Tag Archives: Self-Care

Practices prioritizing mental, physical, and emotional health to sustain well-being amid demands.

#36 The comfort of a daily loop

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After forcing myself out of bed, performing my morning exercises consisting of some twenty minutes of light weightlifting, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and running out to catch the tram, I finally enjoy my favourite moment of the workday: reading a book.

When I’m lucky, I find a seat near the window. I squeeze myself into a sort of one-handed self-hug, holding the book with my free hand, zoning out from everything around me as I get absorbed in whatever I’m reading. Sometimes, I glance at the screen displaying the remaining stops to calculate how many pages I can approximately read before the end of the ride—whether I can finish the chapter or not.

Before getting off to jump on the train that will take me to my final destination, I mark the line I have reached with my fingernail and put the bookmark in place. I walk as quickly as possible to beat other people waiting on the platform and secure a good spot to read undisturbed once again.

During this whole time, my biggest worries are a crying baby, a pair of talkative kids speaking a language I understand, people listening to loud music, or someone playing the guitar, singing, or begging for money. In those moments, I admit to entertaining some rather unsympathetic thoughts—not worth detailing, but let’s just say my imagination turns catastrophically sinister when the peace of my reading is disrupted.

I have breakfast at the supermarket. There’s a healthy buffet there. Very few people eat breakfast there, which gives me a few more minutes to read or listen to an audiobook before starting my shift.

During my lunch break, I return to the same supermarket buffet. I prepare my bowl and run to a park close by to find a bench where I can eat in peace, disconnecting from everything. After a few minutes of peace, I tend to speed up my eating to carve out some extra reading time before returning to work.

In the evening, I do the same routine in reverse on my way home. But once I’m home, I’m done—my body and brain just want a shower, some food, and silence before stretching into a few more pages of reading, a spontaneous blog post draft, a few scenes from a movie I’ll end up watching in episodes like a TV series, some time with my girlfriend when our schedules align, or simply a good, long night of sleep.

This repetitively pleasant routine, though, is a phase of rest. A pause that feels purposeful. I don’t yet know what it precedes, but I do know it’s necessary—an interval of stillness before the next thing begins, whatever that may be. And for now, that’s enough.

#22 My forgotten Happy Thoughts

Toodles: [Searching for something on the floor] Lost, lost, lost.
Peter Banning: Lost what?
Toodles: I’ve lost my marbles.

With this short dialogue, we were introduced to Toodles in Hook, the amazing Peter Pan movie from the ’90s starring Robin Williams. The way I understood it, the marbles mentioned in the dialogue were a metaphor for Peter Pan’s happy thoughts—something he had literally lost, growing up into an insensitive workaholic adult named Peter Banning. Later in the movie, he finds them again (both Toodles’ marbles and his own happy thoughts) after an amazing adventure in Neverland to rescue his children from the clutches of Captain Hook, who had kidnapped them.

On a separate and unrelated subject, a few days ago was the birthday of one of the most important people I’ve met in my entire life: my uncle Beto. During my childhood, Uncle Beto was like a father to me—the best one anyone could wish for.

He made me laugh and taught me amazing things, like putting glass on my kite strings to win kite battles against other very competitive kids. He allowed me to express myself: smile, laugh, make silly jokes, and ask a thousand times the same question—he would actually play along. He never dismissed me and always explained things in a way that sparked curiosity, even when I had no idea what he was talking about.

I could spend an entire day listing the reasons why he played an immense role in my life and the person I’ve become. Despite this, he never sought recognition or validation. Life eventually pulled us apart for reasons too long to explain, but hardly a day goes by without me thinking of him as one of the heroes of my childhood.

On another unrelated topic, last year (2024) marked the 30th anniversary of Ayrton Senna’s death. “Ayrton Senna from Brazil,” as the famous Brazilian commentator Galvão Bueno used to call him enthusiastically while narrating Senna’s Formula 1 performance, which kept all of Brazil glued to their TVs. Senna also influenced me greatly with the values he embodied: tenacity in the face of immense challenges, generosity and passion among many.

Now, here is where these seemingly unrelated topics come together.
The other day, after greeting my uncle for his birthday, I told him I had watched the Senna miniseries on Netflix. It reminded me of when we used to go to his parents’ house for the weekend and ended the day watching Formula 1 Grand Prix races, rooting for Senna.

He replied with a beautiful message that made me very emotional. He said he had also watched the series and that it reminded him of me. He recalled some episodes from when I was a kid—like how, while driving with me in the backseat about to fall asleep, he would say, “Look, there’s Senna out there!” and I’d wake up immediately, looking for Senna outside the window. I couldn’t remember that memory before he mentioned it, but it was so precious to me because I loved hearing my uncle’s laugh—always full of joy and childlike energy, despite his ability to make us all feel safe and protected.

Then, he reminded me of the day Senna died. It was one of the saddest days in Brazil’s recent history. As crazy as it may sound, you’d have to have been there in Brazil during those years to truly understand. My uncle told me that after learning the news, he came to check on me. We were going to his parents’ house that day, but when he found me, I already knew. We cried together in the elevator while getting ready. Now I remember that moment, though I didn’t before he brought it up. There are many moments of my childhood that I don’t remember—many happy ones.

I’m left with a question: Have I gone from Peter Pan to Peter Banning? Have I become an insensitive workaholic adult who’s lost his marbles and happy thoughts? Maybe, or maybe not. Perhaps Hook will come for me and take me back to Neverland. No! As usual, I’ll need to do the hard work of digging, understanding, and integrating to get there.  But once again, thanks to my uncle, Senna and Peter Pan, I’ve learned something important: it’s never too late to rediscover the joy and wonder we once held close.
Whether through reconnecting with loved ones, revisiting cherished memories, or embracing the values of our heroes, we have the power to reclaim our marbles and rediscover our happy thoughts.