love it or loathe it.......OR.....love me or loathe me?!

I read this statement in the blog of an American living in Rome: “Rome has this effect on some people, it just draws you in and never lets you go.” How true, how true. I don’t know precisely why, but for those of us who seem to be affected by Rome, we are really affected. It’s not just me; it’s actually quite a prevalent phenomenon. Rome seems to be one of those love it or hate it kind of places, with not much room left in between. Oddly enough, this is something I can relate to. I’m fairly sure that I’m a person who is either loved or loathed, with not much in between. I don’t think many people say about me: She’s alright, I could take her or leave her. Nope, it’s more like one of the following: She’s such a bitch; I can’t stand her or She’s amazing; I love her. I kind of like this about myself; it probably means I’m not a boring person. Controversial, yes. Mundane and boring, no.

Because I’ve been feeling lonely for Rome, I’ve been spending time re-reading things that I wrote while there. It’s making me nostalgic and sad but also bringing me back to the feelings I had there, which is just what I need. I NEED to feel those feelings. I’ve started to feel that it’s as essential as breathing is to me. I have been feeling afraid lately that I’m getting quickly sucked right back in to my American life, and while that’s good on some levels, I don’t want it.

You know that thing about square pegs? Well, it really is difficult to fit a square peg into a round hole…yet that is precisely what I feel I am trying to do by attempting to incorporate this Italian way of being into life here in America. We are just so much more structured and rigid here! It’s how it works, and going against the grain just makes one seem like an irresponsible person through typical American eyes.

I did have a revelation the other day, though. It’s very simple; it just relates to a bike ride. I am typically a bit “rigid” with my bike rides. By that I mean it is my form of exercise, which makes it something that I like to push myself at physically, in order to reap the rewards of physical exertion AND the mental clarity that comes with it. I have a hard time looking at biking as anything else, so when I started going on some more leisurely rides with new friends who are new to road biking, it was a bit of a mental struggle. It took some doing to wrap my mind around this concept of taking hours to do mileage that I could complete in one single hour. Stopping along the way, taking in a view, sitting in the park watching a tiny turtle float in the pond. It’s weird that it’s more difficult for me to consider being this way at home, yet it’s what I did in Italy. I don’t know if it’s about cultural acceptance, or just some crazy wiring in my brain. Whatever it is, the moral of the story is that it was beneficial for me to recognize the value in slowing down, literally.

So when I say to myself: I want to feel what I felt in Rome. Why can’t I feel that way here? I have to take myself back to this concept of the leisurely bike ride. It doesn’t mean I don’t still fantasize about being back there; it only means that I can try to incorporate a little bit of a different way of thinking, because it’s just a healthy thing for me to do.

I can hear it now: all the advice I’ll receive that now tells me It wasn’t Rome; you can just live that way here and everything will be hunky-dory. You’re just being so dramatic, Audrey. You’re just never satisfied, Audrey. Before anyone considers shelling out any advice remotely resembling this, please refrain and understand…there is much more to it than this. Rome and Italy have a lot more to love than their pace. That is, I guess, if you’re one of the lovers, rather than loathers, of Rome.

I will apologize because I’m sure all this Rome talk is getting boring for everyone…well, except for you, Jaime (and me of course). But unfortunately it’s what I have to write about at this juncture in my life. As I quoted in the beginning of this entry, “Rome has this effect on some people, it just draws you in and never lets you go.” Indeed it does, and clearly I am one of those people.

What was your favorite part?

As I speak to people about my trip to Rome, this question has been posed to me over and over: “What was your favorite part?” Oh my. This is an impossible question to answer. This is not the fault of anyone asking the question, because how could they know how ridiculous it is? It is, however, absolutely nonsensical from my perspective. I think some people could probably return from a trip like I had and say that oh yes, my favorite part was…the food…or the architecture…or the weather…or going to the beach…or blah, blah, blah. For me, though, my favorite part was no single thing, no combination of things, and it certainly was not anything tangible. It was my experience. The way that I felt. The way I feel now, having had that experience. The fact that I am awake and self-aware enough to recognize how pivotal that experience was to my life and future. The fact that my previous levels of anxiety and worry (which at times could be considered fairly astronomical) are virtually nonexistent now. Somehow, Rome taught me more about life than I ever could have imagined.

There are so many things like this that it is nearly impossible for me not to laugh (hysterically, inside) when someone asks that question. My answer is one that I’m not very good at verbalizing…mostly because I find the doe-eyed stares that I receive in return really frustrating. Many people look at me like I’m crazy. Once again, misunderstood. So I resort to explaining it verbally to the few who understand it, and writing this for the rest of the folks. I am blaming no one else for this; it is something that is lacking in my communication abilities. It’s also the reason I feel I need to write. There are no confused doe-eyes staring at me as I write. I can say whatever I feel. Maybe my reader will make sense of it, maybe not. But I don’t have to be face to face with it. Cowardly? Maybe. But it works for me.

Family Reunions...oh the joy

First of all, let’s just put it out there on the table: it is in my nature to be a sarcastic person. Since maybe a good 90 percent of those reading this blog are likely to be family, I have to give this disclaimer up front. I love my family, but jokes about family reunions exist for a reason. OK, OK…so it’s not really that bad. If you ask any of them, I’m the weird one. So we’ll go with that. But here we go:

Item #1 (and this will be no surprise to anyone who knows me):
Children. Being in the presence of too many of them (more than, say, two) makes my skin crawl. They’re like little creatures that I don’t understand. I see a herd of them and it makes me panic just a little. I realize we need these creatures in order for our civilization to survive, but I happen to think there are already enough in existence and we don’t need more. I have these conversations with my friends frequently. [WARNING, generalization on the way; may offend some!]. Stupid people are breeding. So many of the educated, intelligent, young(ish) people today are choosing not to have children, while those who are…ahem…not so educated and intelligent, are breeding with no abandon. What is this going to mean for our future? It’s scary. But not scary enough to make me think that I need to make one myself.

To clarify, I am not saying that everyone in my family who has kids is stupid. I’m simply saying that the presence of so many of them makes me think about these things. I feel very out of place around a bunch of people with kids, because I just don’t get it. Feels very suffocating to me.

Item #2
Feeling misunderstood. I’m old enough now to recognize that I’ve lived most of my life feeling that I am misunderstood. That is no one’s fault; it just is. However, being around family tends to make one see the history and recognize where all these f’d up ideas come from. In many ways, I’ve been conditioned to believe and behave the way I do…even if it’s toxic. So what happens when I change and grow, and exchange these toxic beliefs for some that are more healthy? I’m even more misunderstood. Family dysfunction has very deep roots (not just mine, but in general). It’s a fascinating topic but (haha) just another one that seals the deal for me that I’d never want to have children. Why would I want to be responsible for molding, shaping, and likely screwing up, someone else’s life? I think my time is better spent figuring out my own.

Item #3
Grandparents. I’ll turn my sarcasm around on this one. My grandparents never cease to amaze me. I can only hope that when I am their age, I have even a fraction of their passion and commitment to whatever it is that I feel passion for. I’ve come to realize that we all don’t need to be passionate about the same issues or causes, but we should all have something that we feel strongly enough about that we want to take it on…to do our part to make a difference, in whatever realm it may be. I am so inspired and humbled by their commitment to fighting for what they believe in. (In case you don’t know, my grandparents are likely some of the most politically active 85 year olds around…)

Here's a nice little photo of a hibiscus from my parents' yard...