I never stopped writing...

... I just stopped sharing. Sorry!

October 14.

It was no mistake that I came across “Eat, Love, Pray” when I did, and I believe it was the works of the universe that brought the book to me. Twice. After reading it the first time I opened a part of my mind I needed exposed in the worst way. A part that would enable me to leave Jeff despite the ‘perfect life’ I thought I wanted and created. A year later I would learn I could more literally run away, and it would be in search of the life I never thought I could have - but had to find. It is months later that I am learning again from it… that running was the easy part. Forgiving myself for it was harder. Yet, forgiveness turns out to be easier than expected, and has lead me to a new place I have yet recovered from. The ability to attach again. Whether it be because I am scared or, well, scared… I guess I know the truthfulness that is today.

The past years were a culmination of everything I had always worked towards. Or so I thought. Like Liz in the book, I worked hard for the perfect life. I thought I wanted to spend my weekends in Home Depot. I had the home, the nice guy, the dog and cat. We spent our weekends in, cooking, relaxing together. I guess a part of me really did want that. But there is so much more that I wanted, that I felt was lost or never achievable. It was like if I had all these things I was supposed to have, I wouldn’t care to think about everything else that was out there. The beautiful places I had never been. The lives I’d never live. They all seemed so romantic in thought. But wasn’t what I had romantic? Wasn’t it the life I always wanted?

No. Simply, no. It’s taken years for me to come to terms with that and I still struggle every day trying to find that balance. The balance of the romance and love with the self-exploration and constant reservations I have about living a life under other people’s terms. The balance. It’s so hard to find.

I saw the movie today. I sat alone in a theater in Barcelona. I never once felt a sorrow for being alone, or a yearning to have company. That feels really fucking good.

I cried a lot watching the movie. I did out-loud when I wanted to. Maybe it’s because I could relate so much to what I was watching, and so much more-so than I even realized. I think a large part of my subconscious paid close attention to the book, in a deep far-away place internally, and it drove me to make a lot of the decisions I have made. Just as I am a marketer’s dream, I guess I am also a dreamer’s apprentice.

In the book/movie this woman moves to Italy knowing shit Italian and finds herself alone, yet less lonesome than she’d felt in years. She opens herself to new friends. New realities, like living in a home with cracking walls and old ceilings that are being upheld and supported by the smallest - and most exposed - protection. In just writing that I find a lot of irony in that. My home was always sturdy. This never mirrored my connection to my soul. In fact my soul was sitting on thin steel beams, and one small fracture would bring the whole house down.

But it didn’t. And somehow finding myself in places where the walls are thin, or sometimes even destroyed, my soul found a solitude. Staggering. Extraordinarily, genuinely, staggering.

Sitting here today I adore each day. I wake in a different place and walk the streets, stunned by the beautiful architecture that surrounds me. I meet new people who I learn from every day, even if - or especially if - it’s over a pint of beer next door to my flat. I see the world through more innocent eyes, eyes that have seen sorrow and have been revitalized.

What I’ve learned today is to continue ‘running.’ With each step I am finding another piece of myself I thought were only that of another romantic dreamer. I am so grateful. I am so fucking grateful.