Es invierno y la oscuridad se cierne sobre mí. Al caer la tarde, una oscuridad impenetrable me dice que el día ha acabado aunque solo son las 4:00. ¿Qué hacer, mas que regocijarse en los pensamientos de pasado y futuro?
El invierno es la época de los temores.
El calor del hogar reconforta mientras que afuera se libran las batallas.
Tampoco sé si a veces soy tomate o soy gato, o si simplemente soy Luciano con O. Soy como Sven que murió la semana pasada.
Qué me importa si Luciana tiene el arma si el que disparó fui yo. A veces me gusta ir por la vida con una coca cola. Me gusta sentir la lluvia, la lluvia de olor a pólvora quemada, limpiándome la sangre de la herida. La sangre de tomate como el gato rojo de Amarilla. Amarilla se parece a Luciana con A. A veces, Luciana con A está celosa porque yo hablo de Amarilla. Le digo: “Tranquilízate nena” y ella enfurece. El problema es que Luciana con A no lee mis libros.
Luciana con A siempre anda discutiendo. Pelea conmigo por las coca colas. Pelea conmigo porque no me apetece un buen polvo. Pelea conmigo porque le compro drogas. Pelea con el dentista porque no se lava los dientes. Luciana con A pelea con la vecina porque las sábanas que extiende le tapan el sol que cae a la terraza. A Luciana con A le gusta pelear. Yo le digo: “Vive nena” y ella enfurece.
Me gusta Luciana con A. Yo soy Luciano con O. Así que es gracioso. Cuando tomo coca cola a Luciana con A le da celulitis. Yo me siento mareado. No sé si es por la sangre de tomate que me lava la lluvia con olor a pólvora quemada o si es por el brandy que le cayó a la coca cola en la mañana.
Luciana con A dice que es de noche. A mí siempre me parece que está de día. Lo que pasa es que Luciana con A siempre dice lo contrario a lo que yo digo. Luciana con A dice: “Estás equivocado Luciano con O” y yo digo “Qué importa nena”. Y ella enfurece.
Luciana con A dice que quiere el lado izquierdo. A mí me da igual. Diez metros bajo tierra la lateralidad no importa. Creo que Luciana con A y yo estaremos muy estrechos.
Sin palabras para describir la sensación que hay en mí. Tus palabras que taladran los rincones de mi cabeza y mi corazón que se retuerce queriendo no oir. Las palabras que, aunque reflejen anhelos, destruyen como acciones. Mis palabras que repiten todas mis inseguridades.
Sé que no quieres irte y no quiero que te vayas. Pero aquí queda el vacío de las lágrimas derramadas y mi alma seca. ¿Con qué se llena? ¿Con qué se llena el sentimiento de pérdida, el duelo temporal pero infinito?
Me causa gran dolor todavía hoy a pesar del alivio. Me duele recordar esos días grises de invierno a poco terminar.
“I really want to live a life of stories… A life worth retelling,” he tells me when I ask him about his changing career. Although he has never finished any of them, he has “giant stories” in his head. He lives to tell stories. And stories he tells me.
Rico talks fast and continuously, and politely pauses when he sees I struggle to keep up with the notes. We don’t record this conversation because there is just too much in it. Rico was laid off from a job he had held for several years, and the emotions still run high for both of us.
While in college, he competed in an oratory contest and wrote a speech about graduating. His winning speech talked about winding paths and doing what we weren’t expected to do. He talked about reaching the end of life with very good stories to tell: “When faced with the safe choice and the crazy choice, choose the crazy, so you have a crazy story.” He continues, “I didn’t jump into the world with an idea of what I was going to do.” But, for sure, he wants to “do more than just wake up in the morning, go to work, and clock out” for the rest of his life.
His career proves he’s been choosing the crazy option since graduating. He worked at a restaurant and a bar. He worked at a university and a luxury homeware store. He dug archeological sites in some forgotten places in the world. He worked as a mailman. He’s done the weirdest jobs.
I ask him which of these experiences is the most significant, and he chooses two. The first one he chooses is when he worked for the luxury homeware store. There, he tried to play the part of being “fancy and luxury.” He worked really hard to look the part, but, in the end, he was still fired. Rico realized that there was no point in not being authentic: “If some place doesn’t want me for me, I don’t want to be there.”
The second experience is the time in his career when he was unemployed for a year and a half. It was his first time being laid off: “It came out of nowhere, and I wasn’t mentally prepared for it because I hadn’t experienced it before.” His wife was a graduate student at the time, and they had a 2-year-old. With no income and student debt, they used all their savings and took on welfare, and they went down to 1,000 dollars in their account. It was a terrible experience, and he felt worthless.
Eventually, Rico got a job at a restaurant even though he had no experience. He was still given the job, as he was able and willing to learn. Having that opportunity “of being able to join funny, weird, dedicated people was a turning point.” He shares that he learned “how to feel wanted, needed, and validated. It helped me see how I fit into other places and can be accepted.”
Since he touched upon it, I ask him about being laid off. “How do you feel now?” I ask. As upsetting as it was, he sees the silver lining: “I don’t agree from a conceptual standpoint. I don’t think it was a good choice to lose all these people… But I think change is a good thing. [This job] was golden handcuffs, and I see [this situation] as the universe kicking me in the a** and saying that I have to try something different.”
He adds that the toughest part of being laid off is separating the value judgment of the self and the particular job one did at the company: “Maintaining a sense of self is the hardest part. The first time I was laid off, we really struggled. I broke down because I couldn’t get a job or an interview, and I felt incredibly worthless”. Rico explains that it feels sometimes as if your job is your worth. So when you have no job, you feel like nothing: “You still feel like your entire worth is being called into question. You have to recognize that you aren’t the role you lost and that you are a worthy person. You’ll struggle with that regardless.”
To this last layoff, Rico adds the difficulty of dealing with a sense of betrayal. He thought differently about his last place of employment, so he felt like his trust had been betrayed. Now, he is trying to “come to terms with the fact that I am so angry and frustrated about it. I am working through the emotions.”
I see myself reflected in his feelings, so I ask about how he copes. He shares that he tries to cope by letting life happen. Part of that is letting interesting opportunities appear and chase them from there, instead of trying to force something: “Letting myself have the headspace to identify a nice opportunity, have serendipity, and let weird things happen.” Then, he shares that he tries to enjoy the fun that comes with unemployment, like watching TV or playing video games. This prompts me to ask: So how do you feel about work, anyway?
Rico responds: “No one is going to choose work over vacation. But work can be nice if we enjoy ourselves.” He continues, “Work is one of those things that gets a bad rap. Too many people don’t try to have fun at work, and that is the most important part.” Work is a necessary thing, so he tries to find things that are enjoyable and interesting and to solve unique problems that are meaningful. He shares that some of his goals at work were to build a good rapport and to make sure people were smiling and laughing “because if we aren’t having fun, what is the point?” (Yes, Rico might have sworn there.)
It is close to an hour, and I ask my last question: “What would you like businesses to know about laying employees off?” Rico doesn’t hesitate: “Companies need to recognize that there is inherently a feeling of betrayal that comes with this. You are given no intimation that that is going to happen. We understand they don’t want it to come up, but there is a betrayal… It is hard to turn around and pretend everything is fine.”
He continues, “Workers pay the price for poor leadership decisions, and they can see this. They aren’t blind. For example, people at Barstool Sports were laid off, but the leader just bought a 42-million-dollar mansion. So he could lay all these people off for a bad decision, but face no consequence.” Leadership and companies need to know that people see this happening, and it doesn’t look good no matter how many NDAs are signed.
*Rico’s name has been changed to protect his privacy.
Hacen 90 grados afuera mientras que adentro las palabras se sofocan. Me afecta el silencio y una gran introspección. Abro una botella como cada viernes en la tarde y me siento a la ventana a mirar las hojas.
Hoy es un día de pocas palabras, de soledades plenas. Las canciones de fondo ambientan la atmósfera prona a la tristeza. Te recuerdo hoy, y recuerdo mi casa, y la familia que dejamos buscando algo mejor quizá.
Qué valiente fuiste al dejar todo por ella. Qué valiente al levantarte sola. Qué valiente eres ahora que las puertas se cierran y a fuerza abres otras.
Y con esa valentía, te levantarás y abrirás tu corazón para amar de nuevo. Perdonarás, si no lo has hecho. Y serás tan grande como el universo.
Tal vez algún día también perdone yo, y se me quite esta rabia infinita.
Pero hoy no será. No será hoy que me faltan las palabras.
Carta a una familiar
MALDITAS PALABRAS POÉTICAS 