Never Retire: The Biggest Challenge Of Life In Spain
Learning Spanish at 49, remembering ignorance at 12, and trying not to give myself such a hard time
When I was a kid, my friends thought I looked Mexican. Like Trump does today, we classified people the way you do insects—thanks, —as to keep confusion away (thanks, Elliott Smith). If you spoke Spanish or had certain brownish features, you were Mexican.
They would make fun of me frequently.
For example, at lunch, one of my friends liked to read the label on the back of my potato chip bag in an exaggerated “Mexican” accent—this package is sold by weight, not vol-youuuum.
It’s the type of ignorant shit you can forgive yourself for doing as a child as you’re bewildered by adults who still engage in the same or similar behavior today. Anyway, more on that in a minute in association with the biggest internal and external struggle I’m facing as we’re pretty much settled in Spain.
But first—
I plan to launch the Friki de Bici Substack and merch store next week or the week after. At that time, I plan on consistently posting YouTube videos with breaks here and there when I visit San Francisco for two weeks in May—(I'm looking forward to it, but I don’t want to leave Spain!)—and Barcelona, Paris, and Amsterdam for about a week in June. However, we will spend some of that time trying to get the word out about Friki de Bici on a global scale.
The project is at a pivotal pre-launch juncture, so any support to get it up, running, and maintained is greatly appreciated.
The link at the button below is legitimate and goes to Substack’s payment processor, Stripe.
I am too hard on myself. There’s no doubt about that. But still—the struggle is real.