2025 has been a year of contrasts—intense, emotional, transformative.

It began with a heartfelt farewell and ends with my soul wide open after the magical, peaceful family moments we usually share in Escondida.

In between, there was laughter under a sky full of fireflies outside Kuala Lumpur with my grandson Mauricio; a spiritual retreat in Kuchaman; the awe of the aurora borealis in the Arctic Circle with Alex and dear friends; joy and madness in the Nevada desert during Burning Man—and so much more.

Almost a year has passed, and the mourning continues. In January 2026, it will be one year since we lost my mother, Mayra—our Aby.

Almost a year since she left us physically as we looked at the stars over the desert between Dubai and Abu Dhabi. It was overwhelming. Wrapped in silence, I felt her leaving, as if she were rising. Since then, her light has guided us; it remains warm in our hearts. That is where she now lives.

I still see her every time I close my eyes, and I feel her in many of my quiet moments. Sometimes I even catch myself looking for her, thinking she’s just around the corner, wanting to ask her something or share a piece of news. From Alto de las Palomas, the lights of Lindora bring her to me every night. We used to talk like two teenagers.

It was a year of extremes: from pain to laughter, from tears to a deeper joy, from moments of shame to a more sincere gratitude. A year of tight embraces: with our Palestinian family in Doha, with our Chilean family in Miami. A magical reunion in Guadalajara after almost four decades with Gaby and Atenas, together with their husbands Javier and Ismael. And another unexpected and beautiful moment with Eiza and Grigor.

And so many others I would like to name—so many who left a mark:

Luisa y Jhon; Nela y Gianma; Diego y Celeste; Julio y Ashley; Pedro y Renée; Daniel y Tati; Lola y Sergio; Roberto y Marce; Carmen y Edgar; Giselle y Jorge; Allan; Mome y John; Patricia; Rafa y Bea; José María y Godfrey; Juan Carlos y Maruchi, Swami G, Victorien y Månika; Luis y Aida; Adriana;  Juliana; Dionisio y Ana; Carmen, Soledad y Mariana; Gabo; Bernal; Roberto; Paloma y Alejandro, Luis Diego y Laura; Bear; Grettel; Alex; Manolo; Juanjo; Noé y Nela; Diego y Anni; José Ignacio y Cristina, Antonio y Tere; Beatriz and her Thinking Heads… To Argelia and Gustavo—thank you, always.

I could go on forever. The people of EarthOne, Unreasonable, Kinnernet, Nakaloka Kutastha; my colleagues from Metodista and Saint Francis; the tribes at Maex and the universities; my Latin American family and dearest cohorts from Georgetown’s Gemba; the unforgettable Xtreme group from Nepal, the Golden Community members: Dirk, Alberto, Mauricio, Diego, José Francisco, Manolo…

What a blessing. A great extended family—because family is the people we share life with. And I leave so many out, sorry, but I don’t want to overwhelm. Thank you all. Thank you, family.

I can truly say it has been a year of love and, above all, of transformation as a family. With my Alex; our children Santiago and Adriana; our daughter-in-law Stephanie; our grandchildren Mauricio, Gastón and Rafael; tía Errolyn and Titina; my irreplaceable brother Leach; my brother-in-law, Alberto… with all of them I have laughed, traveled, shared meals, stories, and moments.

This year I allowed myself room to feel—to hurt—giving pain and frustration permission to visit without resistance. And despite everything, or perhaps because of everything, what I did most this year was enjoy.

It was also a year in which I decided to ignore—because I ignored a lot.

I ignored football. And I mean our fútbol.

I ignored politics.

I ignored, as much as possible, the news and speeches meant to provoke or divide.

Not out of apathy, but out of self-protection—from what doesn’t nourish me. It was a fully conscious decision. Instead of tying myself in knots over headlines, I chose to look into the eyes of my grandchildren, to have unhurried conversations over a cup of coffee—often three—and to listen to my inner world.

It has been a year of exploration, new practices, and deep observation. That last one, I’ve discovered, is something I enjoy immensely.

2025 taught me with burning clarity that detachment is more urgent than ever. That we must release what is useless, what hurts unnecessarily, what poisons. That we must let go of the ego, the character, the masks.

My main enemy has been myself. The battle continues against my own nonsense—my old stories, my narratives, the shadow that never leaves… the one that will always be there. But this year I saw it with more tenderness and less judgment. I’ve begun to recognise it affectionately as part of me.

And for all of this, I celebrate detachment.

Detachment from the trappings of ego, from the external voices that try to dictate what a man my age should be or do. I want to live my age on my own terms. I want to be a grandfather who dances, a husband who listens, a father who hugs, a friend who asks “how are you?” and stays long enough to hear the answer.

And, God willing and life permitting, I hope to reach 70 in good health, with a heart full of love and enough energy to keep up with my grandchildren—especially with the new one arriving this July—and enough strength to enjoy long walks and late-night conversations.

On the subject of detachment (and forgive the redundancy), 2025 was also the year of the launch of my first book: The Art of Detachment. I had the privilege of presenting it in Madrid and then in San José, and I hope it will soon be available in bookstores in Latin America. What excites me most is the possibility of connecting, that the words reach as many people as possible and thus accompany those who need it.

To inspire is what moves me. After all, we are still machines full of emotions looking to love before the light goes out. As in that play I saw with Alex in New York about two robots who fall in love at the end of their days and that made me get excited like a child.

I look forward to 2026. It feels like a physical year. I feel like getting into the gym, doing weights, losing a few pounds, eating better. Not to fit in, but to honor this body that got me here. I want to be vigorous enough to continue carrying grandchildren -in deep emotion before the birth we are expecting next July- and thus, that I do not lack the strength to enjoy talking on long walks or in meetings until the wee hours of the morning.

I don’t want the year to end without thanking everyone who reads me—for being there, on the other side of the screen, and for your enthusiasm.

I hope this text serves as a mirror for you too.

So that you remember what deserves remembering.

So that you choose to ignore what doesn’t serve you.

So that you dare to let go, to detach, to live with more intention.

May we, now and always, detach ourselves from clumsy stereotypes and learn—as Bad Bunny says—“as long as you’re alive, you should love as much as you can.”

And may we continue enjoying creativity, disruption, and genius, as Rosalía has gifted us with in Lux.

I wish you a 2026 full of health, love, lucidity and silence when you need it.

Let’s take lots of pictures! No lack of music, hugs or pauses to look at the sky. No lack of selfies.

May we continue to build this life by slow fire, without haste, without masks, without fear.

I am still here to give love. To share love. Celebrate love.

With love and detachment: happy new year.