The Last Coca-Cola In The Desert
No subtitle, the title says it all.
In Colombia, if you think you are the last Coca-Cola in the desert, it means you think you are better than everybody else.
I am scared to death; what I do is not good enough. I have a conflict in my head, in fact, several. Moreover, I feel that everyone is watching what I do. At the same time, I have the tendency to put myself at the center of the universe, to believe that I am the last Coca-Cola in the desert.
I have no choice. Because the Greek gods that already decided my destiny.
Somewhere I read that the brain is wired in such a way that that's what one perceives: that everyone is watching.
The center of the universe. I think I actually am. I think the universe wouldn't exist if I hadn't been born. I might be right in some way.
Before a concert or a performance, I always used to say: "Well, it's time to fool people."
Fear.
I wanted to change and I read Atomic Habits! I loved the excitement it produces. You're reading and you get inspired like nothing else.
But it passes.
The Greeks. The destiny.
I don’t know how willing I am to change my habits so I can become a billionaire.
Now you go on LinkedIn, Substack, and Instagram (I don't like TikTok) and it's all a bunch of posts about self-improvement, how not to procrastinate, and being productive. Or at least that's what the algorithm shows me.
Tell me what the algorithm shows you and I'll tell you what you lack.
It seems like everyone has to be special, achieve something special, have many accomplishments that allow them to buy all the things other super-productive people are designing to make me want to buy them and keep going in the chain.
Or to keep scrolling like a junkie.
I've had to fight the urge to buy some bone conduction wireless headphones or something like that. It got into my head that I need that. But I really don't need them. Still, you insist on buying little gadgets to achieve happiness.
And I'm unhappy with my corded headphones.
Internal conflicts.
I suppose there are other ways to look at consumption.
Now I think that maybe buying a handmade, uniquely designed, expensive bag makes a bit more sense than buying one made in mass production that is designed to fall apart or look terrible after six months. At least with the designer bag, I'm buying the art of another human being.
Better yet, a bag made by women of the Wayuu Tribe of Colombia! Instead of Cartier.
Wayuu Bag, I am the model.
I wrote the word Indians and thought about my friends who use the word in front of me as an insult. My dad was Indian, or at least looked like one.
It's the massification of everything to make money for the sake of making money that bothers me. Like that horrendous Temu ad: Buy like a billionaire! Without being a billionaire... surely someone has to pay that price, probably in some Southeast Asian country. Who’s the Walter White (Breaking Bad) making the real money?
Internal conflicts.
I don't know what this has to do with singing.
Ahhh, yes, mass production. Now I have to be able to mass-produce my teaching. Create a generalized course with my method that only Fabián can do. That's what the ads that constantly show up tell me. Massify. Sell a product. I know that in the end, those kinds of products are a scam.
Singing is learned in community, or from teacher to student one-on-one, sharing the act of making sounds, creating them with throats in unison. Yet, I might write and sell a course.
Internal conflicts.
I try to help the people around me, from the mental mess that I am. From feeling that I know nothing. Because I think that's how the world has always worked. Nobody knows anything. But you do it. And while you do it, you learn. That's how I learned to teach. And a bit to sing. And now to write. Without knowing anything. Scared to death, thinking I'm not good enough, with several conflicts in my head and at the same time believing that I'm the last Coca-Cola in the desert.