Jose Carlos’ Notes
An effective way to become an expert on a subject is to write about it every week for a few years. The process of writing crystallizes the essentials of a subject matter. Even better, it helps if you integrate the Feynman Technique:
Repeat the iterative ladder ad infinitum.
The right-wing version of American imperialism believes that the world is a better place because of them. The left-wing version of American imperialism believes that the world is worse off because of them. Both are ways of seeing the world in a self-referencing and solipsistic way, because in the end what matters is what the big countries do, not what the smaller countries do. In this imperialistic way of seeing the world, the future is dictated by the Goliaths, and the small Davids follow along, whether that is a good thing (right-wing) or a bad thing (left-wing).
I’m worried about the implicit ways of understanding the world that perpetuate the very things we in the left allegedly denounce. Not everything revolves around the United States. Venezuela has a legitimately elected president, his name is Edmundo Gonzalez Urrutia. Venezuela has a long history of human rights grass-roots organizing, starting with the brave activist Maria Corina Machado. Now that Maduro is out of the picture, it is time for external observers to let Venezuelans run the show. Let them hold elections. Let Venezuelans take responsibility of their own future.
If this proposition surfaces questions about their independence, ability or capacity, what does that say about you?
By breaking international law and due process, the US president has signaled that it is permissible for big countries to crush small countries. The post-war era of peaceful cooperation is over. Plato’s philosopher-king is dead. Might makes right. Power is everything. Long live the strongman.
The U.S. president has given moral authority to the Goliaths of the world like china and russia to crush the Davids out there, like Taiwan and The Ukraine.
History is unraveling before our eyes. And most of us are obsessed with ourselves, absorbed doomscrolling short reels.
On the morning of New Year’s Day, I was walking the streets of Midtown Manhattan and the lower portion of Central Park. Among the things that I was thinking was the question “how would you live your live if you knew you only had 1 more year left?” This exercise, albeit a bit morbid, forces you to consider your priorities and to crystallize what you really want.
If I had a magic wand, I would move back to New York City, surrounded by the electrifying energy of ambitious and relentless people. I would work in an architectural firm and as a lecturer on the subjects I am passionate about, keeping a foot in academia and another in the private sector. I would rent a studio in Greenwich Village, Hell’s Kitchen or the Upper West Side and fill it up with books and antiques. I would join the local New York Aquatics team. And because living in New York will demand every penny, one must compliment their income with side gigs. I would be involved in nightlife production and be a content creator sharing tips on swimming. I would spend my nights at my apartment learning new recipes or building a physical scale model of the original Penn Station, with operating trains, built-in lights and intricate cut-outs displaying every single room, to be donated for permanent display inside a new Penn Station. I would host monthly dinner with friends. I would book trips for my family so they could visit during major holidays. I would have a cat and spend the weekends with him or her, a cup of coffee, and reading books about philosophy and architecture. I would spend countless evenings at the Rose Reading Room, the Patricia D. Klingstein Library, or Avery Library writing a book on the architecture of Charles McKim’s Pennsylvania Station, uncovering the role of unknown architect William Symmes Richardson.
In summary, I would spend most of my attention producing rather than consuming, and lifting everyone around me along the way.
I don’t believe in resolutions. I do believe in building systems. The problem with most resolutions is that they fall flat in addressing systemic issues about identity. Who you are at your core will eventually override any cosmetic behavior change. The real stuff involves deep introspection: an examination of one’s own past to get you acquainted and introduced to yourself.
And I cannot think of a better tool for that inner work than the flashlight of mindful meditation. Being aware of the thoughts that arise in consciousness and states of mind that color your existence moment to moment is perhaps the only way to understand the threads that make you, well yes, you.
So there it is. The resolution that rules all resolutions would be to practice mindful meditation. This will then illuminate the origin and form of all other resolutions.
May 2026 be the year we recover that mindful state, bit by bit.
Why is it that people from “third world” countries report higher levels of happiness compared to those from the “first world”? I believe it has to something with exposure to suffering and pain. The less exposed you are to pain, the more comfortable you become, the more complacent and accustomed you become to the good fortunes you find yourself in. You become what Jonathan Haidt would say, “fragile.” This in turn gives you free time —time that would have been spent hoarding resources for survival. How does one spend their free time? Some may find happiness in pleasure, easily lost in the traps of hedonism. Others seem to default on social comparisons and the hedonistic treadmill, forever stuck in a cycle of misery in climbing the social ladder. Easy choices eventually lead to a tough life.
On the other hand, scarcity builds character. The lack of resources fuels innovation and a drive to escape your conditions. Just consider the innovative and brilliant teenagers of India who power much of the technology of the West. When you are raised in a setting of scarcity, you learn to appreciate every resource, because things can change rather quickly. You learn to appreciate the struggle and embrace the pain involved in growing. You learn that hard choices eventually lead to an easy life.
I guess this is why so many athletes who get involved in rowing and swimming come from tough backgrounds. They are already accustomed to the pain and misery of everyday training that will ultimately bring glory.
It is incredible how much you can achieve with simple and primitive things done consistently: walking 15,000 steps, getting early morning sunlight, getting 8 hours of quality sleep, a diet based of fresh produce, drinking 2 L of water, writing by hand, outdoor sports like running or surfing, spending time with kids and pets, being in nature more often… So much of living a modern lifestyle requires fixes and addendums that would be superfluous in a more primitive way of living: shoe-box apartments, indoor treadmills, gym memberships, a diet of protein-infused processed supplements, hustle culture, screens, energy drinks, therapy, expensive vacations…
I wonder if the solution to many of the modern maladies is just a more simple and primitive way of living. I suppose this would not be as profitable, though…
Today is the first Christmas I spent it away from my family in México. The current Administration has made it risky for individuals like me to do what legal advisors call “non-essential travel,” of which traveling to reunite with family during the holidays is considered non-essential. The current Administration has made it clear to inflict pain on people who have followed the rules. What message does that send?
In September last year, the professor that recently passed away was reviewing my setup for the week’s experiments on earthen materials. I was then his teaching assistant and was responsible for delivering the week’s lab assignments. I was unsure if the two soils required for the experiment were the right ones. One was from Pecos and the other one from Fort Union. I had never been to these sites before, and did not understand how they were used. The professor, whose mind was probably engaging with the minds of ancient men —removed from the pedestrian realm of a lab setup— buried his hands deep into a bucket of soil, as if trying to understand the DNA of the soil viscerally by feeling the clay and silt particles. Or was he doing something more? Perhaps he was feeling the soil so as to viscerally translate his deep and intimate understanding of the field he devoted to study: archaeology, materials, and conservation. Every clay particle an academic article. Every lump of soil a conference. Every grain of sand a book. He had mastered the field. Or perhaps he was feeling the geological forces that gave birth to that particular soil: the alluvian forces eroding a parent rock of granite formed during the Devonian period that eventually disintegrated into the soil he was feeling. Or perhaps he was engaging in a conversation with reality, a reflection on his own mortality: feeling with his palms the dictum “from earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”
He was always like that, miles ahead of everybody, and yet filled with spirit, soul and humbleness with everyone he encountered. He was down to earth.
If I had the resources, I would go on an extended holiday to understand who I really am. To ask the important questions, such as “What do I want out of this life?”How can I find the courage to face reality squarely and grapple with the sunk-cost fallacy of my current trajectory?