Time has caught me up

I was having a bad day. We all have them, whether we live in paradise or purgatory, Venice or not, somewhere we love or somewhere we hate everybody has bad days. Perhaps I was having a bad day because I was having a bad week. Small things were piling up and it had begun to feel like important things were crumbling around me and falling away from me, slipping through my fingers. I let these small things grow and allowed the negativity to overwhelm me; I will admit I am guilty of that. I let my own sad negative thoughts overcome the magical beauty of this place I now call home: Venice. But then Venice saved me, embraced me, and showed me the beauty of life that cannot be ignored.

I went for a walk. I wanted to stretch my legs and clear my mind. Somewhere between my apartment and the historic Rialto market I stumbled upon a little piece of my personal heaven. Tucked between a mask-making store selling hand made masks and a store with barrels full of delicious cheap wine I found the most chaotically quirky and enchanting bookstore that I have ever seen. I walked in to a big room with piles of art shrouding the entrance. Books were piled up to my waist along every wall, without any order or category. Some were English, many were German, a few were French and most were Italian. Every genre, every size, every age. Some books seemed older than me and some were books I recognized from my child hood. In the very centre of the room was a large antique gondola, sinking under the weight of even more books piled within it, the pages spilling over the sides. The next room looked almost the same, except in place of the antique gondola was a large bathtub, equally full of books. In the very corner of the store was a doorway. The short double doors were rotting from the bottom up. They opened onto three short smooth stairs that led straight into the blue-green water of a Venetian canal. If it weren’t for a barrier made of an old oar blocking the way I could have walked straight out of the store into the canal, away from the comforting books into the cold water. I sat by the doorway onto the water. I browsed every shelf (and bathtub, and gondola) overflowing with books and then I found the small simple cure for my bad mood: I found a note.
On top of a book inside the gondola in the first room of the small store a little loose sheet of white paper caught my eye. I picked it up, surprised to realize that the messy purple hand-writing scrawled across the top of the page was not in Italian, but in English. I read the words that danced in my brain and crawled into my heart:

“time, which behaves differently for each of us, has caught me up.”

I couldn’t help but smile, I couldn’t help but be filled with happiness and I couldn’t help but slip the loose-leaf paper into my purse before I walked out of the store. I felt as though the note had been left there, written in my language in my favourite colour, for me to find and fall in love with. Suddenly I wasn’t alone, my troubles weren’t troubles at all and life was beautiful again.

Small coincidences- that may not be coincidence at all, but fate- are the greatest reminders of the beauty of life. That note meant to me that nothing was more important than I let it be and nothing could ‘catch me up’ unless I allowed it too. It meant that I wasn’t alone and that I was entirely independent and in control of my own feelings as well as all the small things falling around me and the bigger things building up.

What does it mean to you?

Guest Post: Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance

Recently I was approached by a kind representative of the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance asking me if she could write a guest post for my blog. Naturally I agreed. I was both touched by her opinion of my blog and moved by her motivation to help others.
Before reading this there are three things you should consider:
1) I did not write this, but I agree with every word
2) Writing- clearly- is my escape and I whole heartedly encourage others to find an escape in it too
3) I do not believe in posting my personal life issues on this blog, but know that this matter is very close to my heart.


Creating the Life You Want With Words, Melanie Bowen.

A journal can be a place of solace. It can be a place to express your feelings, fears and dreams without worrying about anyone else judging you for those things. A journal can be a way to track your progress during challenges. Major illness can definitely be one of those challenges in which keeping a journal can be a helpful and healthy thing. Sitting in a doctor’s office and being told a shocking mesothelioma prognosis or that you have a chronic illness such as pancreatitis can be a shattering, life-changing moment. However, keeping a journal during your health journey can provide you with a place to find your feet and, amazingly, hope for the future.

Improve Your Health Through Writing

As surprising as it might seem, there is actual scientific evidence that keeping a journal and writing can improve your health. University of Texas at Austin researcher and psychologist James Pennebaker discovered that journaling on a regular basis strengthens the immune system.

Writing and journaling also has been shown to improve mental health in a number of ways. Numerous researchers have found that journal-keeping reduces stress levels in individuals facing dramatic health issues. For many years, therapists have contended that journaling allows people to gain clarity about issues in their life and a method to come to terms with events in their life. This process alone can help improve depression and anxiety symptoms for many people.

Find Your True Happiness in a Journal

Journal writing is also a way to come to a deeper understanding of yourself and what makes you truly happy. This can be especially important in facing major health issues. For many individuals with life-changing health issues, there comes a time when you start thinking about what you really want to accomplish and would really make you happy. A journal is a great place to start exploring those ideas and goals.

When you think back to things that have made you happiest in the past, ask yourself when was the last time you did any of those things. Was there something specific about that activity that made you happy or filled you with joy? Are there other things you could do that would bring those wonderful feelings to you in another way?

As part of your journal writing, do a little brainstorming. Make up a list of all the places you want to see. Make a list of things you would love to learn. Make a list of people you want to meet. Make a list of people you haven’t seen in years, but really want to reconnect with. Are any of these things that you could do right now? What do you need to do to make them happen?

Before you know it, you will find yourself with an entire list of things to do and look forward to every day. The simple act of writing these things down will make you more likely to actually make them happen and accomplish them. Once you accomplish one goal, then add something new to your list.

The wonderful thing about this kind of journal keeping is that it gives you a map. Do you remember the movie “The Bucket List?” Morgan Freeman was slowly sinking into misery until Jack Nicholson pushed him to start living for now and doing things. Suddenly, Morgan was happier, full of energy and had a purpose in life again. You see, Jack had figured out a secret about living. If you write things down, you will do them. Write your list. Find your happiness. Find your hope and live for today.

Check out a lot more information on illness and wellness at the Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance.

I am proud to have shared this on my page, and hope that my readers consider it as educational and moving as I did.

Sogni d'oro

The fog is beautiful this morning.
Venice is still sleeping, blanketed by a thick mist that conceals the tops of picturesque old churches. I stand on the slow waterbus and shiver; I am still sleeping too.
I had a bad dream last night. One that felt so real it seems as though I got no sleep at all. Maybe I wasn’t dreaming, maybe I was living another life in a parallel universe. Maybe that’s why I got no sleep. It was a dream that stayed in my mind once I got out of bed and followed me through my slow morning routine. Now the dream is stitched into my clothes and tangled in my hair. By the end of the day it will wash away with my hot evening shower, but for now I can’t get it off my mind.
It was a bad dream because it was so good. The dream was what I want, what I wish could be reality. The dream was only bad because it was only a dream. I don’t want to let go, don’t want it to fade away. My dream will drift into the Venetian fog and add to the clouds that are covering the tops of picturesque old churches.
Because though I am living in Venice and though I am lucky and happy to be here we dream because sometimes fiction is better than reality. We dream because sometimes there is somewhere else that we would rather be or something else we would rather be doing.
We can’t help it; dreams are wishes we make in our sleep.

Osservazioni (in Venezia)

My feet are inches from the water of a murky green Venetian canal. If I were taller the sole of my boots would touch the surface and I would seemingly be walking on water. I hear children talking, people walking, and the deep voice of a gondolier calling to his colleague as the pointed bow of his boat creeps around the corner. His colleague replied with a similar deep-throated response and soon the two gondolas are side by side on the narrow canal a foot from my dangling legs. Their passengers are laughing, they are navigating, and I am writing. They pass.
Another gondola turns the corner. And another. Another child laughs, another family walks through the piazza behind me.

A child is intrigued by me sitting by myself in the corner of a piazza with my feet inches from the green murky water of a Venetian canal. She walks up to me and tries to read what I am writing over my shoulder, taking it upon herself to keep a young stranger company. I say ‘Ciao’ she says ‘I only speak French’ (in French) so I say ‘Bonjour’ and she scurries off to her father.

Traffic, in Venice, means three or more gondolas on the same canal. It means navigating past each other as two of the slender boats pass under a bridge at once. It is the serene steering around others, the graceful compromise and negotiation of vessels. Traffic in Venice is like life.

I am cold and slightly hungry but I would rather stay here than walk the short distance back to my house. How can I sit inside on a sunny day in Venice? How can I waste my already limited time here? I am trying to be happy and think positively and appreciate how fortunate I am to be here.

Three young boys, my age or slightly younger, steer a small red motorboat passed me. There is a gondola in front of them and a gondola behind them. They are trying to decide if they should turn right or turn left. “A destra o sinistra?” They go straight ahead.

As I sit here I think. I think about friends I have and friends I have lost, about people I know and people I knew. I think about people I miss, about relationships that I have had and relationships that I could have had. I think about how my right hand is much colder than my left.

Another gondola sails past me.

Mostly I am thinking about how curious it is that people can make you both blissfully happy and heart wrenchingly sad, often times the same person causing both. I think about how relationships- with friends, with family, with the opposite sex- have such an impact on one’s mood, one’s outlook and one’s life. I think about how sadness is a familiar feeling.

Four gondolas go past in succession.

And finally, I think about how people, good or bad nice or otherwise cannot rival the beauty of Venice.

Thoughts from Places- Part IV

Returning to Florence 23/02/2012
Sitting in front of Santa Maria Novella once more, listening to live music and enjoying the first warm day I’ve experienced in months. I love life. Returning to Florence was the best thing I could have done. Though I was there for immigration reasons and I spent most of the day in the questura, there are no words for how much I enjoyed being back in Florence. From the moment the train pulled into the station I felt like I was home. It’s amazing how after only three months in Florence it feels more like home to me than anywhere else I have lived. I missed Florence, and she welcomed me back with open arms.
Spending the night with my old roommate in a new place was so familiar it was unreal. Sleeping in a house I had never seen before should not have been so comfortable for me, but it was Florence so it could not have been any other way. Something about walking down the street that I used to live on and seeing that the same graffiti is still there comforted me. Florence hasn’t changed at all, and though I wish that my leaving the city had broken it’s heart as much as it broke mine I could not be happier that the streets of Florence are still my streets and that Florence is still my Florence. There is no joy like the joy Florence brings me, and no love like the love I have felt there.
I returned to the small café around the corner from my old apartment that I used to get a cappuccino at every morning. I was nervous that my favourite old lady would not recognise me and would not greet me with the “ciao bella” that made my day every day of my three months there. But from the moment her face lit up with recognition I could not believe that I ever doubted her. I was as much a part of her morning routine as she was of mine, and when she asked me where I had been it made me sad to say that I no longer live around the corner and that I was only back in town for one day.
I regret saying that I was happier in my one day in Florence than my one month in Tuscania, but it’s the truth. The familiarity, the memories, and the success of receiving my ‘Permit of Stay’, which is the reason I went back in the first place topped the three weekends I couldn’t leave the house because of snow.
Florence will always have a special place in my heart.

Leaving Tuscania 24/02/2012
If practice makes perfect I should be pretty damn perfect at goodbyes by this point. The amount of times I have lived and loved in a place and then had to leave it would make me the goodbye queen. Somehow, however, I have not quite perfected them yet. I have not quite learnt how to leave a place I love without feeling sad, how to part with a new but still close friend without knowing I will miss them.
I loved Tuscania. I loved the small town and the cobblestone streets, I loved the view of the countryside on a sunny day, I loved my house and my pets and my one short month of memories. But above all I loved the bonds that I formed. Above all I will miss the people more than the place.
I already miss the adorably friendly woman who worked at the green grocer who insisted I teach her a new word in English every time I stopped in to buy milk. She would write the words on a post-it note next to her cash register and make sure to use the word the next time I came back for more milk.
I already miss my advisor, who took two hours out of her day to walk me to the doctor and drive me to the supermarket on the one day that being independent and fending for myself just didn’t seem so appealing.
I miss my landlord’s weird, crazy, strange, friendly son who started off as just a neighbour and quickly became a good (though very confusing) friend. He helped me with my Italian homework, made sure I practiced the language though he spoke very impressive English and he introduced us to his friends. Coming from Florence where unless you went above and beyond making an Italian friend was a triumphant feat my small group of Italian friends in Tuscania were something to be proud of.
I miss my cat, who came with the house and stole my heart the moment she curled up in my lap in front of our fire place on one of our first nights there. I miss her warm purring body on top of my chest on the nights so cold that sleeping on the couch was more appealing than sleeping in my bed because it was that much closer to the fire, the only source of heat in the house.
But somewhere amongst all that missing and all those goodbyes, I am happy for the time I spent there, happy for the bonds I formed, and happy to know that I will be back one day without a doubt.
As for right now, I am happy to be in Rome!


Discovering Rome 28/02/2012
In my first few days in Rome I have leant some very important lessons. 1) Get used to the tourists; they’re everywhere! 2) Do not use a fountain as a landmark, there are about a million and one, and 3) expect to spend a lot of money. In my short time here, however, I’ve fallen in love with life in a big city all over again. Yes, I miss the welcoming small town feel of Tuscania, I miss walking from one end of the town to another in under an hour and I miss running into the same person every night. Most of all I miss interacting with local people. I can already tell that’s going to be hard in Rome. Aside from that, however, I love it. I love that it feels like I live in New York or London but surrounded by all the magnificent history of the Roman Empire. I love that everywhere I turn there is another grandiose monument of majestic fountain and I don’t even know what half of them were built for. I love that I can get on a metro 10 mins away from my apartment and get off 1 minute away from the Spanish Steps. So far, I love Rome, and it’s only the beginning. I can already tell the Eternal city will be hard to leave.

Un incontrare..

Last weekend I met a girl. This girl wasn’t particularly beautiful or particularly funny. She wasn’t inspirational or the protagonist of a heart wrenching story. But she was memorable. She was memorable for me because she was like looking through a time machine. For fifteen minutes I felt as though I was having a conversation with myself three years in the future. Her name was Danielle.

Danielle studied in Tuscania three years ago. She spoke a little more Italian than her classmates, but still nowhere near fluent. She was timid and excited and flirtatious and naïve. She lived here for one semester and met her husband. When we met she was sitting in the restaurant that he used to work in, the restaurant where they met. She was with her entire family and he with his and they were having a second celebration for their recent union. As I was walking out I caught a glimpse of their wedding photos that his proud father and owner of the restaurant framed and put on the wall. I loved their story, I loved her radiating joy, and I loved meeting her.

I have studied in Italy for almost 6 months now. I remember being the new girl, starting in Italy for the first time. I was lucky enough to have friends that had already studied here for one semester who took me under their wing. This time I am that person, and I have extended my wings to others. I can almost understand some Italian but am nowhere near fluent. I help translate what I can, just as Danielle did. I am not looking to meet the love of my life, in fact my father’s one condition when he encouraged me to study in Italy was “Do not get married.” I was, however, inspired, intrigued and in awe of this young girl that has lived my life and come away so happy.

I love what I’m doing, I love where I am, I love how fortunate I am and I try to appreciate every moment of it. But being diagnosed with bronchitis, being miserable due to the weather and being mildly home sick I’ve found myself losing sight recently of how lucky I am and how truly happy I am to be here. Meeting this girl reminded me of that.
It’s not because she has a fairytale happy ending, in fact it is more so because she does not have an ending yet. She is me and I am her. She studied at the same school I am studying in the same small town I am living in. I hope that one day I can go back to Florence, or come back to Tuscania and walk the same old streets older and wiser. I hope that these memories will follow me for the rest of my life and shape me the way it shaped her life. I know this experience has already changed me for the better.

V-Day

I used to believe that Valentines Day was a made up holiday for Hallmark and Cadbury to exploit lonely people or expectant couples. A girl on Valentines day falls into one of two categories, either single and therefore supposedly depressed and lonely or in a relationship and therefore in need of gifts and candy and spoiling for one insignificant day.

Today is different. Today I am single, ergo I must fall into the first category. But I am not sad and I am certainly not lonely. I am currently surrounded by good friends, eating a slice of torta al limone with a glass of sparkling white wine, and we’re settling down soon to watch ‘A Room with a View’. I couldn’t be further from lonely.
Today I am filled with love.

I love the small old city I live in where people are so excited to teach me Italian and for me to teach them English.
I love the new friends I have made, some I know I will be lucky enough to call best friends for the rest of my life.
I love the beautiful, though possibly haunted and freezing cold villa that I live in, even though I can see my breath in my bedroom at times…
I may not love my lungs for recently contracting bronchitis but other than that I am perfectly content.
I love myself, I love my friends, I love my family (though I miss them dearly), and I love life. What else can you ask for on a day of love?

Buon Valentino a tutti. Happy Valentines Day.