enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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It's going to be a long march, I'm afraid.

OK. So what I always like to do after I travel is to figure out how much of what I'm feeling is flights of fancy, and how much of it is real.

Strangely, and you'll not likely believe me, all of this has been real. I feel very steady and not at all romantic.

OK, so I suppose there is a bit of romantic fantasy in this - I thought about M. when I got up this morning and he was in my thoughts when I was in the shower. Doh!

But not in a "I'm desperate to get back there" kind of way. I know that I'll likely never see him again, or at least not more than once or twice if I do make it back to Florence. I mean, it's likely that I'll get back to Florence. I do love it there. But there are other beautiful places to explore - Paris and Barcelona, just as examples, not to mention tons of places in the natural world that I would like to see.

But it does seem strange that my life has continually pointed me in this direction. I've been fascinated with Florence for as long as I can remember. I mean, for how long have I wanted to be an EM Forst3r heroine?

And I guess one could ask the question of whether my mind sort of forced this to happen, or whether somehow life insisted that I go there back just six weeks ago when I finally decided to go on the trip.

I don't know.

So today I'm asking myself of course whether the "list" that I laid out yesterday has started to fade in resonance, now that I've slept well and woken up to realize that doing another sharp turn as I did repeatedly in my 20s would be CRAZY!

But no, not exactly. The dream hasn't faded. If you had met me ten or fiften or twenty years ago, I would have said something mostly along the same lines if you could have dug deeply enough. In my heart I've always known that I've wanted to do something related to history and physical objects involving pictures or text. It's just what has always touched me. The idea of being some kind of an artist/preservationist has always appealed. I realize though that there are many obstacles to doing something like this. I don't have the educational background for this, except in part.

More importantly, what worries me is that I might not have the entrepreneurial toughness and persistence required to make something work. To be honest - and I'll be perfectly honest here - in some important ways I am not financially prudent. I mean, I am not extravagant. But I am not shrewd. I often let small amounts of money go that I don't want to spend the time pursuing, or because I'm embarrassed, or because, frankly...money has just never been that important to me. I am not a good barterer, either, finding myself going on the assumption that the person involved would need the money more than I do. The poster guy I wrote about yesterday...I mean, I negated the bargain by giving him a large tip.

I know! That will not get me back to Florence. The only way that I really preserve money is by self-deprivation. And that is not good.

So I need to think really, really carefully about all of these things, and start figuring out how to be more financially..competitive? aggressive? I don't know. I mean, I accepted a lower level at my current job than I probably could have gotten. It was just easier for my boss to get me in at that level. I could have pushed but did not.

But where do I want to go? Where do I want to be? To be honest, for a long time I've thought that I wanted to spend some time in England. Not sure.

Well, it's hopeless to ramble here without any certain desires.

Well, the certian desires are to cycle and get in shape this summer, to start taking art courses and an Italian language course and to actively pursue going back to Florence in September for at least two weeks for a British Institute course. I always think that you can't recreate the joy that you had on a particular day or in a particular experience, which is something that makes me think I must hold back. I suspect, however, that that is a certain Anglican prudence and guilt that I feel - guilt in experiencing pleasure. Because last week when Marco suggested that I come on the final tour I said exactly the same thing - I should not go because I could never recreate the beauty of the day that had just ended. And then, what? Well, the final day was the best ever, and everything was so natural and clear.

I even called him late the day prior to set it up. Had I called even ten minutes later I likely would not have gone. And then that whole wonderful day would not have happened. I will never forget the three or four hours in the evening as we meandered back to Florence, with the time passing as a blink as we visited sites and engaged in wonderful conversation. It is such a gift to be enveloped by a place and a situation of trust. It just happened as if by magic.

So there you are. I can't get anxious or angsty about figuring it all out today. I just have to start putting one new effort out after another, and hopefully these things will lead me to my goal of finding a place of operation and work in my life in which I am really being the full me. It is not where I am right now, and that is good to know. And as M. said, surprisingly, in an email yesterday,

"I'm sure you will be able to accomplish anything you wish in life. I know it. I just wish I could see you more often and share a little bit of this."

I don't know if I can accomplish anything I wish in life. Sometimes I think it's true, and then other times I feel that it is not. I need to somehow find the belief that it is true and march slowly towards whatever it is that I want to march towards, undaunted by obstacles. Tough prospect.

You know, one of the things that M. said is something about how you've kind of got to accept in a way where you are. You got to where you are for a reason. You chose a certain thing for a reason. And to be honest, he's exactly right. I chose to be where I am out of fear. Nothing more, nothing less. I had always chosen economics as a safety option, and a government job in economics is, after academia, the exact safety option that EVERYONE ELSE IN MY FAMILY HAS TAKEN.

I mean, apart from professors, everyone else has been a public servant. Can you believe it? Well, except my dad. But he wasn't a very successful veterinarian, because he would give away all of his services. MY mother was always on his case to make more money.

So, is it surprising that I am a shriveled up little nut waiting to hit retirement and sit around in a camper van feeling miserable?

No, no it is not. I've tried to break out of this mold before, of course, with my running. But it was not successful. And then, at the first sign of trouble, what did I do? DOH! Go back to school in economics to guarantee for myself what I thought would be an academic job, and then the second-best option: a government job.

Well, I'm there. And what a thrill I must tell you. (Cue tears, actually.)

Yeah, yeah, I need help. I need training, really. Maybe I should get a life coach. Hmmm...

So, I'm going to at least start the art stuff. It will open me up. And I pumped up the tires in my bike and will go out for a LONG ride in the Gatineau hills next weekend. It is raining today and not being used to the bike I think it would be a bad idea. It's also cold. Next weekend though, I'll be out there. I could go with the group but I think I'd prefer to go alone. Next weekend in the hills and the forest I suspect that I will cry a few tears of loneliness and longing. But it is a beginning and beginnings are good. I'm tired of static.

You know, it occurs to me that this might not be the best time to start dating again! Really! I mean, this dating site thing is going to be confusing. How can I tell guys that I'm thinking that I need to change my job and change my life, and that Ottawa might not really be the place for me to live. In all honesty, if I ask my heart right now what it thinks, it says that Ottawa is NOT the place for me to live. On the other hand though I always try to imagine how life will be, and you can't predict how you will feel in the future. I mean, I have to be open to at least the idea that I might meet the guy of my dreams who also has a joie de vivre, and with whom I could tolerate living in Ottawa and say raising a child - as long as we got out of this place frequently and I got to do things that mean something to me, particularly in other parts of the world.

You know, and I know that you are SICK of hearing about M. - it will stop soon, I promise - but one thing that he said to me at the restaurant on Thursday is rather interesting. He was looking at me and inspecting me in a way. He said that I look like one of those girls from the 20s, who should be doing the Charleston. Probably the big eyes, and of course the hair. He had been looking at my photograph from the bike tour and had been thinking that I hve such a sweet expression on my face, such a sweet smile. And then he said something, pensively, about how I don't have anything American about me. He meant North American. Pretty much all of his clients are American (he said 95%) and he loves Americans, gets along with them very well. He loves them, actually, he said. He told me honestly that he doesn't usually click with Canadians. He said that there is nothing wrong with them, but I suspect what he meant is that they too reserved for him, whereas Americans tend to be much more friendly. But what was interesting then was that he said that I seem European. He said (twice), probably because I was helping myself to my third portion of only the second course, "I love the way that you eat. I love the way that you eat. Also, Americans would not eat the tripe. But you are eating the tripe. Maybe you are British," he said, "A good kind of British: classy, educated, from a good family, respectful."

Strange, huh? Yeah, I don't know. I don't know where I fit. I don't think I'm British, although that would be fine. Sometimes I think I come from the moon. It's not that I don't like Canadians. I do. But I find them too unimaginative as a rule. Kind of boring and unambitious. And lordy we know how I feel about hockey. And I like even less the stupid, insular "I am Canadian. We are the peacemakers. We are so superior." And don't get me started on the dull stupidity of our media and our perpetual need to define everything as "so Canadian and SO different from the American." I met a lovely artist woman from Vancouver on the last day I was in Florence, and we drank together on the last night with an Australian and an American. I knew that the Canadian woman was well-meaning so I tolerated her constant drivel of "In Canada we don't do that. In Caanada we do it this way. You would NEVER see anyone do that in Canada." She was not picking up the signals that everyone else was bored. I could tell that she hadn't traveled much. She was very nice though, and not without interesting stories. But she reminded me of how...naive...Canadians can be. And self-righteous without an understanding of what that means. I mean, we haven't done much of use for the world in forty years, and we've fallen short on pretty much everything we have proposed to do. I remember having a high school history teacher who when passing out our civics text in grade 10 called How are we Governed? said, "Very badly." At the time I honestly thought he was being unpleasant and disloyal. Now I laugh in understanding. I'm probably about his age now. Mr. Linton.

Actually, interestingly, when I told people in Florence that I was Canadian - both the American tourists and others - I received cool attention. Canadians always fool themselves into thinking that they are well-liked, but actually I think that they stimulate more indifference than anything. Well except in Holland. It's an interesting thing. It might partly be because we don't tip so generously. I feel differently about Americans. I have always liked the American ambition and openness. Of course, we know how I feel about ignorant Americans who want to know where the nearest Dunkin Donuts can be found in Rome. But in general I would say without reserve that smart Americans are among my favourite people. And I just love the forthrightness and optimism.

Anyway. This is such a ramble. I don't even know what I want to say. I guess I'm just saying again and again and again that I don't know where I belong. Where do I belong? Where do I fit in? Because it is not here. It is not here. I mean, even my friends here - I don't know if I've mentioned this - but Marion, my volunteering friend, is actually French and has lived all over the world. C., of course is German. And last year all I did was hang out with visiting Italian and Indian academics. The people I like always are separate from the place, somehow distinct and free of mind. And they love to eat, drink, take their time, create, grow, move. And then, as a result, of course, they go.

How do you recreate your space? Move your life? The easy way of course would be to find a foreign husband. :) I don't see myself doing that. No, I need to do this on my own steam, find my passion. Find my bliss. That sounds so lovely! If only. But I can just feel that it is waiting for me somewhere. It is waiting for me somewhere. I need to risk again.

9:36 a.m. - 2008-05-19

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