Miami, a city of art, sex, cocaine and mojitos. I spent my youth in Miami. I was just a young man when I arrived, and by the time I left I became a man-child. When I went down to Miami I was only 18 years old. I was an art student, busboy, retail boy, counter boy and soft as hell. The students I met were Miami kids mostly. They had years of experience on me. Some of my peers were older, some well into their forties and fifties. Even the kids my age were far ahead of me. I learned to shut up, which for those who know me is hard to believe. I had to learn everything. I needed to learn about Soda Stereo, Xuxa, Fidel and Jesus Rafael Soto. I had so much to absorb about a world I knew nothing about. Art was the realm that I circled around as I expanded to the guy I am now. Miami cemented itself as a special place, and I wouldn't return for six years. After that, I didn't return until another four. I went down for a purpose this past weekend.
The dean of the visual arts department was going to retire. There was a large celebration for her, and that meant a gathering of a lot of people I hadn't seen in a decade. This was an opportunity to time travel in a sense. Miami has changed a lot since I left. Wynwood is a strip mall, but it used to be the center of the arts and crackheads alike. Midtown has a concentration of highend shops that must be the biggest in the country. The beach is over, man; Biscayne is happening, and our little city is all grown up.
I too am all grown up, but it feels like a lifetime ago. My memories become like old Ocean Drive magazines stored in a room without air conditioning. I ran into my old peers that I had lost contact with sometime in 2009. It was like no time had past though. It's not that these folks standing before had been sealed away in a time capsule. They've lived their lives, and have expanded like I had to. Their essence was still there though. It was a beautiful feeling to be back in that magic city with these people who helped me along the way even when they battled me in critiques. I couldn't figure out why I had flown away never to return again. I don't know what I was thinking; was I even thinking?
I think sometimes a man needs to strip away at the past in order to move beyond it. I think that's why I left, and didn't look back. It may have been a mistake not to check in once in a while. Now, I realize that one doesn't really need to do that. We don't need to flee the scene of our youth and mistakes. Maybe, we should always be reminded so we can be even more than what we were. I was accepted just like I was so many years ago as a gringo from Boston. These are my people, and even after ten years of a disappearing act they remain my people.
I traveled back in time, and came back to the present. I saw my drawing professor who hugged me, and made me feel like I'll always have a home there. I exchanged information with my artist peers and saw us as the same. We all grew up together, just like Miami grew up all around us. Things may change, but Cuban coffee, humidity, empanadas and our spirits stay the same.