It takes stepping back and shaking routine off your shoulders to see the details and intrigue in things that have become commonplace. It happens when friends come to visit, and often when I spend time in another city in Italy. And most of those experiences happen when I step away from the computer. (telling myself something, perhaps?)
Recently I’ve had the opportunity to do this several times for friends visiting me (and at least one more time, next week when my best friend comes to visit me in Italy for the first time) and I like this reminder that not only is the grass greener on the other side of the fence, but I should be reminding myself on a daily, not bi-monthly/yearly basis, about the beautiful place I live in.
I’m known to do crazy things like go to Venice for a few hours and I convinced a visiting friend this would be a good idea. We lucked out, too, with a beautifully sunny October day, and it was freeing to just “hit the highlights” of Venice, which of course included food and gelato.
I met up with Nan from Living Venice, a friend and expat I have been in contact with for years but had never met. I’m always amazed at how many friends I have like this – friends I could ask for advice from or help yet it might be hard for us to pick each other out in a crowd. As I made plans to meet with Nan for some cicchetti, Venetian little bites/snacks (above), I told my visiting friend, “we’ll meet my friend who lives here for lunch” and immediately after “it’s the first time I’m meeting her.”
It’s such a powerful feeling to connect with so many people through something as simple as a website.
I’ve found myself feeling quite nostaglic this morning, about this blog, whose entries have been public for more than 6 years (last month) but there are another 2+ years of entries which are now private and start from the day I stepped off the plane from the US on this big adventure living abroad.
Some of those entries are the most raw and honest writing I’ve ever done, and I hope that I can start to get back to that feeling of writing freedom somehow. The absolute pouring of emotion through words, fear of failing, flailing through experiences, and using writing as a tool and therapy both. It’s something that I’ve shielded a bit on this site as traffic grew, but it’s a disservice especially to myself as it stifles my creativity.
I kind of blame Jori Des Jardins’s recent post for sparking some of this this morning. Thanks for that something – I plan on creating something more often :)