Tensions and action
Tensions and action
A thousand million seconds = 31 years. What sticks after tension has gone? Mother travels with baby for work — does any man do it?
We are about to embark on a new trip, combining work and leisure, as a whole family. I was chosen as one of 30 journalists to attend a four-day reporting fellowship in New York City which focuses on early childhood and caregivers. We have coordinated with friends and family to be able to take the children along — and we are incredibly lucky to have this network and the flexibility to do it.
But as I start packing — and I think of the weather, and the clothes, and what the kids will do — some tensions are coming up. Will this stroller be OK in case it rains? And what will the children wear if they want to be outside and the temperatures drop?
As I dig around, I realize that this is not the first time there is tension around a trip. I find some notes from a year ago, as we took another long trip.
It is March 2023. Deep night in a hotel near Istanbul airport. Irene, León and Lorenzo sleep. In a few hours we are going to Buenos Aires. First trip to Argentina after three years, that is, post-pandemic.
I wake up to go to the bathroom. I stay awake. Léon seems to grunt as he nurses for the thousandth time. It's the only thing that interrupts the silence of the night. Suddenly, a word pops into my head: tension. I think it sums up the day gone by and, I guess, what is to come.
I got tense several times today, especially with Lorenzo. At four years old, he is super excited about the trip: “We are going to live forever in Argentina. We are going back to Greece for a visit.” I am delighted with his enthusiasm. I was very amused when he got angry when I scolded him and he replied: “I’m going to live with my uncles, aunts, and cousins, and you're only going to visit me.”
I got tense in the bathroom at the Athens airport, when Lorenzo peed everywhere without paying attention and not only did he wet his hands and clothes but I had to jump so he wouldn't get me wet.
When we arrived in Istanbul, the stopover before Buenos Aires, I was tense when Lorenzo ran without stopping and went too far away. The panic that he could get lost in that immense airport just overwhelmed me. With hindsight, I wonder if I should have left him running so that he could let go of his own tensions.
But he already got lost once in Greece. We were in Alimos, a crowded recreational harbor. Suddenly he ran off. When I went after him, I didn't see him anymore. After two minutes I heard his cry and found him.
I got tense again at the airport in Istanbul when he said he couldn't walk because he was tired. "You should have walked instead of running," I reproached him, using an adult logic that didn't help but that I, who was tired, insisted on using in the hope that he would learn something (I doubt it would ever happen this way).
The truth is that I have been tense since the morning, when we were tidying up the house to leave. At one point, while I was loading one of his bikes, Lorenzo ran without looking and hit his head on the pedal. Immediately an egg-sized bump popped out on his forehead, the skin tightened to the maximum and almost cracked. He might as well have stuck the pedal in his eye. I know I am not to blame for seeing him suffer but it distresses me: a metaphor for parenthood.
León also was a part of the tension. In a moment of distraction, as we were saying goodbyes at the airport, the stroller began to move from the sidewalk into the street. A friend shouted, "León!". Irene and I turned fast and grabbed the stroller over the curb, one wheel in the air.
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Now, a year later and at a distance, that list of unbearable tensions seems absurd to me.
I do remember some uncomfortable moments (for example, how exhausting the plane rides were, especially the return flight with spilled juice, coffee and water — thanks Lorenzo and unking passenger in the seat ahead of me! — on my pants for 19 hours).
But what stands out from that month in Buenos Aires are Lorenzo and León's laughs with uncles, cousins and friends. A year later, Lorenzo remembers the names of the people he played and had fun with; the people who told him stories and took care of him. The people who gave us love.
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Recently, I came across this Twitter thread (I know, I know, it's called X now) where entrepreneur Sahil Bloom reflects on the phrase "Time Billionaire," coined by investor Graham Duncan: “A billion seconds is slightly over 31 years…when I see, sometimes, 20-year-olds—the thought I had was they probably have two billion seconds left. But they aren’t relating to themselves as time billionaires.”
Bloom reminds us that time is our most precious commodity and that too often we don't realize the value of this asset until we lose it. “Treat time as your ultimate currency—it’s all you have and you can never get it back.”
“It is about embracing the shortness of life and finding joy in ordinary daily moments of beauty,” says the entrepreneur, for whom we waste a lot of energy on the past and the future when the present is the only thing guaranteed. He suggests using time in a way that you will never regret.
How many more times are we going to travel with Irene, Lorenzo and León to Argentina? Will there be someone we will have seen for the last time? What is the importance of a meltdown, of Lorenzo’s momentary whims, and our sense of exhaustion? Where should we put our focus and energy?
Bloom says: “Family time is limited — cherish it. Children time is precious — be present.”
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Watching the fourth season of Sex Education, something Adam hears from his boss stayed with me — a sentence he later repeats to his father (and which is apparently also to be attributed to another U.S. business, the late W. Clement Stone): “Thinking doesn’t overcome fear. Action does.”
Reflection and planning are important, but what stays with us is what we do. Action is what can help us face insecurities, fears and challenges.
There is a concrete example of action that recently inspired me (and not only). In October, Irene went on a month-long trip with León. She was in Spain on a fellowship. The night before she came back, she posted a photo as beautiful as the words that accompanied it:
“I’ve just spent a month in Spain doing a fellowship for women entrepreneurs. I travelled with León, 11 months. I had some tough moments. One night he wouldn’t stop crying in the hotel room and I walked alone to the hospital (it was his teeth). When others went for a nap or for a glass of wine, I stayed behind in a playground or took him to sleep. But the women around me also provided community, and love. I showed them that mothers can do a lot, and they helped me in some difficult times. It is possible to have kids and keep rocking it. We just need a lot of support and a lot of love — some of it is structures we need to advocate for, and the rest happens when we build community.”
I am moved by her, as was one of her co-fellows, who teared up when she spoke about Irene at the fellowship closing ceremony. I celebrate her action’s symbolic power — for our children, for all the women who were there with her, and for those who saw it on social media.
Upon returning home, Irene told me about the tension she felt before leaving. She said that she was not yet ready to leave León for so long (nor to not see Lorenzo, which is why we visited her), but she did not want to let go of such an opportunity. If family is something we want to build while there are other spaces we want to continue to inhabit, how do we reconcile parenthood and professional life?
I think of something else. Like some other parents, I stayed at home for a month with Lorenzo, who is already in kindergarten. But do I know any man who goes away for a month for work or for a fellowship taking a baby along? Would it be possible? Can we create spaces where mothers are not alone in this process, and where fathers dare to do it too? If time is so precious, how can we use it to see more real change?
This time, ahead of our upcoming trip, my first action is to become aware of the tensions. And hopefully this is a good place to start to make the most of the (limited) time we have ahead of us.
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Thanks for reading and for sharing it with others.
See you soon, and stay in touch. I would love to hear from you.
With love,
Nacho