Hoy Yo!
A new perspective on life, from someone who knew how to live it
About this Substack
mid. is a reflection on my lived experience. It’s a space for noticing what happens when you stop chasing more for the sake of more, and start paying attention to what actually feels true. This isn’t for strategic guidance (I have another Substack for that).
It’s an observation on living in the middle: mid-career, mid-life, mid-recalibration.
I wrote a version of this after my grandpa passed, and shared it at his funeral yesterday. This one’s for you, Nonno.
Andiamo.
In Italian, this word means ‘let’s go’ or ‘come on’, particularly, if you say it with exclamation. It’s a word that when you grow up in an Italian family, you’ll hear frequently.
The thing about Grandpa is, he didn’t speak much Italian. Despite my grandma’s fluency, he knew only a few words here and there.
Grandpa had his own version of Andiamo.
HOY YO!
I couldn’t tell you the origination of this phrase - how it started, when it started. But whenever our whole extended family would take trips to Mammoth, caravaning up in our fully packed cars (all 18 of us), we could always hear Grandpa on the walkie talkie, ready to move us all forward and start the vacation with a brisk ‘Hoy yo!!!’
It also functioned as an effective cattle call - because Lord knows when you’re rangling that many people at Disneyland on New Years Eve, trying to get everyone moving in the same direction towards Splash Mountain (the only ride I remember all of us — including grandma and grandpa— riding together), Hoy yo was how we’d all know it was time to move in unison.
That was Grandpa. It’s how he lived his life. Ready for his next adventure. Ready to take on the next day, or the next challenge. Leading a family or a team or simply a group of people on a tour at his retirement community. He was a force to be reckoned with.
Grandpa spent a lifetime traveling to some of the most exotic places around the world. I once asked him what was his favorite place he ever visited — he said Mongolia. I was surprised by this as the trip surely included less than luxurious conditions, till he explained that it was the most raw, the least accessible, probably the most dangerous and certainly the most adventurous.
Yeah, that tracked. It made me aware of just how often I overthink the details of my own travel rather than just immersing myself in the place itself.
Grandpa loved adventure. Whether it was exploring a dark cave in Calico or a jungle with at least 7 different species that could probably kill you, he would lead the way with gusto - excited by the sheer curiosity of it all. And there was nothing better than seeing Grandpa excited about something.
Whenever someone in our family got a new gadget or better yet, a new car, the best person to share it with was Grandpa. Because there was a 100% chance that you’d be going for a spin in that car, revving it up along the road, testing out the sport mode.
He didn’t mince words either. He was straight forward, generous with his advice, and could deliver a biting critique. But when he paid you a compliment, you knew he meant it. That’s why his opinion mattered so much.
When I wrote my book, I thought for sure he’d come back with a dozen suggestions of how it could’ve been better. He didn’t. Quite the opposite actually. He told me (with some pride) that he thought I should shop it around to universities to teach in their business classes. I was ASTOUNDED.
A meal was never just a meal with Nonno. Whether it was Carls Jr. or Spago’s, A beef dip from Phillipe’s or four courses at the Derby— grandpa relished a good meal.
One time, while my husband and I lived in South Pasadena, we took grandma and grandpa to one of our favorite restaurants, a little Indian place we’d eaten at a dozen times. But when grandpa came, he befriended the owner. He did this frequently — there was scarcely a restaurant they would go to where he didn’t befriend half of the staff. Not just that, he actually convinced this man to give us a tour of the kitchen so that we could see the large metal oven I now know is called a ‘tandoor’ where the naan bread is made.
That was grandpa - the meal was always 10x better when you were curious about how it’s made, where it’s made and who makes it.
Grandpa also loved his sweets — and he loved nothing more than a great bread pudding. No matter where he was in the world, if bread pudding was on the menu, the decision was made. He would actually rate them — the top bread pudding would get a ten, and to my knowledge, there are only two bread puddings he’d ever scored a ten — one was the Derby and the other was Duke’s in Honolulu. For him, food was about a dedication to the details. Engineered to perfection. Equal parts soul and science.
It’s what I miss about him the most — Nonno had such a zest for life. Both he and my grandma do, actually. He took life by the horns.
Even in his final days, he knew that he’d left it all out on the field. He told my sisters and I in the hospital that he’d done everything he ever wanted to do, had children he was proud of, grandchildren and great grands he was proud of. He’d done everything a person could do. A full life at 94.
I haven’t been the same since sitting with him in the hospital. My perspective on all the things that used to feel important seems to be shifting. I no longer have this burning desire to reach my goal weight. I don’t run from projects that seem like they’ll take too much time. I’ve been spending a lot less time on my phone recently too.
I like to think of my grandpa now, swimming in the ocean, or sitting barefoot at a table by the beach with his closest brother, my Great Uncle Bob, having a gin and tonic or maybe enjoying a bread pudding.
As for me, I’m clinging to the gratitude of those last few weeks I had with him, and the impact losing him has had on me at this point in my life. I’m relearning how to embrace adventure, not just enjoying but appreciating a good meal, boldly marching to my own beat, leading the way for my own family, curious and excited about the unknown. So that I might leave a similar legacy, as someone who truly lived life. Full throttle.
So let’s go. Andiamo. Hoy yo!!!
