The packing has begun. The Rome story is in its preface. My multi-tasking mind hasn’t wrapped itself around what’s really happening yet. Instead it’s bursting with images of boxes, books, baby items, suitcases, airport baggage fees, rental agreements and, of course, Luca. Yes, the idea of living in Europe is romantic and exciting. I am very lucky. But, and there is always a but; how will I make money? We’re spending every red cent on house repairs right now. Ironically everything is breaking; the heater, the kitchen sink, the washing machine, and the fence blew down in the recent storm. My brother told me once that when things break it’s a good sign. It’s some kind of Native American theory that a thing breaking means change is on the horizon. Confirmed. In a way it’s good that it’s happening while we’re here, but where do I find that money tree I've heard so much about? I shouldn’t complain. I’m actually not complaining; I’m worrying. But I can’t worry I have too much to do.
I am also slowly realizing that this little blog is going to become my best friend on this journey. I will confess my fears and then revel in the days when inspiration hits. I will talk to you little blog with my natural voice rather than the second grader voice I have to use in Italian. It’s interesting how I’ve built relationships in that second grader voice. My friend Kara told me once, “It’s too bad Lorenzo doesn’t understand this side of you, the slang-talking, California side.” I’m not sure I know exactly what that means but if you hang out with me after a few drinks, in a dance club with a mirror, I might start slang-talking and choreographing dances. After six years of speaking English, Lorenzo gets it now. I can only hope that after a year or so of speaking Italian, that I will get his Roman-dialect speaking side too. I won’t hold my breath waiting for him to choreograph any dances though.
We are going through the same thing, only opposite... I am supposed to go back home, but i am not sure where my home is. Is it the one where i was born and grew up? or rather the one i built from scratch, here away from my roots? I like to think it's the second one, because it provides me with a sense of a real accomplishment. Does that mean that i deny my family and culture (they'd be pissed if they heard that...)? I know they'll never see that, but i can't help it, the guilt is kicking... Guilt... is part of the reasons that convince me to go back a little. Sounds horrible doens't it? Good thing it's not the only thing...
ReplyDeleteWe are, by "we" i mean, Brian, Lila and I and you and your men, doing the right thing. We have to give it a try. We are young, our babies are young too. We are flexible. Yes we might face some pretty big financial challenges, but don't worry we'll find that money tree (... eventually).
I often think the same thing about the way my life turned out to be, this whole settling thing. At some point in my life, it sounded very nice. And sometimes, i question it. But in the same time, my fear of the big move is fed by giving up what i know, what i've built here, what is comfortable.
There are a lot of things i am going to miss from here, the things that made me for the last 7 years. I moved here was 26, a baby... an age where major decisions happen... I'll be back there feeling much older, but also going back to what i left as a kid... big paradox... does that make sense?
One thing though I am excited about though... i can't forget how i felt when i went back in May. This easiness of being there (yes, it was sunny and i was in vacations...), of feeling French again. And you know what also? We are doing this with our family, our comfort zone, our support. So we will be fine....
And if you ever feel like venting, remember, you are a phone call away from a real american will probably go through the same frustrations, and in the same time zone!
And if you want to dance call me! :)
I have to tell you though… I miss being a carefree spontaneous girl also… where did that one go??? And I dare every new mum to say they don’t.