I woke early to the cries of seagulls, and felt a thrill of excitement before I remembered to be stressed and tense. once I thought this would never get old: living on an island, walking distance to the ocean, windows open through the summer night, the sounds of a small city by the sea.
now I’m sitting at a table on Humboldt Street with a coffee and scone, while, it seems, a parade of annoyances come and go. a huge garbage truck with those awful, shrieking brakes; a big old tourist bus beep-beep-beeping its way into the loading zone. someone I didn’t recognize taking my coffee order as if I don’t come here every day! a beam of bright light glancing off the windows and corkscrewing into my eyeballs.
I used to love this place.
I still love this place.
lately, though, it’s been harder to access those transcendent moments of pleasure and joy I used to slip into easily. lately it all feels so precarious. even here and now, in this moment — on this glorious morning — beneath the lindens in full bloom, their honey-sweet perfume gently drifting over the whole neighbourhood.
once, I used to revel in my freedom. after that, during the pandemic lockdown, I used to ache for my freedom. then I got a taste of that freedom back, somehow multiplied in its absence, and it was the sweetest thing I’ve ever known. but now I have my ordinary freedom and yet I am afraid, boxed in and shut down, as if the whole damn world wasn’t my oyster. but it is! nothing has changed… has it?
well. everything feels harder lately. when did life get so hard? every decision feels fraught, even on the (less and less frequent) occasions when I know exactly what I want and need. I feel these powerful forces acting on me: the rising cost of living. the building in which I’ve lived most of my adult life being up for sale. my closest people making plans that will take them far from me. chronic pain and health issues in my body. the corporate greed and cynicism, the sheer monstrous appetite and undisguised exploitation of our capitalist society. the climate changing before my eyes, the living world paying for our choices. uncertainty in the face of various oppressions. I know that it isn’t just me. I know we as a species are sharing this experience of everything feeling harder.
but in another sense, all of those things have always been more or less true — at least on a granular level, for me personally, as just one tiny being in a frighteningly large, vanishingly small world: sure, I may have felt certain in the past, but it was just an illusion.
and here’s the thing: I still want it all. I want all of it. all the richness and texture of a life in the world — this very world. the joys and complications of connection with other people. I still want everything, and I do not have to stay small. I DON’T WANT THE WORLD TO BE SMALLER ANYMORE, as I wrote here in the fire and frustration of 2020. except now, I can do more things about it.
I am going to Italy in October (!!!!!) and while the details and logistics are a whole other issue, the general vibe of the trip is very much on this topic. throughout the month of May I sent myself into intensive (ish) physical training, by which I mean I started taking my strength, flexibility and stamina seriously and going to the gym and doing yoga and eating leafy greens FOR ITALY. it’s been harder to keep that up through June due to some physical and mental health things, but at least I know what it looks like in case I can get back on the wagon in July.
but! what I also think I need, perhaps even more, is intensive spiritual training. I’m not sure I am spiritually fit right now. because honestly, it is so hard to be present these days. it is so hard to stay in my body, in my mind, in these fleeting moments. I’m always rocketing back and forth between the stark pain of facing the unconscionable things happening in the world and dropping into, say, four-hour internet shopping rabbit holes in which I rarely even buy anything because I never seem to find what I am searching for. this is not a genre of behaviour I associate with strong mental wellbeing in myself.
so can I, FOR ITALY, take some time this summer to retrain myself to feel good and to feel fully? yes, even in the grief and madness of the world; even in the physical distress of my body? can I relearn the secret arts of savouring every sunbeam, every sip of coffee, every waft of linden blossom? can I reclaim my birthright of snatching up all the joy and fun and pleasure I can get away with? the work of a spiritual path, I’ve heard it said, is to live the life fully.
lately, I have been eating focaccia dipped in olive oil and balsamic, alongside sliced ripe tomatoes with sea salt. lately, the summer fruits have been trickling into stores and now there are cherries and apricots and raspberries. lately, I have so many friends and family members in my day-to-day life that it feels like I’m almost double-booking hang outs, which is basically unprecedented. lately, I’ve been spending time in the arms of someone who is kind and is also truly one of a kind. I’ve been dreaming bigger and starrier, at least in terms of travel. I’ve been looking after my little garden and it has been responding with exuberant growth. I’ve been thinking about buying some new bottles of ink and getting out the old brushes and painting with hot pink and neon orange, brilliant turquoise and bold cobalt.
and I’ve been having my coffee out on Humboldt Street, under the lindens, instead of inside the cafe — myriad annoyances be damned. I still love this place, and the world is my oyster, and I have right now what I’ve always wanted. and I want to be here for it; I don’t want to miss another moment.