MeliGoesRogue

Ciao Italia – this was the header I imagined for my first post. I like most of the world have wanted to come to Italy for so long. The land of pasta and wine – ancient romans and cypress lined hillsides. We had promised we would come together – my best friend and I that is. We knew we wanted to wait till we could go for long and have the funds to do the best and most fun and memorable things. It would be three years before we finally said it was time to go. 

I had learned in France that I no longer wanted to really “plan” my trips with the same rigidity as before. There were mornings when it was rainy or a bit chilly and it seemed better inside by a fire with a book or my iPad then struggling on small roads with the windshield wipers going hoping I would be able to find the attraction I had set out for. I had been so rigid on my trips and I would come home exhausted although still exhilarated from the adventure the former however left me feeling the proverbial need to have a vacation from my vacation. I didn’t want that anymore – I was spending time and money and I wanted to see the world but also I wanted to stay in with a book looking out at cliffs or on rooftops looking out at all the cathedral domes before me. So let’s talk sauce…

We landed in Rome but we would be saving him for last – Firenze was calling and although I don’t really like cities she felt more like a small town that got a bit big for her britches. Here’s the thing about cities – they are full of brick and marble and concrete and all those things are hard and cold and used to create barriers. It’s hard for me to breathe in cities- it doesn’t awe me to see what man creates- we are arrogant and narcissistic and our ability to create beautiful things in my opinion is never as a tribute but rather a reflection of our own grandiosity. 

I do think that Europe and other countries have understood a bit better than “home” the idea of working within the landscape there are so many places here in Italy that I feel met that but they aren’t cities they are glorified towns and that my friends is where this darling girl feels her heart beat and her lungs expand. I am never more aware of myself and my small place in the world then when I am in the country.

Florence was in many ways still what I expected of her, she was small but bright. Somehow you could probably wander for hours, finding small osterias and walls with windows for wine. Her inhabitants a bit brusque for me, I’m telling you its all those walls. We mimic what we see everyday and while those alleys and small cut thru’s are sweet and preciously adorned the buildings rising up on each side giving you but a piece of sky and if you know me I want so much more than just a piece. I counted the moments till we picked up the car and headed to the Tuscan hillside to the place we would call home for a few days- Montalcino.

I could regurgitate the difficulties we encountered on the way but it will only remind me of the many things I still need to work on. trying to leave Florence definitely did that. Needless to say it was my tuti that stood in that gap and while I will always somehow feel guilty that I needed it I will forever be thankful that I had it, having had plenty of times when I didn’t. The drive was short – for me at least. I could drive on country roads for hours – I usually do haha.

We arrived to the winery that would also be our home and I immediately felt my shoulders drop. I was still in my head a bit about work which I need to work on but that is for therapy and not this one sided version I have created with this blog. Anyway I had reserved a tour and wine pairing dinner at a beautiful 10th century settlement that was later turned into a winery. I changed into a dress wanting to accept myself as I currently am and present myself with the image I have in my mind of beauty and grace. Although somewhere on that estate I would lose it.

We arrived at dusk, I wish a lens could capture the feeling and visual the sun gives as it sets on the hillside. There is almost this mist or fog that hovers above the greener illuminated by the darker orange and red tones the sun gives as she moves on to her next port of call. As we walked towards the vines a call would interrupt that peace that was attempting to sink in. I headed away from our guide and rested on the stone wall below the vines. My eyes stayed at the vessel full of dark purple grapes waiting their turn to be pressed. Ugh I was those grapes, I am those grapes. 

“It is always the way of events in this life,..no sooner have you got settled in a pleasant resting place, than a voice calls out to you to rise and move on, for the hour of repose is expired” oh Charlotte how right you are. I turned to find a familiar face somewhere among the vines and as I walked a bit behind them trying to keep pace I unloaded the thing that was weighing me down- I drew the air deep into my lungs and worked to force myself out of the slumber of work and move on. 

I don’t know that I’ll go back to recounting my days of travel as if I was a “travel blogger”. That I am not. I don’t want to influence anyone to go anywhere or really do anything. This blog, these words they aren’t actually for you. It’s my version of strengthing my legs and like Sza says “good day in my mind, safe to take a step out, get some air now…” I can’t keep going cause the lyric turns sour but this is why I write- to get some air. Here high above the city when just the domes shadow me is good air – hell of a breeze if I’m honest.

Back to the hillside we go. The next day or two went by a bit unplanned and yet I was maybe my happiest. I could hear the silence ya know. I could hear the thoughts in my head clearly – as if the wide open spaces allowed them to organize in their own little corners and create pathways I could walk calmly. It’s the difference between Ross and Target. Everything jammed onto a rail where the only way to find anything is to roughly push things back and forth so you can see each item stuffed deeply in or assigned places, beautiful displays, wide open spaces to maneuver thru. That’s how I felt – I could have stayed there another week but it would not be this time around. After just a couple days we were back on the road heading down to the coast. Ironically I was the most nervous and least excited about this. I by no means like stairs or much of my body when those things are combined it’s really just a recipe for the magnification of my insecurities. But when I tell you God does not play I mean it. How is it that in what seemed to be a town of wealth – the visitors not the residents, where everyone is beautiful and thin and finely dressed I was the commodity. At least that’s how the boys at the beach club made it seem. 

I’ve always been told I’m a bit too friendly with men, I would not necessarily disagree but I don’t think its for the reasons others might claim. No I don’t need everyman to love or want me but if I’m not open and kind and friendly and welcoming then how many times will my shrugged shoulders turn them away, how then will I find the man I long for, the one I always seem to write about and to. The problem lies not in that openness but in the flirtatious nature I tend to exude- but ironically that is the defense mechanism. For me it’s the same as when you make a fat joke about yourself so no one else does or so you can seem to be able to laugh it off. It’s not real – you don’t really feel that its funny but its easier to make those around you feel safe then to vocalize how their carelessness makes you feel so fucking unsafe.

When I flirt with men, it’s not because I am always attracted to them or for fun but rather because I feel that when I am flirtatious they reciprocate with the energy they would give a woman they are attracted to, and that everybody, is positively, accommodating and fun. That’s what I want to feel or focus on.

So yes when the waiter or the bartender walks past me I smile, I wink, I provoke. I want the memory of me in their mind to be that I saw them. That while they were serving me they were not invisible to me. A feeling I am all to familiar with. Apparently thats one of the most attractive things- it seems men are just as insecure as we are. The problem lies in the transition – this is what I never get right. I can begin to see why transitions of power are the most delicate and vulnerable place to be. There is this millisecond when you no longer realize who is leading and who should be leaving. That night I found that moment and yes the only way to describe it is like the flip of a switch. The next morning everything seemed to hurt, especially inside. (I’m fine btw, nothing happened lol). But that is the case for me more often then not I hold myself responsible for the actions of others, I find I am stumbling thru the dark saying excuse me and I’m sorry each time I bump into someone. But the truth is no one else should be in the room but me. I need no longer apologize for my wants, my needs or even sometimes my words as imperfect as they can be, as long as they are true and said with care, respect and when needed love they can’t be wrong. That’s what my mama says anyway – taking care of yourself can never be selfish. At the core of it, that’s what I learned these last 15 days. I am never wrong when I am giving myself care, love and space. 

I’ve had a very difficult year. By the way I count from Sept- Sept. So much of life was birthed and burned in that time that it is the Monday the week starts with and not Sunday. Sometimes these digressions or explanations confuse my thoughts and I forget what I wanted to really say. Ok no I got it…I spent most of this year begging to be loved by very specific people. Like a man lost in the desert willing to drink sand. Turns out I need to love myself that is what I should be begging for. What I should revolve my life around right now, is loving myself, showing myself what that actually means and looks like so I can detect the counterfeit so much easier. Did you know that’s how currency experts are trained. They learn, feel and absorb everything about real currency so that the false one becomes instantly recognizable. My dumbass did the complete opposite. Like Runaway Bride- I was convinced that I would find the eggs I love based on the eggs they loved.

Selfish might need to be my word for the year. Not in the derogatory way we seem to have attached to it but in the way that I feel free to stop and fill my lungs without permission. Where my ownership is only to myself and not the needs, wants of others, even those I hold in the highest esteem. They’ll still love me I think, I believe, I hope. My prayer is that in doing this I will be better able to love them. My mama also taught me that. For so many years she ran around without air leaving the oxygen mask free for me, (I have siblings but I wouldn’t dare to presume they’re insights, they have varied from mine in almost all aspects I would be unwise to think this is different) the problem is my hands were to little to reach up and so air eluded me too. Now I can see her mask secured around her own face and her hands free and calm to help me with mine….even at this age she gives me life. Loving and being loved by her has been a privilege, learning this from her has been a blessing, hoping to enact it with my children will be a gift.

Alright we still have to talk Rome but honestly, he needs his own post. Yes it’s a he to me, he is abrupt and change full, he is full of pride and boastfulness.

I am tired from the step out of my head and into my heart that has taken place these last few hours. I leave you with this. It’s a phrase I heard and they are the words I find myself needing to repeat.

“I am open to reinterpreting that”. I am giving myself the space to be wrong, even about trying to be right. I don’t want to stay closed because of fear I want to be open, reinterpreting is just a scupper in a balcony waiting to drain the water.

Buongiorno for you and Buen Notte for me.