Childhood Nostalgia

When you're growing up, it's easy to think that you're the only one in the world going through what you're going through (and even as adults, now that I think about it), that you're the only one in so much pain, and that no one could ever possibly understand you. And because you think this way, everything and everyone is such...a huge..deal. It's only until you start getting out there in the world and seeing different things, different people, different families, that makes you begin to realize that you're not so alone...that maybe someone will be able to understand you, and that some people have it even worse than you do. I don't know about everyone else, but this is how the process went for me.

In the past three or four years I've held onto only the pain of my childhood, remembering only the things that hurt me or the people/situations from whom or where I picked up all of my bad habits and dysfunctional thinking. Besides a few different occasions, I've never really chosen to remember all of the good things that happened to me or the fun things and events I was a part of growing up. Being with this particular family in Italy has shown a light on how much better my childhood was than I have remembered it to be, because I see so much of my own past-family-life in this one.

When I first arrived, I realized almost immediately some of the same patterns I experienced as a little girl (some of them being not so great) and I was overly sensitive in seeing them take place. I would internally react in a negative way when I felt Cecilia was being wronged: when I felt she was being treated unfairly, when I felt like her parents would overreact to some small, insignificant, rebellious action, or when I felt she wasn't being accepted by her own parents. It was an intense emotion, feeling useless and angry and sad whenever one of these "events" popped up. I felt like I had to defend her, not in front of them, but afterwards when I went to comfort her, to try and make her know that she was loved. And then I realized that I reacted so intensely because I was projecting who I was as a little girl on her: the one who never felt accepted, the one who never felt she could do anything right, the one who never felt loved.

The funny thing is, after I processed, acknowledged and released this feeling of injustice and grief, the projections stopped, the intensity subsided, and I could finally see her as her own person...someone who is on this particular life path for a reason and will become who she is meant to become, just like I am, just like everyone is. She might in fact feel some of the same things I felt growing up, but we are not the same person, and I know that now.

One of the fun things I remember thanks to this family is whistling. Giacomo, the father of Cecilia, whistles (very well, I might add) while he cuts fruit, hangs up laundry, cleans a room, etc. and I feel at home when I hear him whistle. One of the most vivid memories I have is of my dad constantly whistling, and remembering how much I loved it, how much it was a part of my life, and how it made me feel like everything was okay. It was a comforting sound for me growing up, and apparently it still is; I smile every time!

Another similarity is that Giacomo likes to be neat, just like my dad. He will spend a few hours whenever he's home, attentively scrubbing the kitchen counters and other things of this nature, and it makes me chuckle to myself. Almost every guy I know in my life besides these two live like slobs, not giving a damn if their rooms are messy, if their bathrooms have crap caked on the edge of the sink, or if the dishes are piled up like a mountain. I'm not saying that orderly men don't exist, but for now these are the two men I know personally that value a clean home enough to do some work on it themselves. I can't remember a time when my dad's house was a mess for longer than an hour or so, actually. Funny how this is one of the habits I didn't pick up from him growing up ;) I chose to learn that one the hard way much later.

The fact that this family gets together often with their friends and family makes me remember how much my family did when we were younger. Growing up, we were almost always with our cousins, aunt and uncles, grandparents, friends of the family, etc. and we would play fun games and spend our traditional vacation to Indian Cove together. Not to say that we never fought, because believe me, I was the cause of a lot of them back then, but for the most part we got along famously. Even though now we all have our own lives and are not very close anymore, there are some moments and places I will never forget and that will forever have a special place in my heart.

I've also noticed that some of the names I call Cecilia are the exact names my dad used to call my sisters and I as kids. They come out naturally, as if I had transported myself back in time and heard them all over again. Some of these names consist of: bugnut, bugaloo, silly goober, little stinker, etc. I haven't been called these names in ages, and I've never called anyone but her these names, and it made me wonder why. And then it hit me that since I have such a strong bond with this girl, I see her as I would my own daughter, therefore taking on the role of a parent or guardian.

I've heard it said that we recreate our childhoods, but I've never truly understood it until now. This knowledge has always scared me in the past, because I've never wanted to recreate the childhood I had if I were to ever choose to have my own family. But now I'm not so scared. It seems as if I’ve recreated it without having done the work of raising a family myself, and this is the part that I find the most interesting: it doesn’t negatively affect me anymore. After staying with this Italian family, I realize how much they have helped shift my perspective. The best example I can give to explain this is that Giacomo is almost exactly like my father; he is stubborn, short-tempered and impatient, and at first this was all I saw in him, just like this was all that I saw in my father. Now I can see that while he is indeed all of these things, he is also good-hearted, playful and honest, just like mine. He knows how to entertain and keep a conversation going, just like mine. He does the best he can with what he is given, and loves his daughter the way he knows how to love, just like mine.  

I’m no longer triggered in the same way when I see or experience an injustice from my childhood, which is how I know that I’ve undergone a major healing. I’ve become quite attached to this family, not only because I feel at home with them, but because they have been essential to my growth as a human being. They have unknowingly showed me what I needed to work on, and now thanks to them, I have a new perspective on my life as a child. These days, not everything is such a huge deal, and in fact, my life flows better than it ever has before. There will probably be more layers of my childhood to peel back and process in the future, but right now I am in a beautiful place. Now I can look back nostalgically and say, “yeah, those were some good times.”

                         My favorite little Italian girl...the one who's made this whole thing possible :)

The Merger

I’ve noticed something funny about my name since I’ve been in Europe, and that’s that my name is…well… funny. If I would have always lived my life in the States, I never would have thought such a thing, but here in Europe it’s a topic of interest. I’ve now been to four countries, and in each country they pronounce my name differently, none of them being truly “correct” from my point of view but it’s entertaining. The English pronounce it without the ‘r’ at the end (Heathe), the French pronounce it with a ‘z’ instead of the ‘th’ and roll the ‘r’ in the way that the French do (Hezairr), the Swiss/German add a bit of a ‘d’ to the ‘th’ (heatder) and the Italians completely ignore the ‘h’ at the beginning, the ‘th’ becomes a ‘t’, and they roll the ‘r’ at the end (Etterr). One little piccola italian girl has even gone so far as to call me “eater” like we would pronounce it in American English. That particular pronunciation I’m not very fond of (and it's the only one I've corrected), but in any case it’s amusing for me to see how one name can turn into "many".

Speaking of different names, last year, as some of you know, I came into contact with my Italian name, Erica. If you aren't familiar with this particular story, click here to get caught up. Anyway, when I first heard this name I felt very proud and told every Italian or Italian speaker that my name was Erica because it felt really cool to feel like I had an Italian counterpart. This "Erica" person was the best part of me, in my opinion, and resembled the kind of person "Heather" wanted to be; simple, easy-going, light-hearted, confident, direct and decisive. I identified highly with this name and actually at one point started to prefer Europeans calling me Erica, not only because it was easier for them to pronounce, but also because I liked her better than myself at the time.

I am one of those people who finds a message in pretty much everything, so when my mother sent me two little descriptions on what each of my names mean, I was amazed. Each of the descriptions fit me almost perfectly, and I'll post them here below:

Heather: Your name of Heather makes you easy-going and refined, but detracts from your physical vitality. You desire all the finer things in life--lovely clothes, home, furniture, and environment. However, procrastination is your worst enemy, and you find yourself lacking the ambition to make your dreams a reality often because of lack of confidence. People are inclined to take advantage of your sympathetic, tractable nature. You naturally attract people with problems who seek your understanding and advice. Though the name Heather creates the urge to understand and help others, we emphasize that it causes procrastination, lack of confidence, and the inability to realize your goals and ambitions. 

Erica: Your name of Erica makes you very idealistic and generous, with the strong desire to uplift humanity leading you into situations where you can express your desire to serve others. You want to assume responsibilities and to look after people; however, you can become too involved in other people's problems and tend to worry. Your name gives you a natural desire to express along artistic and musical lines. You desire a settled home and family life, and are expressive and attentive to your loved ones. Although the name Erica creates the urge to be reliable and responsible, we emphasize that it causes an emotional intensity that is hard to control. 

As you can see, the two are completely different, and the funny thing is that I really felt like two different people; when I was Erica and when I was Heather. The strange thing, though, is that this year I no longer hear the name "Erica". It's as if everyone forgot that I had a second name, and it's made me think about why this time she's not in my life. Well, I did hear it once in Switzerland, but it felt like an alien name; a name I could no longer identify with, a name that no longer filled me with pride and joy like it did before. And then one day it suddenly hit me--the two different parts of me have merged into one.

After ruminating over this for a while, I realized that this merger happened way before I got to Italy in June. It started months before, when I started taking better care of myself. It began with putting more of my heart and soul into my room, adorning the unfinished parts with bright colors and creative designs, making my room a truer expression of myself. Even though it was literally only some changes to my room, it felt like I was making changes within myself, painting my soul with vibrancy, creativity, and life. It began when I started taking better care of my body, setting goals to eat healthier, lose weight, and exercise regularly. As it turned out, losing weight was not only a physical journey for me, but a mental and emotional one. It wasn't until I started reading A Course in Weight Loss, by Marianne Williamson that I realized each of the reasons why I was overeating. This gave me a completely new perspective and understanding of myself and life in general, but most of all, it allowed me to be more patient and loving with myself in a way that I'd never been before.

And then the last big event I can think of that deeply affected my character was when I released the need to be the "oldest", the smartest, the best, etc. My sisters played a huge part in helping me become the person I am today, because it was they who brought it all to my attention. Actually they always have, but I wasn't ready to hear it until a short time ago. For example, I was always known as the uptight one of the family, the one with a short temper and the one who got offended really easily, and it was for this reason that I never truly felt loved by my own family. It wasn't until my sisters and I had a very long, painful yet meaningful conversation that I saw it from a different perspective. I realized that I was causing this distance between my family members and I, and that I needed to be better than them, therefore pushing them away. I was uptight because I thought I had to be somebody else around them, and the two (the real me and the fake me) clashed--bad. It was only after this realization that I could let go of the person I thought I needed to be and just become myself. I will always be grateful to them for loving me enough to always tell me the truth, even when it isn't pretty.

With these three, very big changes in my life, I can see why the two names merged. I've started becoming the person I've always wanted to be, releasing the need for anyone "else" to be in my life. I will always be grateful to Erica for showing me a much more simple, joyous way of life in my time of need; a life without the stress of family dynamics, weight issues, and lack of self-love. She infused this lively way of being into my soul, and there is where she will stay. I still have issues to work through, and I may always be emotionally intense, get too involved in other people's problems, and procrastinate when I shouldn't, but I love seeing the changes that I choose to make come to life on a daily/monthly/yearly basis.

So I'm here to present to you who I am, the good and the not so good, whether you accept me or not. Hello world, my name is Heather, and even if you can't pronounce it correctly, Heather I shall remain.

Adoption

In my opinion, there are a million great things about Switzerland: their various food products such as chocolate, cheese, and bread; their efficient and high quality products known all around the world such as the Swiss Army Knife; their location, which makes traveling easy and forces them to grow up with three or more languages from a very young age; the terrain of the immaculate Swiss Alps that I can’t ever get enough of no matter how long I stare or how many pictures I take; and last but not least, their culture of organization and reliability. It’s a hard decision, but besides the Alps, this aspect of Swiss life I find to be one of the best things about Switzerland…and apparently this lesson came at the perfect time for me.

Before I left for Switzerland, I got chewed out for not being as reliable as I should have been, therefore forcing someone else to do what I should have done. And you know what? That was definitely not the best feeling in the world. How coincidental then that I would spend a week in the most reliable place in the world…funny how that works. Anyway, this particular situation really ground my gears because it’s important to me that people know that they can count on me when something needs to be done. It was especially bothersome because I am usually, in my opinion, very reliable, so this forced me to reevaluate myself.

Though it wasn’t all that fun to think about, I feel fortunate to have been able to do so while surrounded by immense beauty. When something in my life seems like such a huge deal, I need something that will bring me outside of myself in order to see it from another perspective, and the grandeur of the Alps was that something this time. I spent quite a bit of time journaling and thinking, and more often than not, staring at the Alps while sitting on the terrace outside of my friend’s bedroom window. Whenever I looked at these gorgeous mountains, it’s as if all of my problems and all of the thoughts swirling around in my brain didn’t matter anymore; everything became so small in comparison. 

I’m going to digress a bit here and tell you that in the summertime, Switzerland is unbelievably green. I went last year during the winter when everything was snowy and white, so this time it felt like a completely different place. The tallest of the mountains of course still have snow on top, but in the summer all of the shorter ones show off the emerald beauty they have that is concealed underneath the snow for the major part of the year. They feature a million brilliant shades of green, even some shades that I’ve never seen on a mountain before. Everything is vibrant, fresh, and alive. In fact, one of my favorite parts of the week was going up to a little bar/restaurant halfway up the mountain to see how Interlaken looks from a higher point of view. To get there we had to take a ten minute trolley ride, which was a fun new experience for me because as you ascend you start to see everything in a way you couldn’t if you were just walking around on foot. 

Anyway, as Mara and I started walking to the café, I noticed immediately how fresh the air was. It was the freshest, most crisp air I have ever had the pleasure to breathe into my lungs. I wanted to capture some in a jar to take home with me so that I would always have some on hand. It’s impossible to describe with words how it felt going through my respiration system, but it made me feel so grateful that pure air such as this still exists in the world, while also making me wish that it was like this everywhere. When I exhaled, all of the pollution in my mind went with it, leaving me feeling refreshed and ready to handle anything. 

While I was speaking with Mara’s mother, the topic of adoption worked itself into the conversation. No, not child adoption; culture adoption. When you have the chance to travel and see how other people speak, eat, act, and live, you’re able to see your own culture from another perspective, as well as work in all of the aspects you find interesting in other cultures into your own. If you could take all of the best aspects of every culture in the world, you would have a really great personal culture, and it got me thinking; maybe I can’t improve American culture in general, but I can improve my own. 

As stated before, I haven’t exactly been the most reliable person in the world, or the most organized for the past few weeks…well, I’ve never actually been very organized to be honest. So I think it’s the perfect time for me to adopt the organization and reliability aspect of Swiss culture into my life. This means keeping my room clean on a daily basis, writing down and sticking to a plan on what I can do to stay in Italy, writing more regularly than I have been, choosing the foods that make me feel good, and journaling more often to keep my thoughts from becoming a whirlwind of disaster. This also means that I need to take my work more seriously and do what needs to be done when it is asked of me, and even when it is not. This means being able to rely on myself, so that others know that they can rely on me. 

Even though this particular lesson has been kind of a rough one in the way it was handled, I’m glad it came anyway, because it made me realize that I can’t keep on living this way if I want to keep a level of peace in my life. When one or more areas is in disorder or chaos, it’s really hard not to let it affect others because everything is interconnected. It’s easy to think that it doesn’t matter if your room is always a mess, but it really is important because at least for me, the way I’ve been treating my room is the way I’ve been treating my life: throwing things to the side as if they don’t matter, letting things pile up so that it becomes one of the Alps instead of a rolling hill, waking up and going to sleep with an always un-made bed…Basta! Enough! I’m done acting as if the little things don’t make a difference.

In any case, I’m really glad that I don’t have to sign any adoption papers or go through strenuous interviews or live with a child who is likely to have some abandonment issues. Luckily all that is required of me to adopt aspects of culture is to keep an open mind, and while that is sometimes easier said than done, it’s a process I’m more than willing to endure.

The Thing About Rivers

Lately I've been saying a lot about how life is like a river, but I never realized how general that statement is until now. There are a million different types of rivers: tiny ones, huge ones, dry ones, swampy ones, short ones, long ones, shallow ones, deep ones, dangerous ones, still ones, rocky ones, stagnant ones, ones with waterfalls, and ones that have a bit of everything. How do you know which river you are? ...and is it possible to switch? What if your river is scaring you and you don't know how to navigate it safely or have the right tools to do so?

Well, the other day I had time to think about this, while sitting in the middle of a river on a warm rock in Switzerland. As my feet were submerged in the fresh, cold water from the Alps, my chin placed lightly on my right kneecap, and my fingertips caressing the surface of the brook, I realized that just because I feel like I'm finally heading downstream instead of upstream against the current doesn't mean there aren't little rocky bits to surpass or rapids to brave or waterfalls to look out for. And right now, my river is a little bit rocky. Yes, the water of happiness still flows around these rocks, but I can't deny that they are there, seemingly in the way. What are these rocks, you may ask?

At the moment, my river is consumed with trying to find a way to stay here legally, and I am frustrated, scared, and a little bit confused. The questions of "What If?" are swirling around in my head like a hidden whirlpool underneath the surface. What if it's too late for me to find something? What if I need it too much? What if a part of me is still afraid of claiming my dreams as my own and making them real? What if I failed myself all because I was too scared to follow through sooner? What if the desire to stay in Italy has become my only identity, my one and only proof that I'm worth something in this world?

Someone told me not too long ago that if you really love being where you are and you love what you do, then the loose ends become minor details. At first I felt reassured, but the more I thought about this the harder it became for me to trust it, because sometimes those minor details get you into some major trouble. Everyone tells me that Italy's bureaucratic system is laughable, and the fact that they like Americans is a plus, but I still can't shake the feeling that being an illegal immigrant is not the right choice for me. I don't want to always be looking over my shoulder, wondering if I'm going to get deported around every bend in the river. I don't want to go through unnecessary rapids when I know another, more calm path on the river exists. But what if the rapids are unavoidable? And maybe tomorrow I will feel differently or something will magically make itself known, but right now that's how I feel.

So as I'm sitting on a rock in the middle of this beautiful river, I'm starting to realize what kind of river mine is. It's not always still and steady, but I realize that for me one like this would be, well...boring. And in my experience I've noticed that sometimes even though a river seems calm on the surface, there are hidden dangers lurking underneath, waiting to grab ahold of you. It's not stagnant, fortunately; mine has a current that may not always be strong, but it's there, slowly but surely carrying me forward. My river isn't dry or swampy or tiny or enormous or shallow. It has rocky segments, and deep, calm segments; it's the perfect size complete with rapids and waterfalls behind me. There might be rapids and waterfalls ahead of me too that I can't see yet (that I promise I won't chase! ;)), but in any case I'm realizing how beautiful my river is regardless of what shows up around the river bend, because at least it's moving; it's fully alive. I understand now that I wouldn't switch rivers, even if I could. And maybe, just maybe, when I feel like I don't know how to navigate it, there will be someone on the riverbank when I least expect it, guiding me, teaching me how.

Patience is a Virtue

If there is anything at all that I've learned about life, it's that being patient makes it so much easier and flow much more smoothly. Patience seems to have been this week's lesson, because it sprung up three different times within seven days.

Growing up we're taught to rush everywhere and everything, and that you're a nuisance if you are slower in nature. We are constantly rushing to the place we next need to be, whether it be school, work, the beach, back home...wherever. At work we are only valued if we can do our jobs quickly and efficiently while still being the best at our craft. This is how we're trained; rush or be overcome by someone who can do it faster, better, and more cheaply than you can. This system was designed to create a world in which the dog-eat-dog principle is prominent, but I've seen a world where patience actually creates ease, beauty, and peace. I'll do my best to explain this world to you within a mere few paragraphs.

For the first time since I've been back, I went with the family to a museum/church nearby their house. This particular one was fun because there was a natural history museum built into the church, making two different types of tours possible. We were with the kids, so first we went into the history museum where there were tons of fossils, animals stuffed and showcased, dinosaurs and live fish from all around the world (even piranhas!). The kids had an absolute blast looking at all of the cool bones and stuffed creatures in the exhibits, saying "Guarda!" (look!) at everything. Michele, one of the little boys even went so far as to imagine what would happen if all of the fake animals came to life. Imagination is one of the things I love most about children...there is never a lack! It was really fun for me to see what each of the animals was called in Italian, too; it was a great vocabulary lesson!

They had some really cool exhibits that were more than just things stuck in glass (although those were cool too!). They created a replica of what they imagine prehistoric forests would have looked like all of those years ago so that you could feel like you were actually there! The other one was underwater themed (lit with blue lights!) with a humungous great white shark coming out of the wall. They did it quite brilliantly, actually; they painted the tail onto the wall in a curved manner and the rest of the beast facing towards you as you walk in. You could really get up close to see how gnarly their three layers of teeth are in real life...yikes!

We were almost done exploring the museum when I could tell that Alessandro (the father of the three boys Michele, Ascanio and Francesco) was getting really frustrated with his kids for being kids...running around and using their outside voices, etc. I noticed that he was constantly reprimanding one or all of them from doing something that, in my opinion, wasn't always necessary. And I do realize that I'm making a judgement before I really know what it's like to have three kids, but I feel that if you just practice patience, life with them would be ...better. I also realize that it's easier said than done. It was interesting for me to watch Ale getting so worn down by feeling like he had to yell at his kids every second, and it was clear to me how negative a toll it is on a person to be impatient, and for everyone involved. This was the first arrival of the theme of patience, and it made me realize how important it really is, and how much I hope I can maintain the patience I've learned to have with kids and people now and carry it over to when or if I ever have my own.

The second arrival of this particular theme came when I entered the main room of the church. It's been a while since I've been in an Italian church, so I'd almost forgotten how majestic they truly are. The chapel was breathtaking and gorgeous, ornately crafted with precious marble and detailed paintings covering every inch of wall-space. When I entered this room, an inexplainable energy washed over me and I was transported back in time when these rooms were being constructed, and I could feel creativity fill the room with each brush stroke. It never ceases to amaze me how much time a church like this took to complete (and this isn't even that big compared to the famous Duomos in Italy's major cities) and how much back-breaking labor a feat like this required. I remember learning that buildings such as these took around 400+ years to complete, and how patient people had to be to do so. To think that many generations of people had to dedicate time to this is so interesting to me. In our times, there is no way we would build something that took as long as these did, partly because we have technology that allows for shorter construction time, but partly because we have the attention span of a fly. Standing in such beauty reminded me that when you're patient, magnificent and wondrous things of tremendous worth are born.

There is also a time NOT to be patient, such as needing to pull out a growing wisdom tooth that is causing pressure pains all over above my neck. It seems 'wise' to rush to get something like that done, especially in a place where no one works very much during the summer, making appointment openings scarce. I would also advise against being patient in an abusive relationship, or in one where you are waiting for someone to change, because it won't happen; they won't ever change until you change yourself. I agree that life in general needs to be grabbed by the horns, but when it comes to day-to-day life I believe that being patient with most things, with others and especially with yourself is the best and most stress-free way to go. I've seen with my own eyes the importance of living life this way and how negatively being impatient affects our health, mental and physical.

After experiencing all of these separate "signals", I can see how much more patient I've become in my own life within the past year. I used to be so impatient, needing everything to be done asap and hating the things that took forever (like plane/car rides, for example). I used to judge people who didn't do exactly what I wanted them to do right when I wanted them to do it, or simply those who didn't do things they way I thought they should be done. I was uptight all the time and needed to control everyone and everything, and it was exhausting. And now I'm here, light and free and easy-going. The things that used to bother me just don't bother me anymore, and the things and people that used to trigger me don't trigger me anymore. I don't really know how it happened, but I am so grateful because it's made my life so much simpler. I feel like I am floating downstream on the river of life, able to truly appreciate how beautiful my surroundings are, where before I was desperately trying to paddle upstream, making appreciation impossible. In my world, being patient has created peace, beauty and ease in places and in ways I never thought possible.

I know that I am (and always will be) learning how to navigate myself through life, and that I am nowhere near perfect at it. I also know that sometimes life can be really hard, but I've proven to myself that it doesn't always have to be. As it turns out, they didn't teach us that patience is a virtue for nothing ;)

Layers

In the past month that I've been living in the beautiful countryside of Orzignano, I've made some interesting observations that I'd like to share. I know that I've still only scratched the surface, so these will grow and change with time, but right now this is what I see in my world!

First, Italians hardly ever say 'I love you' to the people in their life that they happen to love. I don't know if this is just within this particular family or if it's a general Italian thing, but to me it's the weirdest concept to digest because in my family, we say 'I love you' all the time: when we get off the phone with each other, when we do nice things for each other, when one of us leaves the house to go to school or work, right before we all go to bed, etc...you get the point. I've never thought of it as excessive before, but maybe it is? I've caught myself almost saying 'I love you' to Giulia when I say goodnight out of habit with my own family. But at the end of the day whether it's excessive or not, I can't imagine not saying it to the people I love as often as I do...

Second, with almost all of the Italians I've met and spoken with, I've noticed that when they speak English, they say 'fantastic' a lot (in their adorable accent mind you). It seems to be their favorite word to describe the things and places they adore. It's really cute, especially because most of the English-speakers I know rarely use it! To put it in perspective, they use 'fantastic' almost as much as we say 'awesome'. Yes, that much. They also use 'in fact' a lot in places we would never use it (we would use 'actually' instead), and this I can understand since in Italian they say 'infatti' all the time. I love living with this family for many reasons, but one of the main ones is that I'm learning how Italians really speak, and I'm learning that [thankfully] they don't speak like a textbook ;) It has been perfect for furthering my knowledge of this beautiful language.

Third, they love American music. I realized this last year in Florence too, but I thought maybe they constantly played it to make tourists feel more at home, but no...they actually...like...it. I hear it at the beach where I'm sure no tourists go and in many other VERY Italian places. Wherever I go it seems like, I hear the lyrics of On the Floor and Higher and Waka Waka (Cecilia's personal favorite). I guess I can't be too surprised about it since I really like Italian music, something that might make Italians raise their eyebrows. Maybe it has something to do with the foreign language that is so appealing, because it's out of the ordinary and new and exciting, but who knows. Music is one of the best ways to learn language (slang, too) in a fun, interactive kind of way...but I think I would like it even if I had no idea what they were saying.

Speaking of beaches, their system is totally different...and in my opinion, totally crazy. The price, anyway. Giulia told me that to rent a space on the beach complete with your own little cabina (basically a small storage space for beach toys, picnic supplies, etc.) is around 1,800 EURO for the year. THAT'S INSANE! At least they can split it between family members, but still. That's a ghastly amount to pay for some fun in the sun. Another very different thing compared to our beaches is that the sand is covered with chairs and umbrellas that are there permanently (which have also been assigned to the renters), and are different colors depending on the "bagno" (pronounced bahn-yo) they're a part of. There are a million of these bagni along the coast, each with a different name, and some of them are actually pretty creative; paradiso, venere (venus), perla (pearl), etc. From a bird's eye view I'm sure it looks like a rainbow coast!

Another thing I've noticed is that weekends in particular are reserved for spending quality time with family and friends. And when I say quality time I mean either dinner or the beach, nothing else usually. Everyone is at the beach Saturday and Sunday, which means that if you leave the house at 10:30am and then wait to leave the beach at 5:30pm, there will be an extremely long line of cars to and from that can delay you an hour or more on a car ride that is supposed to take 25 minutes. So far I've been pretty lucky to avoid the worst of these dreaded lines, and I hope it stays that way! Anyway, back to the point, which was that every single weekend they have dinner with their outside family either at their house or at ours. For some of you this may seem completely natural and are wondering why I think it's so different, but in my world weekends are quiet, relaxing days around the house spent normally just with immediate family. Of course we see other family members and invite them over sometimes and vice versa, but not nearly as often as they do here. And I think I've gone to the beach more here in one month than I have in the past three years at home. I actually have tan skin again!

Italians yell and raise their voices a LOT. They do this more than enough at each other, but especially at their kids. I don't think I've ever heard so much yelling in everyday life about such simple things, and I actually (in fact haha) don't remember my mother ever yelling at us kids that much. Dad yelled a lot more in general, but the only time I can really remember my mom yelling was when we would do something that really scared her (like walking into the street without looking both ways). Anyway, I think their continuous yelling has a lot to do with strong Italian pride. They can be very touchy and get set off by the slightest wrong action, whether it's an honest mistake or a tad rebellious, which then constitutes the string of angry, scolding words. In my mind it's a bit excessive, but it is what it is. It's one thing I'd rather avoid if I ever have my own kids.

This experience is light-years different than the one I had in Florence. I didn't know it while I was living there, but now I can see that I got a very surface level view of Italy and Italian culture, and now it almost doesn't feel real. It's almost impossible to really get a feel for a place until you live with natives, either literally with them or just near them, and have experienced thoroughly more than just one city. It's also really hard to get a deep understanding of a culture when there is a torrential pour of tourists flooding the city. I don't want to diminish the experience I had last year because it was beautiful in it's own way, but I'm having a much more authentic experience this time. I wanted a deeper understanding of Italy and that's exactly what I'm getting, and I'm even more in love with it than before.

I'm sure I'll continue to discover funny, strange, interesting, crazy, beautiful things, people and concepts, and it excites me that I have the opportunity to peel back the layers of what it really means to be Italian. For some reason I love these prideful, emotional, passionate creatures more and more each day...this is definitely where I belong.

Cecilia

I've been getting to know Cecilia (Ceci or Cec for short) for the past month now, and I'm already starting to fall in love with this little girl. I'm beginning to understand who she is as an artist, a daughter, and a person, and I love watching how she reacts to certain things, handles different situations, and lights up when talking about specific things. Although it's only been a month, I feel a strong bond with Cec because I can see so much of myself as a child in her.

I've come to realize that Cecilia is very intelligent and very creative (she has an enormous imagination!). Her two favorites things to do with her free time (other than playing on her handheld nintendo, computer or Wii) are drawing and reading, and she is brilliant at both of them. She loves to read in both Italian and English and can finish a large book within a matter of a few hours. At least from what I can see her favorite books are the Geronimo Stilton series, an Italian series written in the perspective of a mouse who always has lots of drama going on.

We've spent hours drawing Pokemon together, as currently this is her absolute favorite cartoon in the world (she has millions of cards and games and figures dedicated to this as well). In the time that I draw one, she will have drawn three, and each time she shows me one I'm more and more impressed by her skill. It's funny because I remember when Pokemon first came out, and how passionate I was about it, and actually I think it was a family thing. Even my mom got into the card game (sorry, Mom, your secret's out ;)). Though this love for pokemon will probably pass within a couple years, it's fun to see her be so passionate about something.

She's also quite musically inclined, and will sometimes sit and practice on her own or show off her skill to her family (and in the picture on the right, to her friend Guelfo). She's really good at playing the piano, especially for only having done it a short time, and it's fun to watch her play along with the pre-recorded beats on the electric keyboard. I remember my own piano days, playing on the nice one at Mom's and then the keyboard at Dad's, and doing the exact same thing as Cec does now. I loved those tunes and would use them as a way to make the thirty minutes a day go by faster :) It's fun to see her play the same exact songs I learned when I first started.

Another thing I've noticed about Cecilia is that she is a natural born leader. She likes to be in control of her own world, and that's something I can relate to very closely. When she's in a group, she likes to be the one to direct people and be in the spotlight while doing something, even if all they're doing is playing in the sand. While she may not have the balance of leadership and humility down yet, I love this trait and I hope she continues to be the leader of her own life no matter what she's doing. She's someone I could see being a perfect art director or something close to it in the future.

She also has a little rebellious streak going already, and I think this ties into her leadership qualities. More often than not she will do something just because you want her to do the opposite. If she does something, it will be her idea and no one else's, which I think comes from her father. While this can be annoying and frustrating at times, especially when you want her to brush her teeth, set the table, eat her fruit or go to bed, it makes me chuckle to myself and I actually hope that as Cec grows up she never loses the ability to think for herself or to choose to do something because she decides it's appropriate for herself, not just because someone tells her to.

Watching how this family functions is a pleasure for me. It's fun to see the similarties and compare the differences to that of my own family, and to do my best to understand and respect those differences. Living with them as a whole has also helped me understand Cecilia better. Having an independent, creative,  intelligent mother, and a stubborn, passionate father, I can understand more of why Cec is the way she is. I am very curious to know how she turns out in the future; who she becomes and what she chooses to do with her precious life.

There times when taking care of her can be tough, but I wouldn't change a thing about her. She is where she is for a reason, and I believe many of her "faults" now will pass with time and life experience, as well as pick up new faults as those new experiences enter her world. I know that she will become exactly who she is meant to be, learning and changing and growing with each passing year. No matter who she becomes in the future, I have grown to love this beautiful little girl and her family, faults and all.

The World As a Hostel

London has never been on the top of my list of places to visit, and in retaliation to this indifference, London  completely smacked me in the face this past weekend. She did so lovingly, of course, but it was a slap nonetheless. London completely proved me wrong and by the end I realized how much I absolutely loved it. Well, except for the very beginning of my adventure...

I've heard that England is very thorough and strict and counts heavily on the obedience of the rules, and I found out how very true that is. As I was passing through border control where they check your passport, I was stopped for ten minutes and immediately reamed with a million questions that felt like bullets puncturing every inch of my flesh. Ok, that's a bit dramatic, but it seriously scared the crap out of me because I thought they were going to keep me captive if I didn't say the right things. "What are you doing here? What are your future travel plans? Where are you going and for how long? Have you booked your tickets for that yet? How much cash do you have on you/have access to?" And so on and so on, more questions that I wasn't prepared for. And unfortunately, I lied to them. I'm not proud of this fact, but my fear kept me from thinking clearly. In any case, I'd rather not have to go through that again anytime soon!

Getting to the hostel I stayed in was no problem at all. Everyone was extremely helpful whenever I wasn't sure of where I was supposed to go, which made it all run so smoothly with no nerves getting in the way! Once safely to my destination, I explored the colorful, entertaining, welcoming hostel that I would be staying in for the next three nights. I laughed at the countless stupid jokes written all over the walls...but that shouldn't come as much of a surprise :) Anyway, I was immediately welcomed by someone living in the hostel, giving me recommendations on what I should do with my time in London. This happened throughout my stay, and it made me realize how much I really do love people. In my experience, people have a natural inclination to help in whatever way they can for a complete stranger, whether it's giving directions, giving a few pence/centesimi when I'm short, showing me how to do something that's foreign to me, or helping me better my language skills. People continue to surprise me, and I love it.

Ever since I started learning another language and traveling, I've come to find that most Americans are arrogant not only in their attitude towards other cultures but also towards language. Since most everyone in the world today can speak english, it seems like very few in comparison attempt to learn a second or third language, or even just the most useful phrases when traveling outside of their own borders. But staying in this hostel made me realize something very important about the resentment I feel towards the english language: it really does bring people together. While I myself value culture and language very highly and try my best to learn at least the bare minimum, I can understand now that sometimes it's not practical, especially for those who don't value such things as highly. For languages like Russian and Slovenian (among others) that are extremely difficult languages to both understand and pronounce for a foreigner, it's a relief to know that they can probably speak some English. In meeting people from all around the world (coming from places I've not yet had the time or drive to learn some of the language) I learned to appreciate the language I was raised with.

When thinking about this topic on a bigger scale, it seems to me as though the whole world is a hostel; some people searching for connection and acceptance, some people wanting to test the waters of a new environment (even if that means only talking to someone of a different country), and some people that would rather stay in their rooms and be on the computer all day, never making an effort to make such connections.  If this is all made possible through a universal language, then I am happy for it and glad that such a thing exists. Resentment isn't a fun thing to feel anyway, so I'm very grateful to have experienced life in a hostel.

As far as seeing London goes, I saw many of the typical tourist sites, such as the London Eye, London Tower Bridge, Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park and Wellington Arch. While they were all more magnificent than pictures can ever give them credit for, my most favorite thing seen in London was a large group of poems--on paper of course-- strung on sturdy wire. I know that to most this would seem quite insignificant compared to everything else, but the content written on these pages is what struck me the hardest. While most of these poems written by young people living in refugee camps around London were beautifully done, there was one in particular (pictured below) that blew me away.

This one brought me to tears. I know it sounds sappy, but these words touched a very deep part of me; the part of me that desperately wanted my own acceptance for all the mistakes I've made, and gratitude for the person I've become because of those mistakes. It also touched the part of me that holds compassion and an unconditional love and understanding for young people that have had a rough time growing up...and to see that a young man with such a rough past would do it all over again was a powerful and unexpected wake-up call to my own past. In writing this poem, he made me realize that if given the chance, I would do my life over again making the same mistakes, because those mistakes have defined part of the person I am today. Life is not meant to be taken for granted or lived just going through the motions, and he reminded me that life is undeniably beautiful. To explain how deeply these words truly affected me is an impossible task, but I hope that they will have some kind of a positive affect on you as well.


I loved walking through the organized and beautiful streets of London and taking their most efficient mode of public transportation that I've ever seen. I loved taking pictures while absorbing all of the grandeur in my mind whenever I want access to it in the future. I loved strolling through gorgeous parks while reading about the history of why they exist and taking a few moments here and there to write in my travel journal. But most of all, I loved seeing the world through a hostel's eyes and experiencing the melting pot of cultures that they embrace on a daily basis. I'm constantly reminded of how much good there is in the world, even when there are so many things surrounding us that seem impossibly bleak. But then I guess there's beauty in that, too.

Homecoming

The last time I flew to Italy, I had absolutely no jet lag; I went to bed at a decent hour, woke up super early and repeated that every day with a smooth transition. This time? Not so much. Since I'd acclimated so well last year I figured it would be the same this time around, so when I woke up around 6:30am the next day I thought I was on my way to smoothly transitioning my internal time clock...not. I learned that nausea is a symptom of jet lag, and let me tell you...it's not fun. But anyway, It's all good; I get hungry and tired at the right and normal times now :)

Aside from jet lag, I have had an amazing first few days here. So far I have wandered through the foreign streets of Pisa and Orzignano to get to know them as well or better than I got to know Florence, taken a foreign bus, had meals with the family and friends of the one I've adopted for the summer, had many chances to practice my Italian and of course, eaten some delicious food! At this point it can only get better!

I absolutely love living in the countryside...It's much quieter and more peaceful than the city, yet it's not too far from it either so I can have the best of both worlds. It feels nice not to get awoken by drunk people yelling or singing in the streets at 3 in the morning :) There's also something very slow-living about it that I love. In the city, there's always a lot going on...and not that it's a bad thing, it's just nice to experience something different. There's a big backyard with a wide range of things growing in it that is a luxury of living away from the city: tomatoes, zucchini, basil, lettuce, cherries, walnuts, grapes, kiwis and many different species of plants and flowers that are non-edible but fill out the backyard so beautifully. Having a good-sized garden of my own back in the States has really made me appreciate meals that are made with fresh ingredients from right outside the front door. There's nothing better than knowing exactly where your food comes from...it makes eating so much fun!

These are her gorgeous tomato plants! We can never get them to grow like this in our garden, unfortunately, but anyway, I can't wait to make some bruschetta out of these beauties when they're ripe :)

     This grape plant looks so awesome growing out of this rundown wall. I love the way it's leaves look!

The cherry tree (the walnut tree is to the left of it). Instead of eating the ones near the top where we can't reach them, the birds love to eat the ones we can reach...funny how that works.

Zucchini, basil and lettuce!! If you grow zucchini in your own garden, cut off and fry the flowers they produce...they are so yummy!! I never would have thought to do such a thing.

To the right is the kiwi vine. I always thought they came on a tree or bush but nope! Vine it is. In this climate they ripen in November, and they are sooo delicious!

This is the view as you look out the back door...so, SO beautiful. I love the pathway and that bright red door!
















As my first week in this new Italian environment comes to an end, there is a sense of peace in my heart that has never been there before, as well as a deep knowing that whatever comes my way while I'm here will only add to the person I become. While walking on the quiet roads of Orzignano and even in the crowded, tourist-filled streets of Pisa, I have a smile on my face because I know that I have come home.

Imperfection

I have a slight problem with perfectionism. Normally, I would be proud of being a perfectionist because it means I put out great work and get lots of attention for it, but in this case it's a bad thing. Why? Because I don't write enough. I think that everything I write has to be "epic" before it can be released to the world, and that means less of my world is shared with all of you.

Last fall I wrote three blogs per month...how absolutely pathetic. I experienced so much more than what I wrote about, but I hesitated to share because of my insecurity; the insecurity and fear of being judged if my writing isn't perfect. I have this complex that tells me I'm only worth something if I don't make any mistakes, and I'd like to work through that until that fear becomes less and less powerful as time goes on, because as we all know, everyone makes mistakes. I've made many in my day and I know I'll make many more, which means I need to become more accepting of myself, especially when those mistakes are made and not except when.

So, how do I start? I'll begin with setting a goal: I will write a blog AT LEAST once a week whether I feel like it or not; whether I'm inspired to or not. If I write more than that, bonus, but I'm committing to once a week. I just want to write more whether or not they are "epic", creatively crafted with a clever metaphor or embedded with lessons of personal growth and change. I'm inspired by those who can write about their experiences without needing every sentence to be perfect, so here I go. I am not perfect. And maybe, just maybe, I'll eventually realize while on this journey that there is beauty in imperfection. :)

The Returning

Ok, so before I even start in on what I created this post for, I feel the need to explain the name change and blog revamping. For those of you who were following my blog while I was in Italy last year, you have an idea of what it looked like before, with the name 'My Life in Italy'. I know, super original. Now that I'm once again starting up this blog since I'll be leaving in a month for Italy, it called desperately for new life. I wanted something that was a truer expression of myself and more creative, so I changed the background, the colors, and most importantly, the title. This time around I'll be doing a bit more traveling outside of Italy, since financially the situation is a little different than last time. Therefore, I didn't want the blog to call only to Italy, but to the world. So here it is, I'm officially a wanderer! :)

Alrighty! For those of you who don't already know, I am leaving in less than a month for Italy to try on the new experience of being an au pair for a beautiful Italian family living in a little town next to Pisa. If you're not familiar with the term 'au pair', it is a French word that basically means nanny or babysitter (in exchange for room and board). I could not have thought up a better deal, better timing or a better situation and I feel so extremely lucky to be able to experience such a thing.

It's so surreal to think back on where I was at this time last year; I was scrambling to try to scrape enough money together in order to pay for the study abroad program, stressing out every minute of every day. This time I feel like I'm light-years ahead, effortlessly attracting everything I need and finally emotionally stable. This time it will just be me...no group of Americans to compare myself to and follow when I don't know where to go in the airport. In a way, it's a little nerve-racking but at the same time it's unbelievably thrilling. There's nothing like going to a "foreign" place by yourself that makes you grow in ways you never thought possible.

While getting ready to depart, I came across a little road bump called a visa. I started researching how to get one a couple months ago since this time I'm staying over the 90 day allowance and I'm not studying, working for an Italian company, or have a house of my own. The one I'm most interested in is of course a long-stay visa, since at some point in my life I'd love to live there, but at this point (legally) I am unable to do so. According to my research, in order to be eligible for a long-stay visa I would have to be retired, have secure, sustainable income and have a place to live (in my name), and obviously that doesn't describe me. I mean, I understand that they don't want foreigners taking their precious, hard-to-come-by jobs but COME ON! I promise I won't steal your jobs! I'll even spend American and European money in your country! If they only knew me they would understand that I have no harmful intentions or hidden motives whatsoever and I'm just truly in love with Italy and Italian culture. So that whole conversation is a bit frustrating, but it is what it is and I accept it. So for now I'm just wingin' it, unless someone knows something I don't or has a better idea that doesn't include marrying an Italian ;)

So I'll be off on my next adventure soon, not only to Italy but to planned trips to England, France, Switzerland, and possibly Ireland (the first three of which have been made possible by Giulia and her family). I'm unbelievably grateful for the chance to further experience an Italian life and further my Italian language skills just by being surrounded by it. I'm sure there will be off days and little road bumps here and there, and though parts of me are a bit scared of really living my dreams, I am more sure that I'm happier to take calculated risks and live to my utmost fullest.

I've always wondered why I come alive there in ways I never could here, and now I know that it's because I'm not leaving my home but going to it; I am returning to Italy, my home.