Estéreo Picnic at the End of My 35th Year
Accelerating towards the edge of my comfort zone
On the last day of my 35th year, I went to my first music festival: Estereo Picnic. In the same year, I learned to love better and to value being myself.
We are not just one life, but many lives, yet I can't help but feel this is the end of a chapter.
I never learned to dance salsa like the rest of my family, an obligation for every Colombian. That made me enjoy music less and inhibited the happiness of moving to whatever rhythm I pleased.
This year, that changed. The wonderful people in my life at 35 awakened in me a love for music, dance, and the fantastic power of a playlist shared with people you care about.
Martin Garrix and Fatboy Slim, at Estereo Picnic, fulfilled my dream: Dancing as if the rest of the world wasn't there.
In my 35th year:
I lived in Dallas, Texas for a while
I vaccinated my family
I traveled again after the pandemic
We raised Platzi’s Series B
I climbed mountains
I flew again and landed for the first time
We sponsored a European League team
I strengthened the most important relationships in my life
I created new incredible lifelong relationships
I learned to love more and to love myself better
Love and friendship in adulthood become more complex and exclusive. Although you lose connections, the people who remain in your life become closer and more special. If you do it right, they're relationships where everyone gives their best for the other.
In that sense, my 35th year was very fortunate.
C. Tangana, Jungle, the entertaining disaster of The Strokes, Two Feet, Nina Kraviz, and DJ Harvey gave me a Estereo Picnic to cure my worries and feed my soul.
But nothing, nothing compares to entering the mosh pit of Turnstile.
I had never entered the mosh pit of a hardcore band. That's why I plunged in without doubt until I reached the front of the Turnstile concert and realized that, suddenly, my life was in danger.
In the center of a mosh pit there is no anxiety, no insecurities, no worries. You have no time to take photos, record videos, worry about Monday or the Q metrics. There's only rage, fury, energy, violence, and strength. There's raw emotion to the rhythm of the drums, the guitars, and the masterful direction of the vocalist.
Fists fly, bodies jump, and the air smells of sweat. You see a drug transaction happening amid the violence of the dance. You see two people planning a theft. You see hundreds of men and some women jumping and hitting each other relentlessly. And you are part of it. The bass drum resonates in your bones.
Suddenly you understand: Nobody wants to die in the mosh pit. Everyone is jumping in self-defense. Nobody attacks. And that's the key. If you are a little more aggressive and a little more offensive, no one will harm you. Like life itself, the safest place is not behind or in the middle. It's forward, in the front row.
In Turnstile I reconnected with my primal instinct and my ability to survive and thrive. It reminded me that confidence in myself doesn't come from believing, but from trying difficult things and finishing what I start.
The last chapter of my 35th and the first of my 36th reminded me that nothing is more valuable than living life with strength. No excuses. Doing difficult things and choosing the less traveled path. Choosing danger over comfort. Because I am a human being and if someone else could, I certainly can.
This year, after a historic pandemic, I had the fortune of having people around me whom I can't stop thanking for letting me be who I am.
I want to thank you for letting me see myself.
I want to thank you for letting me be myself.
Maximum effort for these coming 36 years.
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Oh, and J Balvin's concert sucked.