15 Oct Canto One
“Oh my God! What have I done? I am 56 years old. I quit my job and let go of my apartment. What am I doing?” Thoughts like these are frequent visitors in my head right now, which can then set off feelings of fear and panic resulting in my pacing the room or sitting rocking on the couch. As uncomfortable as this feels, I just let myself be in the moment; as scary or crazy as the moment may feel or look. I fight off the thoughts of retreating and renewing my lease and getting another job – staying in my comfort zone of familiarity. Breathing deep and replacing those thoughts with “No. This is right. This is right. This is what I need to do,” I wait for the fear to pass much like contractions when giving birth. And that is exactly what is happening.
Right now I am sitting in my apartment under an amazing frescoed ceiling painted hundreds of years ago. I am in the city of Florence, Italy, or as the Italians call it Firenze. The birthplace of the Renaissance and home to some of the most brilliant and creative people in history and to the most beautiful art in the world. Six months ago, I never would have imagined that not only would I be in Italy, but that I would be living here for a while. And in that same vein, within my lifetime of hopes and dreams I never would have imagined that my life would have looked like it has. (But that is an even longer story!)
I fell in love with Firenze the first time I came here about 7 years ago. I have been back several times (lots of other stories about that too!) and it always felt a bit like home. So when life fell apart, it was not surprising that I thought about coming to Firenze. Maybe some of that ancient “rebirthing energy” is still hanging around in the cracks and crevices of the city and is willing to come out and play.
In my mid teens, I had my life all planned out. I had met the man I knew I would marry. I was going to have the perfect marriage, perfect kids and a perfect life. I would have houses and cars and a very comfortable life. I would be happy and everything would be as I planned. LOL. Even ROFL. Part of my life was as I planned. And then, as with us all, part of our lives are not as we plan. A life of happiness and bliss is sprinkled with pain and heartache. My plan of a carefree life in reality was a life of caretaking. My expectations for love and being cherished never fulfilled. My roles that I so expertly created and executed changed over the years. No longer a wife, who am I? No longer needed in the same caretaking roles, who am I? Who am I now when all these labels are changed or gone?
I have spent my lifetime taking care of other people and things. I love doing it. I am amazing at it. All of my personal and professional life has been about taking care of people and being of service. But the balance between the external manifestation of caretaking for others and the internal manifestation of my own personal self-care was not equal. And for me, when I say self-care, not only does it refer to personal well-being but to my self-identity. When I got married and had kids, I willingly relinquished a lot of who I was. In my mind it was a noble, selfless expression of my love and commitment.
I have spent so much of my life living it for other people. I worked 10-12 hours a day. I dreamt about work in my sleep. I committed myself in my marriage even when it no longer made me happy. I put my kids and their needs before my own. Over the past few years, I have been in a way forced out of these roles. My marriage ended. My kids grew up. My mom died. Work changed and was no longer fulfilling. My life became smaller and more isolated. Each layer of identity is being peeled away that is no longer needed, no longer useful. Each time, leaving me scared and vulnerable. Each time, forcing me to stop and notice and breath through the emotions attached.
“Midway through the journey of my life, I found myself lost in a dark forest, Having wandered off the main path.”
And here I am. Standing in the darkness of the forest. Alone and aware.
