Lessons of Florence

But then, maybe I should be more charitable. Maybe, indeed, she was “under the Tuscan Sun” a little too long. Maybe her brain got fried and she misrepresented herself and her experiences unknowingly. Maybe she ate too many olives before they were properly cured or maybe one of those lovely stones from her wall that just took sooo much time to build .. “hahahaha isn’t this fun!”…. actually fell on her head and she forgot to write more truly, graphically and specifically about the part where she had to spend seven years explaining why she felt a wall should go where it has never been before and 40,000 dollars to move her way through the happy experience of dealing with Italian beaurocracy only to end up exactly where she started…. staring at a hole in the ground and piles of rocks all around her and everyone saying along the way “Questo Italia…” (this is Italy). And she should be satisfied.

And, yes, this IS Italy. Move here and you’ll see it. Unmasked. Raw. Unforgiving, unmoving, densely populated with laws upon laws and attitudes upon attitudes all amounting to nothing. This is Italy…. it’s not just good food and happy friendly Italians riding their vespas, eating gelato and pinching your butt. No, that would be preferable. Because when you have your butt pinched you generally know what hand did the pinching and where to throw your punch. Not that I’ve been pinched. They don’t do that in Florence. And I guess I should be grateful for that. I’ll put it on the list.

No this is a country where not only doesn’t the right hand know what the left is doing, but they added more hands over the years, can’t remember where they come from, who they belong to, or why they were put there in the first place…… but that’s okay because they are used to the confusion of living life with all these hands waving in front of their faces pointing directions for one location in twenty different possible spots. They have a wonderful process for dealing with this….. they simply get exhausted, say “Questa Italia,” blame the Americans, go home and watch calcio (soccer) on the televisione and think “domani e’ un altra giorno” But of course domani never comes. Because domani you simply find 20 more directions for that one location offered to you. And all of this is not simply because I had a new lavatrice delivered, thought “oh thank GOD clean clothing. I am so happy! I have never BEEN so happy…..” until I tried to use the damn thing and, guess what? Non funzione ancora. Again — Indesit is spelled I-N-D-E-S-I-T. Now, apparently, it may be because I have too many things plugged into the wall in my bedroom and it is “disturbing” the scheda (computer chip) in the lavatrice. Too many things would be …. my computer and printer which are often turned off when I am running the lavatrice. But life is delicate here. And, of course, the guy from Indesit (I-N-D-E-S-I-T) doesn’t come until Monday when he will, once again, find nothing wrong with the lavatrice. I’m beginning to think it has something to do with the magnetic energy emitting from my own body. I’m sure it’s my fault somehow. I’m recalling my friend, Scooter, would de-magnetize his credit cards. Maybe I do the same with products from I-N-D-E-S-I-T.

This, of course, is not about a washing machine.

The truth? I have never felt so worn out. So exhausted. So beaten up. I’m about to turn 42 years old. I am in in the midst of a dream. So they say. And all my ends are frayed. Sometimes this is what happens in a dream. When you see all of your life leading to a moment you had no choice but to follow. And, truly, I didn’t. I had no choice. Because this is the choice I made. Do I regret it? Do I regret the fact that I have never felt this old? See wrinkles finally appearing on my face as a result of one of the harshest winters and most difficult years of my life. See my face as a woman who is, truly, in her forties and tired. Do I regret it? Do I regret struggling with the system of trying to live in this country legally. More legally than my current status? Legally enough to work in my profession in Roma. To audition for the four possible opportunities a year that could come my way without being told without a “permesso lavoro autonomo e’ non una possibilita’?” Do I regret having worked my ass off for Syracuse for very little money with the promise made that the exchange would be support to get said permesso and now I receive a convenient silence from my, yes I do believe psychotic, German boss who is never at a loss for words when it serves her own self-oriented needs? Do I regret my solitude? My opportunities to question all of my life choices which led to the moment where I sold everything on the front yard, gave away my most precious objects to my most precious friends, kept what I thought was most true to the journey, packed my trusting cat into a box and began shortly over a year ago to drift away from Los Angeles, to the Tundra of Syracuse New York and then to Florence where I feel…….

what. What do I feel? Do I feel regret? Do I question what I’ve done. If I did I would have to question all of my life. And those who know me know I am damn good at that. But what is the point of regret. In this case I feel none. I have never felt regret. Not here. Fear. That is what I feel. It took some time but I finally understand what so many people were saying to me when I started this journey. “you are so brave.” “you are so courageous.” For what I wondered? I was only following what I felt I had to do. I was only being who I had to be. It was logical. It was unfolding before me as an invitation. An invitation to Tuscany, to steal the beautiful name of my lovely friend, Pauline’s business. And here I am. I did this. I made this happen. I am an extremely powerful woman. This was no small feat.

What has this move been about? This journey from Los Angeles to Syracuse to Florence? This removal of myself from everything I knew to worlds that were and are counter to my passions and my desires. I found other passions, other strengths. I learned things about myself, my ability, my gifts, my value. This did happen. And for that I’m grateful. But I also took myself…. and as my friend Jacob very intelligently pointed out….. “where ever you go there you are”….. and I took myself and slammed into my own being….. all of my stuff…. all of my fears as a woman alone, an artist unrealized, a human being disconnected. Hung out to dry, to be examined and exposed at every corner as I try to survive here and navigate waters in a constantly changing environment……I am trying to maintain who I am as I, every day, run into opportunities to question that very fact. There are no answers here, no straight lines, no logic that my mind understands. I’ve allowed myself to do the worst of my highest quality….. I’ve twisted myself into a pretzel to make others comfortable — my landlady, my German boss, even Bicycle Man. And in doing so I have hurt myself so deeply…. because I finally see what I allow myself to experience in this life. Less than I give. So I’ve been living here, in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, freezing in my apartment, controlled by my thoughts that I had to appease my boss in order to maintain legal status and allowing her free reign on my heart, always saying “va bene” “non c’e’ un problema.” But it hasn’t all been okay and there have been problems and where have I been to stand for myself? Where has my voice been to speak up for me? Why have I accepted things that I would lay my life to defend my friends and family from putting up with?

If this is all I learn on my journey to and through the Dark heart of Italy, through this “paese” that Aaron reminds me constantly is really run as a third world country, then I have learned a great deal. IF I learn it.

And since I just today signed a paper that puts me into the tax system of Italy, and another that commits me to a new apartment for the next 12 months, I guess I have more lessons waiting for me. (Or I’m a complete masochist and blind fool).

I’ve noticed that no matter what I write to you I always end with a tone of hope. No matter what I go through, or think, or experience, I understand that I can not live this life without believing in the brightness of tomorrow. That may be the biggest fault I have. But I am learning it is also my greatest gift. Either way…… my job with Syracuse ends this month, I move to a new apartment April 1st. FITC (Florence International Theatre Company) will have a little event in April, my creative writing class has a presentation on the subject of “Passion” that month as well. I am creating a proposal for a performing arts course at Florence University of the Arts, and waiting to hear if I’m accepted to teach a course this summer on women writing about Florence. It’s all new. I’m not sure what’s going to happen. So many seeds planted…. not many sprouts seen as of yet. But it’s still winter and it rained a lot this season… whatever it is we can be sure it will be an opportunity to grow and I will tell you all about it. And, just to secure my place in Florence history, see photo. I am the one four from the left of the man in the center. I suppose it must mean something if you are here less than five months and get to walk through the streets and piazze and past the Duomo of Firenze as a Medici with thousands of people waiving at you. As I said. I’m a powerful woman.

Ragazzi, non e’ possibilita’ per me dire quanto mi mancate.

Con resistere all’affetto,