The day before yesterday was my 46th birthday. In Spain it is customary to bring pastries for breakfast at work on this day, so I bought a dozen Dunkin Donuts on the way to work. My co-workers sang to me the Spanish rendition of happy birthday. I felt myself blushing, and with my blush my co-workers sang with more impetus to embarrass me more. I realized I've become more comfortable in embarrassment than before, the experience was not discomfort but a surge of emotions between happiness and shyness.
At lunchtime my sister and mom called. I chatted a bit with my nephew, he had a new haircut and I commended it, saying I wished that I had hair so that I could imitate him, but then, as I was looking at the video feed and saw my own face on the screen, I said: "but I have hair on my beard, so I could let it grow out and brush it sideways like you, and I can say you inspired me!" and he reacted in that denying-with-laughter way kids tend to do.
Since I was at the office, I gave a quick tour and a glimpse of my co-workers to my mother and my sister and I demonstrated our standing desks. My co-workers laughed at how they marveled at looking the desk raise and I doubled down by saying "inventos del hombre blanco"—inventions of white men, so many layers of inappropriateness that I later felt remorse. The younger guys at work are delightfully politically incorrect which amuses me to no end but it's probably not good in the long run.
At night I went to an open mic urban music event with V. It's the first time I invite V. (or any friend in Madrid) to one of my music outings and it was nice having company and discussing the merits and misgivings of each artist. After the concert we went to grab a burger at Five Guys and I was supremely annoyed with V for minor grievances.
Yesterday it was my mother's 80th birthday (I was born one day before her). I called her at night, and we chatted a long time, perhaps an hour. My mother says our walk together was my birthday present to her, and the memories of our walk have shifted in my mind, I'm starting to feel compelled to write an account of what happened outwardly. While I was struggling on the inside, the outside was beautiful and I feel it passed unappreciated in my chornicle of the walk.
I'm standing at my desk, ten minutes after having arrived to work. I wanted to publish this which had been sitting in my text editor since yesterday.