2008's last day of summer ended with a bang for me: stormy weather, torrential rains, and emotional upheaval of epic proportions. 2009's last day of summer came and went without me even realizing that it happened: sunny skies, and a pleasant day of no monumental significance.
Or is it monumental in its insignificance? Hmmm...
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The Italian Experiment
For some reason I’ve been asked by multiple people how I felt walking into my apartment after returning from Italy. Oh yeah, I suppose it’s because I’ve expressed discomfort and a bit of disdain for the fact that I like where I live! I’ve said this before: too much comfort makes me very uncomfortable. My desire to be unattached, ungrounded, free to fly, free to flee, has left me feeling that any attachment to place or space is simply wrong for me. Most people I talk to about this have a very difficult time understanding, or at least relating. All I know is that in recent months, I had begun to feel a slight emotional attachment to my home, and I didn’t like it. It made me feel weighted, limited in my choices, and less free. If I chose to take off, I wanted to be able to walk away feeling that I was leaving nothing behind.
And so I went to Italy. In some ways, it was an experiment. I didn’t know what to expect—how I would feel about this place that occupied so much magic and madness in my heart.
Well, the experiment ended with slightly surprising results. Not surprising is that Italy is still full and magic and madness for me. And it’s not that the magic outweighs the madness, or vice versa, but actually the madness is part of what creates the magic. I’ve definitely confirmed that I need a bit of madness in my life. Too much magic is simply…well…boring. And I’m easily bored. What was surprising about this experiment is that I found myself in Italy, at times, thinking fondly about home. I didn’t plan on this; I left Portland feeling like I wanted to get the hell out, even if only temporarily. I considered that perhaps my trip to Italy was going to be one of scouting—to see if I possibly wanted to make a move there.
Again, the results were surprising. I decided that Italy—Rome in particular—is a sacred place for me, and in order to keep it sacred I can’t make it my home. Reality has a way of quashing magic, and so for now, I prefer to keep my reality in Portland and my magic in Rome. That’s right—for now—because for me, everything is for now.
And in case you’re wondering…when I walked into my apartment for the first time…I liked it, and I was happy.
And so I went to Italy. In some ways, it was an experiment. I didn’t know what to expect—how I would feel about this place that occupied so much magic and madness in my heart.
Well, the experiment ended with slightly surprising results. Not surprising is that Italy is still full and magic and madness for me. And it’s not that the magic outweighs the madness, or vice versa, but actually the madness is part of what creates the magic. I’ve definitely confirmed that I need a bit of madness in my life. Too much magic is simply…well…boring. And I’m easily bored. What was surprising about this experiment is that I found myself in Italy, at times, thinking fondly about home. I didn’t plan on this; I left Portland feeling like I wanted to get the hell out, even if only temporarily. I considered that perhaps my trip to Italy was going to be one of scouting—to see if I possibly wanted to make a move there.
Again, the results were surprising. I decided that Italy—Rome in particular—is a sacred place for me, and in order to keep it sacred I can’t make it my home. Reality has a way of quashing magic, and so for now, I prefer to keep my reality in Portland and my magic in Rome. That’s right—for now—because for me, everything is for now.
And in case you’re wondering…when I walked into my apartment for the first time…I liked it, and I was happy.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Rome's To-Do List
Things I did not do while in Rome:
Things I did while in Rome:
- Go to the Pantheon
- Go to the Coliseum
- Go to the Forum
- Stand in line to stick my hand in the Mouth of Truth
- Throw a coin in the Trevi Fountain, or even see it
- Visit a million churches
- Go anywhere near the Vatican
- Ride a tour bus
- Take a taxi
- Visit any museums
- Look at a map
Things I did while in Rome:
- Wandered aimlessly for hours
- Sat at a café in Trastevere drinking prosecco alone, watching people
- Ate some of my favorite foods, sometimes in unreal quantities
- Visited what is probably the creepiest crypt in existence
- Tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to hear the chanting monks
- Spent many nights out drinking with friends until 4am
- Met new friends
- Went to Mussolini’s EUR
- Walked around a couple of my favorite areas: Aventino and Jewish Ghetto
- Talked about people, politics, and why I can’t speak better Italian with a cabbie, while eating dinner alone
- Got lost
- Found my way
- Got lost
- Found my way
- Got lost
- Found my way
- Spent a Sunday biking on the cobblestones of via Appia Antica
- Broke the Rome dress code, daily, and didn’t care
- Told several smarmy middle-of-the-night pursuers to fuck off
- Lived in filth
- Observed
- Pondered
- Laughed
- Cried
- Tried and tried and tried to wipe the perma-grin off my face
- Loved to hate it
- LOVED. IT.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Nothing. Yet Everything.
Traveling does not equal vacationing for me. Don’t get me wrong—I have vacationed, and I still will. But traveling is different. Now that I’m a couple days from ending this three-week excursion, of course I’m getting reflective about it, and I’ll definitely say it has included more traveling than vacationing. Of everything I’ve experienced during the last few weeks, the only portions that matter to me—the only pieces I will even remember—are of two kinds: (1) interactions with people, and (2) anything that has struck me on a sensory level.
For example, on this rainy Rome Sunday, I am perfectly content to spend a fair amount of time sitting in my apartment drinking coffee and writing. I’m not out sightseeing, but Rome’s noise and aroma are right outside my window. For me, this experience is no less valid than any other, and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything.
Yesterday I was returning from Germany back to Rome. I had an early evening flight, so I had most of the day to do whatever I wanted. What I chose to do is not likely what many others would choose, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I took a train from Bacharach to Mainz, which has a much larger station, and I sat there for several hours. I watched people come and go, in and out, as I remained in the same spot. An old man struck up a conversation with me. He was waiting for his son to arrive for a visit, and I heard all about his family and how he is coping with the death of his wife of 40 years. I’ll probably never forget his face, or sitting on that train station bench next to him. After a few hours in Mainz, I took a bus to the small Frankfurt-Hahn airport, from which I would be flying back to Rome. There, again, I sat for several hours, watching people come and go, in and out, as I remained. I met a young angst-ridden Italian guy, Gabriele, who sat next to me and told me that his life in the last few weeks has been like a book. And that it’s good if you’re the one reading the book, but not if you’re the one living it. I said, “I know, I’ve been there.”
I am certain—I mean utterly certain—that I will remember this day of sitting in train stations and airports with much more fondness than I would if I had chosen to do something touristy or see some sights.
In the last few weeks I’ve spent a lot of time in observational solitude, reconnected with old friends, met new friends, walked around aimlessly, sweated profusely in the uncomfortable humidity, dealt with banking issues, tried to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life, had the one traveling experience that really made me feel I’m not cut out for this (the hospital), slept, ate, drank, stared at the sky. Essentially, I’ve done a lot of nothing. Yet everything.
It’s sometimes difficult to see when you’re “in” it, but in my mind there are no “good” or “bad” experiences. There are only experiences, and no matter their form, they are an integral part of what shapes me and creates the ever-evolving person that I am. I look forward to more…
For example, on this rainy Rome Sunday, I am perfectly content to spend a fair amount of time sitting in my apartment drinking coffee and writing. I’m not out sightseeing, but Rome’s noise and aroma are right outside my window. For me, this experience is no less valid than any other, and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything.
Yesterday I was returning from Germany back to Rome. I had an early evening flight, so I had most of the day to do whatever I wanted. What I chose to do is not likely what many others would choose, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. I took a train from Bacharach to Mainz, which has a much larger station, and I sat there for several hours. I watched people come and go, in and out, as I remained in the same spot. An old man struck up a conversation with me. He was waiting for his son to arrive for a visit, and I heard all about his family and how he is coping with the death of his wife of 40 years. I’ll probably never forget his face, or sitting on that train station bench next to him. After a few hours in Mainz, I took a bus to the small Frankfurt-Hahn airport, from which I would be flying back to Rome. There, again, I sat for several hours, watching people come and go, in and out, as I remained. I met a young angst-ridden Italian guy, Gabriele, who sat next to me and told me that his life in the last few weeks has been like a book. And that it’s good if you’re the one reading the book, but not if you’re the one living it. I said, “I know, I’ve been there.”
I am certain—I mean utterly certain—that I will remember this day of sitting in train stations and airports with much more fondness than I would if I had chosen to do something touristy or see some sights.
In the last few weeks I’ve spent a lot of time in observational solitude, reconnected with old friends, met new friends, walked around aimlessly, sweated profusely in the uncomfortable humidity, dealt with banking issues, tried to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life, had the one traveling experience that really made me feel I’m not cut out for this (the hospital), slept, ate, drank, stared at the sky. Essentially, I’ve done a lot of nothing. Yet everything.
It’s sometimes difficult to see when you’re “in” it, but in my mind there are no “good” or “bad” experiences. There are only experiences, and no matter their form, they are an integral part of what shapes me and creates the ever-evolving person that I am. I look forward to more…
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Infected or Infused
My senses are hyper-sensitive.
Every time I travel, I am reminded of this.
At times I am struck by I-don’t-know-what…but that thing that instantly makes me love a place or not. I usually can’t pinpoint it. I have trouble answering the question “What did you like about it?” or “What did you not like about it?” Sometimes there is no answer. It’s just a feeling I get. Or rather, the way I feel being in a place.
I have stepped foot in a few new-to-me cities recently, and have been overwhelmed by my physical and emotional reaction to them. I wish I could better describe this in words. All I can say is that it’s an extraordinary sensation to step off a train in a foreign city, walk for just a few minutes, and feel either infected or infused with the energy of a place. This thing, whatever it is, hits me so hard that it cuts to my core. I have been brought to tears both by the overwhelming love for a place, and the overwhelming dislike for a place. Instantly.
And the great thing about traveling alone with no real itinerary is that I just go with it. I stay where I love, collect what I can from it; I leave those places I don’t love, and don’t look back. There is no sense trying to force something that just isn’t there…
Every time I travel, I am reminded of this.
At times I am struck by I-don’t-know-what…but that thing that instantly makes me love a place or not. I usually can’t pinpoint it. I have trouble answering the question “What did you like about it?” or “What did you not like about it?” Sometimes there is no answer. It’s just a feeling I get. Or rather, the way I feel being in a place.
I have stepped foot in a few new-to-me cities recently, and have been overwhelmed by my physical and emotional reaction to them. I wish I could better describe this in words. All I can say is that it’s an extraordinary sensation to step off a train in a foreign city, walk for just a few minutes, and feel either infected or infused with the energy of a place. This thing, whatever it is, hits me so hard that it cuts to my core. I have been brought to tears both by the overwhelming love for a place, and the overwhelming dislike for a place. Instantly.
And the great thing about traveling alone with no real itinerary is that I just go with it. I stay where I love, collect what I can from it; I leave those places I don’t love, and don’t look back. There is no sense trying to force something that just isn’t there…
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