Sometimes, in the quiet moments of the days that pass by, I think about how surreal my life is. I ask myself, is this it? Is this really my life? When I look back on everything I've been through and done, it somehow doesn't feel real. It's almost as if I've been watching myself play out a character in a movie, completely detached.
This feeling all seemed to start when, back in January, I decided to stay home for the summer, instead of going back to Italy to work for the family I lived with last year. This was a monumentally life-changing decision, one that I still don't fully understand, but for some reason it felt like the right thing to do. Just because it feels right in my heart, however, doesn't mean that it was an easy choice, and in fact it is still hard knowing that I let someone else take my place. I grew unbelievably attached to the family, the atmosphere, the language, and everything else about Italy, essentially, and I feel like it's now slowly slipping away.
I realize now that I attached my whole sense of self to this beautiful place, without having established a foundation to build on here in the states. And although it is, without a doubt in my mind, my ultimate dream to live there one day, fully immersed in all that is Italy, I was using it in part, as an escape from the issues I was afraid to face here. When I ripped Italy away from myself, all that remained were those issues, right where I left them, waiting for some serious confrontation.
So here I am, starting over. Who am I without the "ciao bella's" and the "buongiorno's" and the "ma che dici's!?" and of course, the infamous cappuccini? What is Heather made of when she's not getting herself to Italy, being in Italy, or coming home from Italy, only to then repeat the cycle? Who is she when the one dream she's ever been sure of has seemingly been stripped away?
The hardest and most surreal part about all of this is that, what I have discovered so far, I don't necessarily like. I don't like who I am without Italy: I'm lazy, lacking in integrity, confused, unfocused, and filled with doubt. Why was it so easy for me to trust the process of life when it was for Italy, but when it's for myself, I doubt and fear at every turn? I hardly recognize the person I've become in the past few months.
People always say that sometimes it has to get worse before it gets better, and that has definitely rung true for me throughout this process. At some point, though, it either: a) literally can't get any worse, or b) you reach the breaking point, where you absolutely cannot continue they way you've been going (unless you want your life to become even more complicated), whether this is due to external circumstances, ones solely internal, or a combination of both.
My breaking point happened about a week ago, when all of the consequences of my actions (or lack thereof) smacked me in the face, hard as a brick. In that moment, I had one of two choices: 1) continue on a downward spiral, or 2) face my fears and change. There was really only one choice for me, and after making the decision to change, things quickly started to shift. The other day, my moment of freedom arrived on a silver platter, perfectly assembled for my mental and emotional health, during a business meeting. While one of the team leaders was speaking to us, a small, quiet voice inside my head, randomly said: it's okay, you can be happy here.
An intense feeling of relief washed over me, because now I could recognize part of why I've been holding myself back for the past few months. I was afraid that if I was happy here, or anywhere else besides Italy for that matter, I would be "giving up" on my dream, or being disloyal. I feared that it would become less and less important to me as my happiness grew elsewhere, and I was too attached to the way Italy made me feel: happy, light, care-free, positive, and courageous--feelings that I've never yet truly allowed myself to experience here in the States. And then I realized how silly this fear was. Why would I limit myself to being happy in only one place? Since at this point I don't know when I'll return to my beloved country, why would I want to spend years and years of my life unhappy, just because I'm living on the "wrong" continent? It doesn't make any sense.
As much as I love Italy and feel at home within it's borders, I need to fall in love with life even within the confines of California, within the confines of the little city I reside in. I want to fall in love with life wherever I am in the world and create a solid foundation from which to build--no dream can be made real on shaky ground. So, here is to discovering who I am and what I'm made of, with no attachments to anything or anyone; stripped down to the very core of my existence, naked to the world.
