Thanksgiving Day. I am feeling a little under the weather sitting in my kind of cold apartment drinking tea and listening to church bells. There is a chill to this city that just seeps deep into your bones. It a humid chill that is tough to shake.
These days have been a swirling confusion of day trips with Mom and Alan to the country, mornings spent looking for apartments and/or taking care of the business necessary for moving to a new city, trying to get caught up on school work and sleep, catching up with friend and colleagues, fretting about the plane ticket I need to change and worrying if I will ever find a job. And of course, missing the mezzogiorno. It could be the warmer temperatures that I’m missing, this is likely and it is also true that I am not speaking hardly any Italian up here, what with all the people I know being American, Canadian or Italians who speak fluent English. You could really move to this city and not speak the language and do ok. My most memorable day in Florence so far was in fact one that I spent talking, in Italian, and drinking wine with a man from Basilicata. Thinking of fields of olive trees and the stark white of the med. Walking around this afternoon, after lunch, the streets were full of people, the shops had people in them and life was open for business. It is the pace of the south that so makes me feel whole. I feel this incredible tug down there.
There are so many movable pieces to how this thing, this life, this career I want will fall into place. I cannot expect to at all to know how it will all land and I bump up against that, causing myself unnecessary anxiety. Let go. Day by day. BUT, when I read in the newspaper about a conference in Milano about heath and nutrition and the Mediterranean diet, I KNOW that this is what I am here to do. And when I look closer and realize that a few of the speakers are people I know and/or have had contact with along the path so far, I feel that I could be one of these speakers in not so much time.