Airport toast, at the gate of 2026

I am at Adolfo Suárez Airport in Madrid. It’s December 31st, 2025. I am sitting alone at a closed Starbucks café in Terminal S, waiting for the hands of the clock to turn and mark midnight. An unusual stillness pervades the terminal. A young, hippie-looking Spanish couple and their two small children are sitting a few tables away, excited for the beginning of the New Year. From time to time, a few souls pass by swiftly, some of them running towards the only open café for a New Year’s drink before it’s too late.

In front of me there is a half-full bottle of red ginger–flavoured kombucha (there is no such thing as red ginger — the colour comes from hibiscus infusion) and a cuneese al rum, a bold, rum-filled chocolate from Cuneo. This combination feels just right for my small ritual of saying goodbye to the old year and welcoming the new one.

2025 has been a year of beautiful chaos. Last July, after almost two years of struggle and of juggling one too many things at the same time, I quit my residency program in Infectious Diseases, finally accepting that the path I had chosen was not the right one for me. I was disappointed, heartbroken, unmotivated and, above all, aware that I needed a real break. Parts of me had been neglected over years of stubborn ambition, and they needed space to come into (new) expression. A few months were not enough, so I decided to make it a year — a year of emptying, improvising and (re-)creating.

I spent part of the summer travelling, backpack and guitar in hand, through Western and Southern France. I lived mostly outdoors, in vast and peaceful rural landscapes, working as a volunteer in a wine domaine and in a Benedictine convent, practising guitar whenever — and wherever — I could. I passed through charming cities such as Montpellier, Toulouse, Marseille and Avignon. Eventually, I found my way back to Tuscany and, drawn by the sea, chose Viareggio as my temporary shelter from the storm.
For a few months, I balanced occasional medical shifts — as few as possible, just enough to get by and save a little — with the other parts of me that needed attention. I became deeply absorbed in music: playing, listening, and rediscovering folk music, especially Bob Dylan (& co.). An old obsession resurfaced, now more alive than ever. I brought my dad’s old record player back to life, along with his collection of Dylan vinyls, and that worked its magic. I met Roberto, a talented guitarist and teacher, who guided me through some key elements of fingerpicking style. I practised a lot and tried to sing along, with mixed results — yet even as a beginner, playing filled me with joy. Yoga is the other constant I have never been able to abandon. A couple of months ago, I discovered Ashtanga yoga, which quickly became a passion for the way it cultivates strength, focus and discipline, while also inviting deep gratitude and kindness towards the self and the non-self. I found a beautiful shala in Pietrasanta, where I was able to further grow my practice.

The freedom I experienced during these months was unique and precious. Working night shifts and living on my own, I was often free during the day — free to decide, moment by moment, what to do. At times, that freedom was frightening, difficult to handle with care. It compelled me to recognise what I needed and wanted, and to take responsibility for myself and my wellbeing. On most days, the best choice was simply to follow my heart: cycling along coastal hills, hiking to a mountain peak or into a cave in the Apuane Mountains, reading by the shore, or reconnecting with people I love, whether near or far — or drawing closer from a distance.

It is my heart that has brought me to the journey beginning today, here at Adolfo Suárez Airport in Madrid — closing a beautifully chaotic 2025 and opening a beautifully unknown 2026. There is melancholy, and there is fear of what life will bring — and of what it won’t. There are expectations I have not yet managed to let go of, but above all there is gratitude.

It’s midnight. The Spanish family a few tables away bursts into cheerful shouts. On the notes of Gracias a la vida, I toast to life with gratitude, taking the last sips of red ginger kombucha. I let the cuneese melt slowly in my mouth, savouring the familiar, warming taste of rum.


Next stop: La Habana.