I woke up in Portugal this morning.
Sunlight filtered through the bedroom curtains and a warm breeze filled the room, and I lay in bed a moment longer than I needed to.
Then I got up, showered, dressed, and stepped outside.
I’ve been here for a few days now, and still I haven’t seen a cloud in the sky. I hear that’s how it is, most of the year.
The cobblestone streets are slippery and full of hills. Paint peels off old buildings, pink and green and blue and white. Walking through this neighbourhood feels like going back in time.
It’s quiet this time of morning, but by noon the streets will be filled with the sounds of locals meeting for coffee, kids eating ice cream, and friends gathering to drink beer at picnic tables in the park.
I wonder what they do for work, but I don’t think it’s a priority here the way it is back home. I wonder who’s got it right.
I arrive at my favorite coffee shop and grab a seat.
John Mayer is playing on the speakers. The album is a throwback; I remember listening to it with my high school girlfriend, many years ago, as we holed up in a log cabin together at Christmas time. I start feeling nostalgic, which puts me in a mood to write.
After all these years, it’s still my favorite thing to do:
Sit down at a coffee shop in a foreign country, and write emails.
Afterwards, I’ll probably grab one more coffee, do a bit more work, and have lunch at a place down the street that has an amazing terrace view overlooking Lisbon.
Then I’ll hit a gym down by the ocean that’s supposed to be pretty good. The gym scene isn’t great here, but it works.
After dinner, I’ve fallen into a nighttime routine of listening to a podcast while wandering the streets with no planned destination, other than finding a hole in the wall pastry shop and then seeing where the night goes.
I turn 36 today, and as you can probably tell, I’m feeling contemplative.
A chapter of my life is closing, and it’s visceral.
My days of freewheeling travel with nobody to answer to aren’t quite over yet, but they’re numbered.
I don’t know what the next chapter looks like, but I’m ready for it.
And I’m feeling grateful to the 20 year old version of me who dreamt this life up and then actually went and made it happen.
The crazy bastard.
Wherever you are in the world, I hope the sun is shining and John Mayer is playing and you’re taking a wild shot your future self will thank you for.
Lots of love from Lisbon,
- T
m
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