Run Gaby Run!
Autumn has beautifully swept over me. I do like changes, and the wind with its sudden grey skies reminds me of introspective times, being cozy at home, meditating, going to bed early. Unexpectedly, I’ve welcomed this season with elegance. Normally, this is the time when I prepare myself for the “war” called winter. And if you are a fan of the cold season, please try to stand in my shoes: I am a Latina, used to steady sunny days, Christmas celebrations shared with family and friends, and a carousel of music that lasts about three months. For me, this cold and harsh time of year has always been painful, sometimes even tearing me apart.
Over the years, I’ve developed what I call the “quality” of running away from discomfort or at least choosing the kind of discomfort I’m willing to endure. I’ve always been proud of my ability to face and push through tough situations, but in truth, I often forgot how many times I simply changed the scenario altogether to clear obstacles. Most of the time, that meant changing everything: the country, the job, the entire reality around me, creating a fresh new beginning. And somehow, I always managed to get away with it.
I came to this realization just recently, while I was planning yet another “change-it-all” move. This time, I was dreaming of heading to some Caribbean island where the sun could shine on my face all year long, promising me a brighter future and the chance to rebuild my life once again. But then, in a sudden moment of clarity, I recognized the pattern: I have always been a runner. Starting over was easier than staying put and learning to endure something that felt so far from my ideals.
This reflection took me back, far back to the very first time I decided to leave everything behind. I was only 19, living alone in Caracas. I had earned a spot at the Central University of Venezuela to study Modern Languages, but since my parents refused to support me, I had to sustain myself. I made silver jewelry spending hours hypnotized by the blowtorch as I crafted pieces that I later sold in the streets of "Sabana Grande" in Caracas. I also worked at a small juice stand in El Ávila (a lush, beautiful mountain a paradise right in the middle of the city) where many people walked or jogged to release their stress. I gathered just enough money to eat decently, living on a consistent diet made of sardines, rice, and black beans: the cheapest items in the market. But hey, how much I was enjoying my freedom!
My days were long: At the same time, I was studying and training intensely, since I was the national climbing champion of Venezuela: classes, work, then hours at the climbing wall until my fingers burned and my arms ached. But nothing felt like sacrifice, it was passion, pure and unstoppable, fighting for my place in the Pan-American competition in Mexico.
They were busy times, but not stressful ones, I was young, just living the dream. Still, within me, there was always this insatiable desire for more: more experiences, more sensations, more of life itself. And so, inevitably, I left the country in search of it.
Back in those days, I was preparing myself for what I thought would be a no-return trip to the U.S., when suddenly a friend dropped by and invited me to watch a movie with her. It was called "Run Lola Run". I don’t know if you’ve heard of it, but it’s about a girl who finds herself in a chaotic situation. She has a mission to accomplish, but along the way she makes small mistakes that lead to disastrous endings. Yet, each time she fails, she suddenly reappears at the very beginning of the same situation, given another chance to try again. Over and over, she runs through the same events, making fewer mistakes each time, until finally, she succeeds.
It’s a film that has stayed with me ever since. The truth is, while I was once again nurturing this desire to leave France, the film came back to my thoughts. At first glance, one might think Lola was just an escapist, endlessly running. But actually, she wasn’t running away, she was running through. She faced the same challenges repeatedly, fine-tuning her actions, perfecting the details, until she finally got it right.
And so I asked myself: what if I become a Lola? What if, with great energy, I face this situation as many times as necessary not to escape, but to learn the deep lesson hidden beneath it? What if I dive below the tip of the iceberg to truly understand my nature, so that I can evolve and upgrade myself to the next level?
Today, Lola reminded me of something I had never fully realized. Yes, I could easily turn the page, but if the lesson hasn’t been learned, then it will return. I need to rehearse it, face it, live it until I can master the assignment.
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