Argentina vs. Brasil

My first fútbol game in Argentina:

They INSISTED that I wear the shirt!

When they lost, they suggested that next time I wear a Brasilian jersey.

Happiness.

Buenos Aires - Good Airs is the literal translation and it doesn't take long to figure out why. Even for the gigantic city with all its concrete, metal and glass, the fast pace, and the crowded streets, there's a lilting energy and a warmth even on the chilliest winter day.

"You wanna see someplace new?" Fede asked yesterday morning. "Of course," I answered, thinking how at this point no matter which direction I walk when I leave the house I'm bound to see something new. I should have taken that translation literally too.

As I pressed the button for Belgrano on the ticket machine at the train station, I heard a sound I couldn't quite locate, a happy hum, steady and strong, though changing like a melody. I couldn't tell where it was coming from, but it seemed to be from a heavyset man, neatly dressed in not-so-pristine clothes. I wasn't sure until he stopped to help a woman who dropped something, said "De nada," when she thanked him, and promptly picked up the tune where he'd left off. I saw his face as we crossed the turnstile onto the platform, plump and radiating the same happiness I could feel in his voice. Fede walked past him and seemed intending to continue further on. I followed him, but reluctantly, and finally had to speak up. "I wanna go near that guy!" I said. "I like listening to him."
Fede's face was slightly disbelieving. "That guy?" he stuck his chin in the singing man's direction.
"Yeah, that guy! I like it," I told him.
"He's been around doing that for as long as I can remember," he said seeming just a little bit embarrassed by it, the way one would be in the presence of the neighborhood weird guy.
"But think how happy you'd have to be to sound like that, to sing like that," I said.
Fede said he's been doing the same for at least the past five years.

I listened and watched the jolly man pace back and forth along the platform, singing songs in both English and Spanish with his face all aglow as if there was nothing he'd rather be doing. Inspiring, I thought, that this man wakes up in the morning feeling so happy that he gets dressed and leaves his house just to spread that good feeling around. He didn't once put out his hand for money, though I'm sure people must be touched enough to offer now and then, but simply stepped onto the train car when the doors slid open, still singing, and disappeared inside. Imagine that.

We stepped onto the train ourselves and were greeted by a different kind of music. "Ah, there goes my favorite guy!" Fede exclaimed, "Listen!" Sitting sideways in an aisle seat a few rows away was a white-haired man with wire-rimmed glasses playing an accordian-like instrument with fervor. Fede explained that it was a bandonéon, an instrument typically found in tango, and that the song the man was playing is famous here. Almost every person on the car was smiling. Again, I was taken by the simplicity. Here was a man, dressed neatly, properly even, in button-down shirt and pressed slacks, who found something that he's good at, something that gives him joy, and though it may not be the most lucrative choice, opts to go out every day and do his work. He shares the joy, simple as that. But when the music stopped and the man began to talk, he told us all a story about a dream he had once. I tried to listen closely, but the noise of the train passing tracks made it hard to decipher the Castellano. Fede filled me in. Never a churchgoing man and not at all religious, he had the strangest dream once. In the dream was a man, wearing hardly any clothes, and standing like this (he held his arms out from his shoulders like a T). And even though he wasn't religious, he believed in what the man had said. The man told him he should go out and spread a message to everyone he sees. The man in the dream told him to pass it on that love will save the world. He thanked us all very much, put away his instrument with care, and came around with a woolen cap to collect whatever we could spare. I confess, as I dropped a peso in as he walked by, I felt the love.

We passed the afternoon in Recoleta, wandering through the artesan feria, playing tourist at the giant metal flower (donated to the city by Argentine architect Edouardo Catalano), and enjoying tasty beer with lunch at a local brewery. New scenery, new tastes, new place for sure, but nothing compared to the new perspective with which I returned home to La Lucila.

As we walked back through the city to the bus that would take us home, we crossed an intersection crowded full of people standing and watching. Fede grabbed my hand, walking faster, and said, “Come this way.” I followed like a lamb, ready to see whatever he wanted to show me at this point. “Do you know why we’re crossing?” he asked as we stepped up onto the curb. “Not really,” I replied. “Because of him,” he gestured toward a clown on the other side of the street. Awww, how cute, I thought, assuming he was avoiding the clown because he knows I’ve got a fear of them. But then, he climbed up onto a wall amid the crowd and said, “Come,” and offered his hand. This clown wasn’t a scary clown with big hair and big shoes and creepy grin. He was a cute clown in mime clothes and a beret. We watched as he improvised his act using whoever or whatever came near. He mimicked a grumpy woman walking from behind, another who walked as if on a catwalk. Then, acted as if he were pulling a man coming toward him on a rope. He stopped traffic and sat on cars pretending to think and just made light of whatever passed him by. This guy made a job out of just plain old having fun. Imagine that. Every person who meets you walks away with a smile.

What is it that prevents us all from finding freedom in life, the kind of freedom that gets you out there seeing from new angles, the kind that gets you spreading love and living from a place of deep down joy? The answer I’ve landed on after lots of contemplation is fear. Perhaps of something silly, unexplainable or rooted in some memory, like a clown, or crowds, or heights. Perhaps it’s fear of being different, a sideways look from a stranger. Could be a fear of trying something new. Maybe it’s a fear of falling.

Whatever the case, my suggestion is this:
Dare to do what makes you happy.

Hatha Yoga classes in La Lucila, All Levels, open to the public beginning tomorrow.

Tuesdays and Thursdays 7:30pm.

Visit: www.pacificyogaba.blogspot.com for more details.

Namaste!