Never Retire: I’m About to Turn 50—and Just Getting Started
The life I’m living now wasn’t even on the map—literally. But here I am, ready for Act Two.
I turn 50 on July 18.
With one month remaining in the first half of my life, I still find it hard to believe that I live in Spain in several ways.
One, a move like this wasn’t even on my radar when I was a kid. In fact, it was the opposite of being on my radar. If you asked me to find Spain on a map in those days, I might have looked for Africa and randomly pointed somewhere within that continent.
Two, when I fell in love with cities around the time I moved to San Francisco in 1999, I developed an understanding that European cities were better. But it was grounded in nothing other than what I read and was taught in college.
Three, when I finally experienced firsthand that European cities are better—as excited as I was and as much as I hyped them—I didn’t fully appreciate the extent. Because I only visited and—when you visit—you risk romanticizing a life you haven’t actually lived day to day.
Four, we’re doing all of the things we planned to do—in the day to day—in Spain. And—to a thing (!)—they’re better than even we expected, plus they’re happening naturally.
Turns out that we knew the lifestyle we wanted so well—without ever having fully lived it. The only thing that has surprised us is that it’s actually better than we expected.
Most definitely, this has a lot to do with Valencia and—particularly—our neighborhood, Russafa. There’s a uniqueness and vibe in this neighborhood that’s impossible to describe. There aren’t many places like Russafa in the world (I’m pretty sure). It’s an almost 24/7 neighborhood that’s so easy to live in you hardly have to try.
Take how great you think New York City is. I’ll take how much I love Paris and want to go back.
Put those two things together and we’ll have no choice but to conclude that—
Russafa is exponentially better than both places put together times two—if you experience and judge it on its urbanity, vibrancy, diversity, and accessibility.
I’m not talking shit. I’m talking objective fact.
All of this begs the question I have put to myself as I walk or bike around and talk to myself—
Do I Wish I Moved To Spain Sooner?
The answer is (basically) no.
I think it’s a (pretty firm) no for (likely the very same) reasons related to why we’re getting exactly what we wanted and expected, then some.
Breaking it down—
Had I been born here, I would obviously have a completely different perspective. It’s fascinating really. Some people who were born, grew up here, or have lived most of their lives here appreciate Spain. Maybe they’re the ones who have lived or traveled elsewhere extensively? Others look at the United States—particularly the big cities—with awe and aspiration. Not the way my wife and I view Spain at all. Ends up that we romanticized nothing.
Something else I am pretty sure about—the people who live in Spain and romanticize the United States don’t understand the United States all that well.Had I moved here sooner, would I appreciate it the same way I do now? Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t know. But I do know that the experiences I had after I left home in 1995 absolutely brought me to the place where I became capable of fully appreciating and adjusting with great ease to life in Spain. Right up into the final years in Los Angeles. Without that 30 years under my belt—let’s put it this way—for each year of experience you subtract from those 30, the experience I’m having here would be a tiny bit less incredible. Those years—and tiny bits—add up.
I remember one of the last times my wife and I visited my parents. We went to a diner that ended up closing a couple of years ago. It’s a place my Dad went every single morning along with a cast of characters, straight out of a classic sitcom like Cheers.
As we watched the daily theater and back and forth play out on the mornings we visited Main Street Cafe, I said to my wife—Why can’t places like this just be set in stone? Why can’t all of the actors who seem to be enjoying at least the slice of life they experience when they walk through those doors just be frozen in time? Spared the fate of death and able to do the dance of life in a great third place for eternity.
What could possibly be wrong with a world that lets that happen?
I think the same thing when we walk through Trastevere in Rome or Russafa—when we see Bar San Calisto* humming like it could go on forever. But of course, it doesn’t. It happens the next day and the day after that. But it probably won’t happen forever.
Even if it does—at some point, you won’t be there to see it.
Places evolve. People move. Cafés close.
Maybe that’s what I’m feeling as 50 approaches. Not even nostalgia—just the weight of knowing that even the best things end, right as I’m starting the second act of my life in the place of my dreams.
It’s not about me. It’s about time. About understanding that places shape us, but they don’t belong to us. They existed before we got here. And they’ll go on—changing, aging, and bringing life and the inspiration that goes along with living to others—long after we’re gone. Just like the constant chatter on the streets six stories beneath our apartment doesn’t stop when we leave town, sit at the table to eat, or relax on the couch watching TV.
And that’s okay. Because instead of trying to freeze time, we get to be part of something bigger than us. Even if only for a little while.
There’s still so much life to live, and I want to squeeze everything I can out of it—in a place built for that kind of living. Not the kind that requires a car to get anywhere and leaves people growing old behind closed doors, but one where aging doesn’t mean disappearing, where you step outside and you’re still able to participate in something inspiring, vibrant, and alive.
Russafa, Valencia, Spain
Spanish practice…
I turn 50 on July 18.
With one month remaining in the first half of my life, I still find it hard to believe that I live in Spain in several ways.
One, a move like this wasn’t even on my radar when I was a kid. In fact, it was the opposite of being on my radar. If you asked me to find Spain on a map in those days, I might have looked for Africa and randomly pointed somewhere within that continent.
Me cumple 50 en 18 de julio.
Se queda un mes en la mitad de mi via, todavía me cuesta creer que vivo en España en tantas maneras.
Primero, una mudanza así no es en mi radar cuando era un niño. De hecho, era el opuesto de siendo en mi radar. Si me preguntaría localizar España en una mapa en estos días, podría busque por Africa y aleatoriamente señale algunos partes en este continente.
* Bar San Calisto
In 2022, we went to Rome for the first time. It took just a few hours to realize that I wanted to leave the United State for Europe. And, now, here we are, nearly three years later with actual plans to do just that. We’re headed to Spain in 34 days.
I’ve just spent the week in a few small towns and one of the things that struck me is how walkable they are, yet everyone still drives. In one of them, I calculated that I’d not need a car at all (easier said in June than January, I know). But here people were; driving a block here, two there.
Oh and Happy Birthday!! 50 is very young yet old enough to appreciate the importance of living a life that works for you.