America: The land of the free?

A few weeks ago, I ventured a hop, skip and a jump across “the pond” and onto Europe to visit a dear friend of  mine in Barcelona, Spain.  Beautiful country, beautiful people and beautiful food.  I believe I may have eaten my way through every pastry shop along my travels and  engorged myself on paella, pork sandwiches, cheese, bread and wine.  Let us not forget the cheap wine. AH! God - Barcelona is where you hide the cheap wine! And I thank you.  Hiding a sleeve of plastic cups in your friend’s man bag along with a long loaf of bread and a bottle of red wine (all essential travel items) as you pretend to play the tourist and not a shameless drunk as you teeter through alleys to take in old cathedrals, gothic architecture and tapas bars is the way to see this city, my friends. And let us also not forget the white sandy Mediterrean beaches.  Do you know that they sell cans of beer on the beach? Brilliant. Taking a 45 minute train ride after an afternoon of downing numerous cervezas? Not so brilliant. Especially when the bathroom is occupied the entire time.  Word of advice:  One with a full bladder should not walk about the train, particularly as it lurches to a sudden stop. It makes you miss your seat and mess your pants.  Remember, I have a knack for peeing my pants at inopportune times. (if you forgot that post, make sure to revisit “Grace is Overrated”).

But let’s talk about the beaches, shall we? In Barcelona, there are certain beaches where people wear only the clothes that the good Lord gave them.  It took me awhile to grow accustomed to this; I mean, let’s be clear, when I go to the gym locker room, I’m  still able to take my bra off without completely taking off my shirt; this act is usually done by facing the lockers, my back to others, one arm out of the sleeve, while I shimmy my bra off down the other and through its sleeve. Ta-da! No need to show everyone my boobs before they hit the Nautilus machines.  This is a handy trick all of us learn in  7th grade gym class. (although, I feel that the older you get, the less you care about this trick. I’ve seen a lot of 75 year old boobs at the gym. And it ain’t pretty.)   In any case, folks in Barcelona feel very free to walk around, their business hanging out while lounging on the beach, swimming in the ocean and reading a novel.  Frankly, I would find it challenging to get wrapped up in a book while my private bits are frying in the sun like they are on a grill at a 4th of July party.  And  bits I saw aplenty; it was like a bad car accident. You couldn’t at times pull your eyes away from the very exposed European “turtlenecks” or saggy parts meant to be held up by something other than gravity (and let me tell you, to an Irish-Catholic farm girl from Upstate, those anatonomical turtlenecks serve as quite a learning lesson).  Let’s not leave out the “twin” sets let loose from their “cardigan” bikini tops; that week I saw more Mary Kate and Ashleys than a rehab clinic. However, after a couple of days at the beach, I began to focus more on my tan and laughing with my friends than blinking an eye at the show around me. Although, at times, I have to be honest that I wish my eyes would have averted elsewhere, especially after raising my head from my magazine only to be eye level with something that looked more like it should behind a deli case rather than resting upon a beach towel. SUNBLOCK, people, SUNBLOCK!

But, I digress. On the other stretch of beaches, I  discovered other walks of life. Here, I found that Barcelona was full of lots of elderly couples. And these were not old couples that were being wheeled around in wheelchairs by hospice workers or hobbling along on canes.  These couples were walking hand in hand, stopping along the way to talk to friends, walking their dogs or simply watching the world go by. One evening, I found myself walking along the busy sidewalk that ran along the beachfront, taking in the the throngs of beach-goers savoring the day’s last bits of daylight, playing volleyball, splashing in the ocean or lounging in the sand.  Lining the sidewalk were dozens of benches that faced the beach, all full of mostly old couples sitting and watching the sun begin it’s descent into the ocean.  Some spoke to each other, some held hands, and some just sat together and  people-watched, watching children chase each other down the beach or groups of teenagers volley a ball over nets.  I watched them in wonder. As I watched them look out at the more younger generations enjoying the beach, I  saw them ignore the commotion and noise and instead focus on the calmness of the sea itself, the pure beauty of a sunset and basking in the glow of the many miles they’ve walked and the stories that the lines in their faces could tell. 

That’s what made me think about my own home country. In Barcelona, afternoon siestas are a daily ritual; food is an event that is enjoyed slowly and passionately; walking along city streets is leisurely and not rushed.  It made me think that this may be the recipe to youth; the savoring and enjoying moments of life instead of being rushed onto to the next thing. Slowing down is something that I believe Americans have lost sight of.  The opportunity to sit and take in a sunset, share a conversation with friends or to just let your thoughts become quiet can set more people free than the Declaration of Independence.  And I believe that is what truly propels, literally, these couples to get up every day and enjoy the moments of life instead of making themselves priosner to Wheel of Fortune and dinner on TV trays night after night.

So, I ask you my friends, are we truly the land of the free? Are we so free that in my hurry to pack and wrap up things at work by putting hours in overtime  (just so I can take a vacation) that I forgot to call one of my best friends from college on her birthday? Are we so free that we wolf in our food at our desks, in front of the TV or at the kitchen counter as we write bills or answer phone calls? Are we so free that we take cross-country business trips with our families and call it a vacation because the hotel and food is paid for?  Are we so free that our country has made us afraid to show anyone who we really are so we instead hide our selves in closets and under sweaters?

Maybe it would take a huge cultural overhaul to get Americans to slow down, take naps in the afternoon and breathe in fresh air for a moment or two.  Or maybe it should just be as simple as turning off our phones, our televisions, our laptops and sitting and just being.  To take the hands of the ones we love for a stroll on a Monday evening, to throw out a blanket in our backyard and count the stars or to enjoy a pastry without having to balance it between the steering wheel and styrofoam cup of coffee.  Every day, night after night, the sun, the ocean, the people…they are all still there. The sun will always rise and set, the ocean will break its waves upon the shore and the people will continue to either choose to ignore and rush past nature’s consistent moments or instead choose to sit on a bench for a moment and take it all in for the simple beauty that it provides.

To be truly free is to not to take for granted.  Whatever life hands you each day, you have a choice to either embrace it or ignore it.  To be able to embrace is a gift, to ignore is a shame.  Both take the same energy. So let’s embrace, shall we? For one day, let’s try to take a moment to tune out the noise and turn off distractions.  To plan our next vacation. To make a meal slowly and deliberately.  To walk to instead of drive to.  To take back the personal freedoms that our country is held accountable for.  To count our blessings. 

And  to do all of that, you can still keep your top on.  Ole`!

Leah A. Flynn, Copyright 2010