Here I am, in Guadalajara, Mexico. My office for the week.
I’m here for the UIA Congress, together with hundreds of lawyers from all around the world. The UIA is the oldest international legal association: a place where law meets culture, and where you can experience the many, multifaceted shades of our profession.
Despite a demanding schedule, coming here was an easy choice. I’m organizing a panel for the Wellbeing Commission that I chair, I’m part of the governing board, and I’ve been invited to speak in several other sessions. Don’t get me wrong: I love it. And I know how lucky I am.
When I started planning my trip to Mexico (and reshaping my already chaotic agenda) an odd idea crossed my mind: “Why not take a couple of flights and go to Mexico City to see the Tilma?“
You probably know I’m Catholic, but the Tilma (the image of the Virgin Mary kept in the sanctuary) is something else. You can’t simply call it a painting. It’s a mystery. A miracle, really. I’ve spent countless hours studying its story, its characteristics, its unexplainable resilience. I’ve even lectured about it. And the more I learn, the more I feel drawn to it. Whether you’re a believer or not, the Tilma reminds us that there are still things in this universe that resist explanation. I love when life gives us those humbling moments. When mystery quietly defeats logic.
So, in less than 24 hours, I took two flights and a handful of Ubers, spent a while in the sanctuary (luckily, it was a Sunday), had dinner with a university friend and his lovely family, and even caught up on some emails and work. Not exactly in the spirit of “dies domini”. But when you run a business, rest becomes a moving target.
And yet, at some point, a strange feeling crept in.
I was in Mexico City, one of the most fascinating cities in the world. The Zócalo. The Anthropology Museum. The Frida Kahlo House. The hot-air balloons rising over Teotihuacan at sunrise. The Lucha Libre. Even the Formula 1 Grand Prix, just a few miles away. All those wonders, and I couldn’t see any of them. Not one.
The joy quickly faded, replaced by that familiar whisper of regret.
Two memories surfaced.
The first was from my Camino de Santiago. Actually, the first and the second. Both times, when I reached Santo Domingo de la Calzada, I couldn’t enter the cathedral, climb the stairs, or see the famous cage with the roosters because of tiredness or conflicting elements. I’ve walked many more Caminos since then, but never the French Way. I still haven’t been back.
The second memory was a concert in Verona, back in 2007. The Who were playing. I arrived earlier than expected and decided to spend an hour in a small, beautiful art museum that had a temporary exhibition. When I told my then-girlfriend about it, she said: “I can’t have a bite; I need the whole cake.” She loved art (still does) so she had a point. But I remember my spontaneous reply: “You never know what life will bring. A bite today is better than a cake someday.”
I guess that’s what this short trip to Mexico City was about.
Was it worth it? Absolutely.
Was it easy to accept that I couldn’t do everything I wanted? Not at all. Especially when I think that I don’t know if, or when, I’ll be here again.
As I wrote in a previous post, learning to say no has been one of the greatest lessons from my time at Harvard Law. Still true. But even when it’s the right decision, it doesn’t always feel sweet. Sometimes, even the most meaningful choices leave a trace of bittersweetness behind.
And yet, that’s the point. You can’t have it all: not every museum, not every sunrise, not every story.
But if you manage to have that single bite – the one that nourishes your soul, even for a moment -, I guess it’s enough.
