Suddenly, it is Friday again. And I wondered what happened with all those things that I said I was going to do this week and that for some reason I didn’t do. On the one hand, there are things that I have to do, those I consider a part of my multiple professions and which I am always capable of doing: like writing this column or preparing that certain class. But on the other hand, there are those other things that I say I am going to do, those that because they are not due right away, I leave for another time. Those are the things that weigh heavily on me because they take up space in my head and are things I want to do. But something always comes up that delays them until the weekend arrives again and I realize that I did not take up in all seriousness that novel I wrote or that story I want to tell.
And then I think that at least I am able to use my free time to talk with Maruxa and with my sisters, to approach their world even though I am on the other side of the Atlantic. I know I am not wasting time because without that morsel of daily life, I could not live. But now that I am no longer on tour, now that I don’t have to take a plane every day, the hours of the day evaporate.
One of the things I learned during the pandemic was leaving aside all that did not add meaning to my life. Deciding what was not important was one of the most complex, difficult, and beautiful processes over these months. But now that I am learning to live this other life apart of the one I had before, I see that I still have not learned not to make the same mistakes, particularly the one pointed out by the Mafalda vignette on top of my desk, the one that says: «As always: the urgent allows no time for the important.»