And They Were 3

The challenges of being unemployed. The challenges of being out of a job. I’m now sipping a cup of coffee from the espresso machine that is placed on top of a shelf, now sitting at the back of the living room. I’m writing these words at 07:39 a.m., Madrid. They don’t really make sense. Yesterday I recorded a video, not sure if I want to post it or not. It’s about the challenges of being out of a job, getting older, and being a single dad. The obstacles of leaving the family home, living by myself, with an eight-month-old baby. The volume on that video was very low, and I’ll probably not publish it. I woke up at 5:30 a.m. I’ve been waking up at that time every single day for the past couple of weeks. Some days even earlier. I’m trying to keep physically active, going out on my mountain bike that I managed to restore. It belonged to my father. I keep saying this, not sure why, as if it adds meaning, considering I didn’t have a close relationship with my father. But it was his bike, and m...

Today, I had the opportunity to visit a specialty coffee shop in Toledo, and it was a pleasure meeting Andrea—an Italian who likely opened the first specialty coffee shop in the city. Since 2013, he has been serving great coffee to both tourists and locals. One of the things that caught my attention was how he treats each customer. Whether a local or a tourist, he explains every single beverage he can prepare with a smile and a thank you. Andrea has a unique vision for this kind of business. He works alone, with no help, allowing him to balance family time with work—something unusual in this industry. We managed to talk for a few hours while he served me a doppio made with Ethiopian beans—it tasted wonderful! At the beginning of our conversation, I sensed he was measuring me up, trying to gauge how much I knew about specialty coffee. Baristas, when they realize the person in front of them knows the craft, sometimes feel a bit uncomfortable, as if they are being tested. But the truth...

I'm watching Californication again—it's been a while. The character Hank Moody is a helpless, lost man who is still in love with the mother of his child. He struggles to write and find inspiration, and he seeks consolation by sleeping with other women to ease his pain. I do not want to compare my life with that of such a famous character; my personal life is not that interesting. Still, I see some similarities in Hank's behavior—especially in the way he manages to screw up his life and beat himself down with regret for letting his partner go. A couple of months ago, I received a farewell email. It was unexpectedly painful; I did not anticipate such a surge of emotion. It was devastating—I cried and sobbed as if I had lost someone I would never see again, as if someone very close to me had passed away. The thing is, my relationship had been strenuous from the beginning, and I always felt controlled. But that was entirely my fault. I allowed that behavior to become the norm i...