The Balcony

This is the view from our balcony. However, the static image doesn't capture what this view is to me. It's really the sounds that remind me of where I am. The sound of the kids in the school, the scooters, the chime of the teacher's whistle...I've spend so much time here, in so many stages of my life, that after nine years (my first time in this apartment was June, 2003), the sounds are nostalgic for me. This apartment, this view, it brings back a myriad of memories.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oChAXBS8EHw&feature=g-upl

My first memory of this balcony was upon walking into the apartment before I knew Francesca. I was here by myself, awaiting the arrival of a bus load of Nebraskans who would be here for Benedetta's wedding. I remember trying to find Francesca and walking into what felt like a hugely expansive living room (before the renovation it was almost double the size it is now). The walls were covered with a sort of green, velvety, striped wallpaper which made the walls leading up to the 12' ceilings appear to go on forever. There was a wall of bookshelves, completely full, that covered an entire side of the room, all the way up to the ceiling. Because the room was sort of dark, the books gave it the feeling of a library. When I walked in, Francesca was sitting by herself watching tennis. 

The second memory, about 5 days later, brings back the excitement of the first few days I realized I had a crush on Lorenzo.The fore-mentioned Nebraskans had arrived, the living room was full of them, all male, all circled around an immense block of hash, almost exactly the dimensions of a red brick. Lorenzo was sitting by the door of the balcony, smoking (before my persuasion and the birth of Ella encouraged smoking outside of the Roma house), and I remember making pretty intense eye-contact for the first time. That moment will never leave me. 

The nostalgia of the sounds of the school bring back memories of many hazy mornings during the same trip. After we had all stayed up all night, most nights, all of us Americans, too busy drinking and walking the city to sleep; the sun would come up while we were all standing on the balcony ending our night. After going to bed around 6am, the summer heat and the sounds of the school would wake me promptly at 8am, leaving me in a fog the rest of the day. Five or so espressos later, I was usually cured of the fog.

I love this balcony. I love the memories, the far newer memories of watching Luca learning to crawl in front of the open balcony doors, now playing with Sabina on the same floor. I remember after Benedetta and Trevor's wedding, sitting in the kitchen, exhausted after a full day, all of us eating leftovers from the wedding party. I remember watching Trevor talk with Francesca, Italian rolling of his tongue with ease, laughing with Lorenzo's friends, completely comfortable inside of the culture. I remember thinking, "He is so lucky. He married into such a cool life. I want that." I don't remember that thought having anything to do with Lorenzo specifically, I just remember thinking how different his life was from other people I knew who were married. That it appeared so much more exciting and fulfilling. 

I love this side of my life. I love the family I've fallen into, the family Lorenzo and I are now a part of together and the life of memories that will surround this balcony through the life of my children and maybe even my grandchildren. Now that I've had this moment to stop and breathe, I can revel in my blessings and in the dream I've managed to manifest for myself. For it really was a dream of mine to be able to speak another language and to have a reason to travel throughout my life. Yes, I can judge where I am in my life at nearly 40, I can get down on myself thinking I should be more or should be doing more. But this part, this part I'm happy to celebrate. 

Now that I have a little time on my side, what other dreams can I manifest? 

Roma Redux

And another adventure begins. Two years after our sad departure from our time living in Rome, we're back. With baby in tow again. It's like déjà vu, the good kind, when you search your brain for the familiarity and trace it back to an incredibly happy, endearing dream. The time we spent here with Luca as a baby has become a fantasy I want to recreate. Despite some of the emotional difficulties I faced in acclimating to the culture as a new mom, the time here was one of the few moments I've felt like I was my best self for a period that extended beyond those fleeting vacation days spent abroad. Those vacations only suspended my reality long enough for me to imagine a life without a work grind, I was never able to actually manifest that life for myself. The 8 months of suspended reality, living as an ex-pat, thinking it was a longer term life change, it forced me to find daily inspirations and to savor every moment I didn't have to compromise. I got to focus on being a mom without feeling the entrapment of that identity because I had a job. But the job was the first that I could leave behind when my hours were completed. But the time spent at work felt incredibly fulfilling and worthwhile. I was teaching English, which was far from a step forward on paper, but it allowed me the chance to connect with people as people and not as strange business colleagues. I had full autonomy to design my daily lessons and I dedicated myself to figuring out the best way to give people what they were ultimately looking for - a way to connect with people in a different language. I was so entrenched in that dilemma myself that it felt good to share my experience in real time and to teach people to avoid the obstacles I had tripped over more than once in my learning of Italian. Needless to say, my suspended reality will come to a close as soon as everyone wakes up here in a minute, as having kids keeps you from ever really being on vacation. But lucky for me, travel insomnia allows me to engage my inspiration and try to capture it before it scurries away when my mind gets cluttered with feeding and changing schedules. I'm not sure what to anticipate from these 5 weeks, as I'll be juggling work through three of them, but somehow this feels like a big change, like a crossroads is on the horizon. The frantic and frenetic pace I've been trying to uphold over the last 5 months since I've written a word here, has dampened a big piece of my spirit. It's the piece that reminds me I musn't be complacent and think that my story ends as my kid's stories begin. I want to be an example of what is possible, not what had to be left behind. I refuse to put my head in an oven. I'm in a new developmental milestone, one I'm beginning to believe comes for everyone right around this time. It's a turning point where our expectations of where we would be at this point in our lives leads us to judgement instead of celebration. This place is the hardest thus far, but also the most rewarding. I'm learning more than I have since my early twenties. I'm trying to figure things out again, but with many more tools at my disposal. I like this moment. Three weeks of working nights will be tough, but my daily responsibilities (pick-ups, drop-offs, babysitter/daycare schedule coordination, packing lunches, getting everywhere late), these tasks have been reduced so much that even after 14 hours of travel with two kids under 3, and no sleep, it feels like a vacation. And for me, despite working, it will be. My life as it has been over the last six months is not one that I want to return to. Things will change after this trip, I will no longer be running myself ragged the way I have been. I'm too old, I can't bounce back from that level of stress the way I once could. And fuck it, why should I try? There are better ways. I shouldn't have to run the race I've been running. Being here, with time on my hands, I am bound and determined to find them. And P.S. I realize the formatting is rough, it's 3am and I'm on the iPad and I'm too tired to figure out line breaks.