By the time he was done — about ten or fifteen minutes after I had arrived and stood silently before him counting clouds in the Houston sky — I had finished my coffee and was holding the plastic to-go container in my right hand, glancing around me for a garbage can which I would fail to find, even after our one-hour interview.  He introduced himself — or maybe I did, because he probably thinks he needs no introduction — and he sent the first missile.  The whole thing (mind you, still on the sidewalk looking into the gym) was Russian KGB with almond-shaped eyes.  What do you do? Where do you live? Where are you from? Of course he had been in the oil and gas industry as a business development manager.  He could not stop speaking about himself and how cool he was, even when he was 50 pounds heavier and a drinker and smoker back in the day when he probably was happy.  He had been certified in all areas known to man, had sucked up all the books you might need to read in a lifetime to find out when to eat beans, and was of course the only person in the world who knew how you should exercise.  He had tried all other gyms which, of course, could not compare to his barebones warehouse in a trendy area of town.

I knew it was a bad idea not to tell him that I had a severe case of loose sphincters and needed to go home, or that perhaps I had a plane to catch I had completely forgotten about.  We went inside the gym, which was indeed a warehouse with tires and no equipment, just hand-made rubber elements that you may use to exercise but did not look like you would.  The place was a Les Luthiers for body-builders, and he showed me around until we got to the coolest place in the whole warehouse…the restroom.  He claimed he strove for excellence and he was pretty confident he succeeded at it.  If people did not join his gym, they probably were not worth it…

In a forty-year life span,  if therapy and being an Argentine citizen have not allowed me to lead a better life, at least they have given me tools to read addicts and people who are too much to deal with in any environment.  It is my duty to put up with them at work, but my choice to have them in my extra-hours.  J may be the coolest guy on earth to people whose self-esteem is either higher than his or so low that they won’t notice he is a fake.  At least, my self-esteem is about average, and I know he is an addict.  You can pick your addiction…wine, cigarette, sex or workouts.  I think when you switch addictions, you become a purist of the impossible, and life becomes a boring succession of days in which you are not addicted to what society praises…a major reason to think you are indeed cool.

Yes, I admire J, because he could replace addictions and get a few people to buy his time for $300 per month to attend a gym with no equipment and just a restroom.  I admire him because during the course of a full hour he was unable to offer me a recycling-friendly bin where I could throw my empty coffee cup.  I am sure he is going to do well in a society where success is all that matters, even if it is a lie and underneath the surface you are as dysfunctional as the fat guy next door.  It is always good to be the living example of The Biggest Loser and boast how you beat the odds and stayed outside them.  However, when you close the door of your expensive high-rise  condo at night, switch on the energy-saving lights of your living room and pour yourself that glass of Evian…isn’t there something missing?

You think legally-binding contracts will hold you liable and make you risk less than your own skin when tempting the devil, but even that fails you. Ubi maior, minor cessat. Yes, even the law will hold you accountable for your dreams and let your hand go when you least expect it. The law is as impersonal as our own fear of its consequences. And it leaves you naked in a dark corner when you think it will be your pillar of strength, the real thing to hold on to.

Life is a bitch, and then you die. It seems I may die waiting…for the woman I love to realize time runs forwards instead of backwards, for the seller of my first house to come back from the dead or honor his own commitments, for the US labor department to understand that I do deserve a chance to outlast my Green Card suspense. Waiting is what life is all about…oh, yes…and then you die.

Little did I know that my life would be changed on that Friday 13th as I walked out of the store with my Macbook Air hanging over my shoulder in a designer plastic bag with the Apple logo…which, by the way, I still refuse to sport on my car or in any place where its visibility could betray me.  No, if you ask me, I still think Apple is outrageously expensive, full of proprietary hardware that gets on my nerves, and cute for the sake of making computer users totally unaware of what goes on inside their machines.  I still say…if your Mac shows signs of distress, there is no way you can intervene.  Windows lets you interact with the inner world of your PC, and most of the times there will be a way of solving a glitch that will get you thinking you are a genius…but you are not, you can only barely google.

Now, I’m typing this on my new toy, which proved to me that I could be heard.  I was looking for a portable laptop that would be more than a netbook without being less than a notebook.  My voice was heard, and it was Macintosh that heard it first.  This is a very light computer that does what I need it to do, gives me a decent keyboard, flash-based memory and is slim enough to fit into my purse.  I only had to buy Office separately but, other than that, it came with the trimmings I needed to make my life easier.  I had never used a Mac before, but now I seriously wonder if, as I turn the page into a later part of my life, this is not the way I want to go.  Yes, maybe I want the ClubMed of laptops instead of the nice, decent hotel that is conveniently located but comes with few perks.  Oh, well….I am aging…so what?

November is perhaps the time to start wrapping up, coming to conclusions, planning strategically for the year ahead, deciding to be a better person. I have the feeling that we only decided to be better persons when we were children and we thought that was possible. Once we grow up, some of us just keep trying, even though we know it may only be wishful thinking. As adults, so many of us will still continue to be children. The more powerful we get, the more childish we can be. Our insecurities may have never left us, but simply changed focus from school life to office politics, and whether we can get that promotion, or our colleague’s seat. However, the hopeful side of human pettiness is that the line is always drawn somewhere. One can only wish that line is drawn closer to one’s true self, closer to our heart.

Then came another distance, a couple of weeks in Houston for me before my conference in Rio and then playtime in Buenos Aires, where you joined me and where we confirmed — as if there was a need to do that — the foundations of whatever it is that we are building. We can name it love and that would be all right. I loved having you meet another friend of mine there, someone whose loyalty and trust have given me hope and made me believe that sometimes there is no vested interest bringing people together. It is funny how some of us do perceive the truth about this cruel exercise of life, in which we are born and die alone, so the only form of happiness is finding the sidekick to seal that unspoken pact with us, be it as a friend, family or lover, to know that it is OK to trust, because what is out there is what there is and if we are loved, we must be loved for what we are.

There were Freddo ice-creams, asados, alfajores, my mother’s home cooking bringing you an arroz con leche that gave you back some of that lost childhood. There was your friend sharing with us, being a funny accomplice to the game of teasing you, like two people who love you in different ways. And I loved your shyness around me, the way in which your body tentatively sought mine when we were walking or standing near. I loved the stealth kisses and your happiness, your wholesomeness, the real you that emerged in an atmosphere of simplicity and cool spring chaos.

Now I’m back to Houston, with a book by C.E. Feiling that my uncle gave me without knowing that he perhaps owned a collector’s item. I’ll be reading that, and I’ll get back to the life of office work and odd interruptions from you in those days when you work late or not at all. I’ll get back to the waiting time that has now become a staple in our dynamics, the longing for you that feels like a pang in my stomach for a few more days until I see you again at the airport and I give you the inevitable kiss. Then I will lead you to my car, to my place, to us and everything will be all right for a treasured moment, for now.