the next day there was a marathon and that I should leave early.
From a distance, I locked the car and we walked five blocks to buy falafel. When we went to pay, I realized that I had forgotten my cell phone in the car. Irene had a bad omen: “Let's get back, fast”. I thought it was exaggerated.
A few meters from the car, I saw that the window had been broken. They had stolen my phone. My anger went far beyond the material. From Irene's phone we were able to locate my phone: it was 700 meters away. We went to the police, who were two blocks away, and showed it to them. They told us to go to the place where my stolen phone was, locate the thief and call the police from there.
By this time it was almost two o'clock in the morning. When we arrived, the atmosphere lived up to the bad reputation that the Omonia neighborhood has. As in practically any big city, this is one of those neighborhoods where anything can happen and you have to be on your toes (and not get distracted not even for a minute, as I did with my phone). We were immediately offered marijuana, cocaine, and so on. Faced with my bad vibes and my negative response, an Albanian said to me: “So what do you want, my friend?” I want my phone back, I told him.
He asked me what the person who had stolen it looked like. I explained to him that I was not in the car when it had happened. He told me not to call the police, that he was going to look for him. He went into a dilapidated building and when he came out he said there was nothing there. He asked him how I knew the phone was there. We showed him the locator on Irene's phone. We noticed that the exact address was a few meters ahead and we went.
The Albanian followed us and told someone that we had the location. I don't know what else he said because he spoke some language I did not understand. What I do know is that he started a shouting argument with other people who were on that corner, which was a fast food place. It said on Google maps it was a Pakistani joint, but I didn't have much time to corroborate.
Suddenly the sidewalk filled with people, some started running away and someone threw a chair. A general brawl broke out in less than a minute. Like everyone else around, we ran. Again we called the police, but they never showed up.
I was very upset: I had many photos and videos of the trip to Buenos Aires that I cannot recover. I also had documents that were not backed up. For the first time in my life my cell phone was stolen. I had never lost or broken one, until now. I thought about my distraction, about why I was so angry and feeling so helpless.
“What the fuck were we doing getting into that fight while the kids were sleeping,” Irene said. And we went home to protect my information and do all the necessary reporting.
…
On Sunday I decided to install a wooden counter at home, on the patio where the BBQ is. I had been putting it off for four years. In the evening a friend came over, we inaugurated it, we grilled some meat and listened to music. We laughed, we had a great time.
Suddenly, there was a strange noise. A helicopter flying very close to the sea, with searchlights on the water. At first we thought of fires, but it was something else. In fact, there was a fire truck. They were looking for something or someone.
Monday morning I dropped the kids off at the kindergarten and went to change the car glass. They gave me an appointment for two days later. Then I went and bought a new phone.
After a while, I read in the news that on the beach in front of my house they had found the body of a 36-year-old man who had gone swimming on Sunday afternoon.
…
Today is Wednesday. The weekend feels a little farther away now. But flashbacks and questions keep coming up.
The anguish in my chest at the sight of the broken glass, the sense of violence of having my own stuff taken away, the feeling of being an idiot for forgetting a phone for 15 minutes.
The fight in Omonia that we escaped from in time but should not have been exposed to. Why did the police ask us to do that?
What attracted that other policeman to chase me and slow me down among twenty other cars going much faster than me?
How did the coincidences — tiredness, distraction, that corner — come about so that at this moment of transition the glass breaks and I am robbed of what I have never been robbed of before, just when I have time for myself again because the kids have started kindergarten?
The joy of the shared barbecue on Sunday, with my children happy to participate. And with Irene relieved to see that my anguish about the robbery was gone.
The stinging sensation and the exercise of putting in perspective my daily life generated by the proximity of death: a guy died at the age of 36 swimming in front of my house, in the same place where I have been swimming for four years.
What is serious, what is important, where is it worth putting the energy?
A ray of sunshine
Before the hectic weekend, I came across an interview with Argentine singer songwriter Fito Paéz that I liked (you can watch it here or listen to it on Spotify, in Spanish). I was going to start the newsletter with this, but now I will end with it. In the interview, the musician is asked about his fondest childhood memories:
“Clearly the moments with my father, while he reviewed files for the municipality, are the ones that I treasure most. On weekends, when I used to spend time with him, listening to music (...) The effect that those tunes still have on my memory until today, like Proust's madeleine, the sound of Herb Alpert's trumpet with The Tijuana appears and I go directly to the scene with my dad in the living room in Rosario. That is what I treasure the most. Music as a channel of connection with my father (...) What is more important than your dad?”
He was also asked about how fatherhood affected him:
“Children give you a new layer, you resize your idea of love (...) One thing is to fall in love and it is beautiful. And another thing is love. Love is a feeling that children help you with... In case you have been a little lost like me, children help you get to the sense of love more quickly, to the sense of mercy that comes with the infinite embrace towards something or someone that you know is unconditional, even when you are in disagreement with that person. Even a disagreement between a father and a son or a daughter, even that comes with love. There is something that hurts you from that misunderstanding in a way that nothing else in the world hurts you. That's my point. I think being a father gave me another dimension of existence. Did I already have it? Yes, I had it a little bit. But one thing is the theory or what one perceived as a child when faced with the loss of a mother, as I had at such an early age, which was no small thing either, or with a murder, as I had in my family. You know the lack of meaning, death, absurdity... you already know all that. But when children come along, the axis changes again. So, they are central. I could not imagine my life without them. Clearly, they are the light of my life.”
…
I agree with Fito: children change the axis. Lorenzo, five and a half years old, told Irene yesterday. “Why are there thieves? Why didn't the police help to get the phone back? The most important thing is the photos. We don't have the video of Oso Ari anymore?” he asked in anguish.
Suddenly, he remembered a magician friend of ours (Oso Ari, or Ari the Bear) who, a month ago in Buenos Aires, made him laugh out loud when he put a very small piece of paper in his mouth and, after blowing it out, pulled out an infinite strip of paper.
After a while, one of my sister-in-laws sent us that video of Oso Ari. Lorenzo was very happy and so were we. What is more important than knowing that your children's happiness does not depend only on their parents?
…
This is us for now.
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With love,
Nacho
🙏 Many thanks to Worldcrunch for translating and editing this newsletter.
