Epilogue; 26-1-2023
Hello, friends!
Surprise: I'm sitting at my kitchen table in my apartment in Mondragone! And wow, this feels so good.
^^ I started the first draft of this bonus newsletter last Wednesday, about 3 hours into the Mondragone segment of the trip. I'd been in Italy for nearly a week, but only in my apartment did I have the urge to log into TinyLetter. After showering, starting my laundry, and getting my groceries, I sat on my bed and asked "OK, now what?" Naturally, we landed here.
All week, I've been reflecting on what it means to return, to "placekeep" rather than "placemake." These reflections are born of both intrapersonal questions (processing expectations and my emotional and physical experience of being here) and of the incredulously-asked question, "Why did you come back to see us??" And yet, despite my incessant internal monologue and prolific journals, I have not managed to articulate a concise response -- I think because there is not one. What follows is my best attempt at wrangling my thoughts on return / placekeeping:
The first thing I noticed was the muscle memory of how to be in this place. I've slipped seamlessly into familiar routines of ordering coffee at the bar, scanning for GF options at the grocery store (I'd recognize that packaging in my sleep), pausing my voice recordings/calls while the Trenitalia announcements play ('E` vietato attraversare i binari; servirsi del sottopassaggio' and 'E' severamente vietato aprire le porte esterne del treno, e salire o scendere, quando non sono completamente fermi). More specifically, here in Mondragone I did not think twice about the order in which I purchased groceries from 5 different stores (this entails carrying the heaviest things the shortest distance, using my large bills at the franchises while saving my spiccioli, coins, for the small shops, and going to the stores with the sturdiest paper bags after my tote bag is already full). Nor did I think twice about which direction to turn the key in the door to my apartment, how to vacuum out the pellet stove before turning it on, and how to load the broken detergent tray into the laundry machine without spilling the detergent everywhere. As I woke up on my first morning here, I knew exactly where to reach for the alarm, and then had another hit of euphoria as my spatial awareness kicked in and I realized where I was.
Outside of my own routines, I've also had moments of elated recognition of familiar, mundane things: the ringtone of my closest colleague overheard in a crowded train car, the ubiquitous motorini and the ape engines whizzing past me on the sidewalk-less street, a whiff of my host family's laundry detergent wafting off of sheets hung to dry over the street, and the perfume that my friend used lingering after a stranger brushes past me at the grocery store. I'm also relieved to share that all three of my favorite trees, two in Mondragone and one in Napoli, are still standing and (apparently) healthy (to my untrained eye). At the same time, I am painfully aware that these things are ephemeral: cell phone companies will change their stock ringtones, detergent companies will discontinue certain products, perfumes will go out of style, and trees will die or be cut down. (At least the motorini are not going anywhere.) And so, I am yearning to soak in every moment of my presentness here.
And on the note of change, the changes I'm noting are minuscule enough that I find them charming or amusing. The navetta and train tickets are a few cents more; I don't recognize most of the stray dogs anymore (not thinking too hard about that one or I'll get sad, but want to take a moment to shout out the stumpy little guy with black fur and bald patch on his flank, and the lanky one with the underbite and big, derpy eyebrows); the stray cats are around but definitely don't live in the abandoned villa on the Viale with the crack in the wall that the flowers grow out of because it's being renovated; and I have finally been permitted to pay for something (I guess the total length of my existence, physically and emotionally, in this town has surpassed the 'guest' limit).
And so, given how small these changes are, it feels as though I never left. At the time I'm writing this, on Friday, it has not hit me that this is not actually my life. I'm not returning here to do another year as a teacher -- nor would I want to. I stand by what I said in July, that if Fulbright called me up and offered me another year, I'd say no. I cannot thrive here fully. And yet, the exact things I anticipated missing the most (familiarity with physical space in Mondragone, sensory experience of Italian cultural touchstones, my love for the terra itself) are the exact things I have relished in the most this week. These two sentiments, of both yearning to return to this place but not wanting to return to the existence I had last year, feel contradictory to me, and I'm reconciling them by marveling in the beauty of wanting to exist in so many different worlds at once.
To elaborate: I wrote back in May that I had a heightened awareness of all the different worlds I've inhabited, how they existed before me and continue to go on without me. And I wrote in my final newsletter that if someone were to map out the different chapters of my life on a map, Mondragone would undeniably be a main stop. Of those worlds I've inhabited, those stops on the map, I've certainly "returned" before -- to the house I grew up in, to my high school and college campuses -- but never have I returned a) so soon after departure, and b) in such a way that my routines, habits, and ways of sustaining myself are exactly the same. This week, I am sleeping between the same sheets, cooking dinner in the same pan, drinking tea I purchased months ago that was still in the cabinet, and making coffee in that absurd cow-patterned moka pot that I needed in a pinch after the Burnt Coffee Incident of 2022. Additionally, and most importantly, my community is very intact: none of my students have graduated yet, none of the hall monitors have retired, and my friend who had moved away partway through my grant is back in Mondragone. My awareness of the fleeting nature of both the structures that hold my (school) community together, and the sensory experiences I've been basking in, intensely underscores that as time goes on, this place will only become more different from how I experienced it last year. And in turn, I hope that I also continue to become more different from how Mondragone experienced me last year.
There shall be many more worlds I get to exist in, and I'm certain I'll grapple further with this question of balancing "placemaking" with "placekeeping." All of that said, Mondragone is an especially beautiful place to get to articulate my first draft thoughts on the matter, and I've thoroughly enjoyed my week here.
I started my trip in Bologna with Giulia. We took very few photos, but it was the perfect re-entry into my Italian social life. Here's (almost) the whole crew on my last evening there.
A selfie with Gianna on the balcony -- this was a few hours after being rescued from the empty, dark Termoli station at 6 am.
This is the view from San Vito paese -- despite all my trips out here, I'd only ever been giu`, at the beach itself. The town is up on the hill and has this gorgeous view.
And a photo of me enjoying that view!
A group photo with the family, + Gio who wanted to help Chiara with the lint roller.
From the balcony of the Comune in San Vito
This is one of my favorite pictures I've ever taken. This is Gianna, a force to be reckoned with, unknowingly standing in the shadow of Abruzzo's crown jewel, the Guerriero di Capestrano / la Dama di Capestrano, a female warrior.
Same group, but 3 days later -- this was the dinner that was cooked entirely over open flame (see below).
Word pictures
You know the drill!
- Arriving at Milano Centrale and going directly to the bookstore to check my Italian language reading material off of my list.
- Being called "Anto" or "Antone`." At the mall, I was standing outside the dressing room with one of my friends, and there was a tall man standing next to me. My friend called "Anto!" and the man and I both stepped forward. He went "I'm Anto." I said "I am too!" Now the person in the dressing room next to my friend pokes her head out and says "Anto?" to her partner. In contrast, within 5 minutes of being back in the US, I had to spell my name phonetically twice.
- First lunch back in Italy: I'd planned to be done 90 minutes after the time we said we'd sit down, but forgot to account for a) terminal lateness, and b) the fact that weekend lunches are a 3+ hour affair.
- At a different meal: soaking up how right it feels to be in a boisterous, cramped kitchen.
- At a concert with terrible lighting design (there were 8 spotlights pointing at the audience, we couldn't see, people were wearing sunglasses). After the openers, the Emcee came out to intro the main act, but was interrupted by a hoard of frustrated old Italian men shouting "Ueeee'! Le luci!!!" and then applauding vigorously when the lighting tech turned off the spotlights.
- Resetting my expectations for the Italian train stations. I had a layover at Termoli from 5 am to 7:30 am, during which I planned to nap on a bench with my suitcase under my legs. I arrived at the station to find, much like in Mondragone, a single platform with no indoor space, no bathrooms, and minimal protection from the wind. I also have a new rule: no more late night / early morning travel.
- "Mantieniti Gio!" -- The 12-year-old labrador (see photos below) accompanied us to the Chieti museum. Chieti is up in the mountains, and we took a "shortcut," which entailed driving the car straight up a very steep incline. Gio was strapped into the trunk, and as we began the incline, my cousin shouted back "Hold on, Gio!" Except the literal translation is "Maintain yourself, Gio!," which tickles me.
- Good family chaos: on my last evening in Abruzzo, I needed a minute to process my feelings going into Mondragone the next day. I excused myself to go to the restroom while we were preparing dinner. After about 5 minutes in the bathroom, all the lights went out. I thought I'd done something wrong, so I started stumbling around in the dark for the switch. I then heard footsteps in the hallway, and my aunt runs in and hands me a massive flashlight. I thought nothing of the hand-off, until I realized that my relatives did not know I'd gone to the restroom to journal. From their perspective, I'd gone in 5+ minutes prior, and there had been no flush sound. Furthermore, the toilet is all the way across the room from the bathroom door. So if I'd been sitting on the toilet, as they'd likely anticipated, I'm so confused as to how that hand-off would've worked.
- But the story continues: The lights went out because of an issue with the oven. After some testing (read: turning the oven on and laughing when the power went out), we figured out, with certainty, that the oven was blowing a fuse. When this all went down, there were 5 out of the 11 of us who were eating together that evening. And, most of our dinner was in the oven. Over the course of the next 15 minutes, every other relative who arrived insisted on testing the oven again, blowing the fuse and thrusting us all into darkness for a few minutes while my (utterly unamused) uncle grumbled under his breath as he descended to the basement. Keep in mind, this uncle wears a scowl every day to begin with. He was perfectly cast for this role in the story. In the end, we ended up cooking the meat and potatoes over the fire (because many Italian kitchens just have open fireplaces for heat).
- Two moments of generational euphoria: first, hearing Noni talk on the phone to her sisters-in-law in dialect, and second, an obligatory lemon joke at the home of the aunt who sparked the infamous limone di fortuna. -
- A rainbow over the Adriatic sea, spotted from the passenger seat of my aunt's car on our way back from a day of teaching at her high school. The only one I got on this trip, despite all the rain / sun / rain rapid transitions.
- Within 60 seconds of arriving in Mondragone and boarding the navetta, the driver made a 'Laura Non C'e'' joke (this one is for the Vassar Italian department).
- After greeting the family and having coffee w i nonni, I brought my bag into the apartment. Regina, without missing a beat, followed me right in (see picture below).
- This is not a very descriptive word picture, but my friend the running fruttivendolo was astounded to see me. He thought he was seeing a ghost.
- Similarly, when I went to the gluten free store, Valentina immediately told me all about her father who is in the hospital, and how the visiting hours are difficult with her work schedule. I was surprised to have received so much information about her personal life, especially after many months of no contact. Then I remembered, "Oh yeah, we talk about things openly here -- well, only certain things."
- Classic Mondragone: all the Christmas lights were still up, even by the time I left.
- Classic Mondragone: nearly getting hit by a car multiple times while on a run. I also saw my old fisherman friend, Giuseppe, who does still creep me out, but I was happy he recognized me. I was also recognized by a teacher, who when she saw me in the hall at school a few days later said "I thought I saw you running but I thought 'no, it couldn't be!'"
- Classic Mondragone soundscape: Lisa calling out "Laila? Laila?" at the front door around 11pm every night. Regina runs in immediately, but the little one, Laila, is more stubborn. Lisa begins softly and her voice gets more and more curt as the minutes pass.
- On a stubborn day trip to Napoli in horrendous weather, charging into the wind and rain with my umbrella at a 60 degree angle just to get a breath of air off of the bay. See photo below.
- Same damp trip: basking in the culture here around food. After a very filling meal of salad, fish and pizza, of which the pizza came out after which I was quite full, a man approached me as I was walking out to ask me why I didn't finish my pizza. I was off-put at first by his inquiries into my eating habits, but then I was touched when he asked "Was it a bad gluten free pizza?" He was the owner and genuinely wanted to make sure his Celiac customers were enjoying their food (what a concept!)
- I caught up with a friend in Napoli, who is now dating a tattoo artist. It was my first time meeting her, and at one point in our long sunset walk, we were all stripping on lungomare to show each other our newer tattoos
- Turning around on the navetta and seeing someone with my exact hair texture and cut.
- Taking a moment to name the signs of climate change: charred tree stalks on the mountain amidst post-fire brush regrowth; big flooding in the fields out the train window, sheds and tractors half or entirely submerged; sand and debris all over the road and lungomare near the beach from the storm, litter washed up on the dunes from the ocean; t-shirt weather until Christmas. Leaving that there as it is.
- At a pizza with my kiddos, the restaurant had an odd doorbell-esque noise that went off every few minutes. After a few of these, we'd all start reciting the Trenitalia announcements to one another. This had heavy "placekeeping" energy.
- At a different pizza dinner (much pizza was eaten this week) with my younger music group, we were sat at a table in the middle of a room, in which there were also two children's birthday parties. We were sandwiched between them. One had a magician talking into a microphone as he made balloon swords, and the other was blasting Justin Bieber while the birthday child opened gifts. A few minutes later, the first group was having a full-on balloon sword fight, with much screaming, and the other party was having a dance party. It was so chaotic, and we all waited until both parties had cleared out to attempt conversation.
- Did I even come to Mondragone if I didn't ride around on the back of the vespa of one of my students?
- More below on school, but this one is a word picture: As I was getting ready to walk out of one of my (favorite) classrooms, nearly all of the students reached into their backpacks to show me that they still carry around the pen pal letters they received last year with American high school students. Not only did they keep them, but they carry them around! I was so touched. I felt like I did right by them as a teacher.
- I shared with one group that when I talk about my lessons, I say that "There is a group of 150 Italian teenagers in a small town in Campania who know a lot about climate change, the death of organized labor in America, and Britney Spears."
- The navetta, after being uncharacteristically on time ALL week, was 12 minutes late on the day of my departure when I had multiple connecting trains. How fitting!
- Crying as the mountain slipped out of view at the Formia-Gaeta station. The last time I saw the mountain from that angle, it was up in flame and I was sobbing heavily into a tissue gifted to me by my other crying train car pal. This time it was so clear that I could see Vesuvius in the background against my mountain, I could see the abandoned factory to the south of Mondragone, and I could see the towns on the coast of Ischia. It was a single tear kind of cry, not a ribcage-wracking sob. I'm also crying, rather than for loss/ending/closure, for the immense gratitude and awe I have for the transformations during which this place held space for me. And on the note of closure, I think I am starting to sink into my new relationship to this place: never a goodbye forever, never a fully wrenching myself out of my orbits here. Just a literal 'arrivederci' -- "until next time."
Did I even go to Mondragone if I didn't sit in the station for over an hour? The station is also being completely redone! Maybe next time I'm back it will have indoor benches and a restroom.
Similarly, since it was such a rainy week, I had to dry my clothes inside, in front of the infamous pellet stove.
First order of business upon arrival: the mountain
It was one of two sunny days.
My place! It was all still there.
Small life! What a marvel!
My triumphant, damp, cold walk on the lungomare in Napoli
The fields along the train line to Napoli were all completely flooded -- about 2-3 feet of standing water.
The progressive Napolitano graffiti never disappoints.
A blustery morning for a walk on the lungomare under the snowcapped mountains.
I even went up on the sand
Sure enough, all the lido summer beach equipment is wrapped back up, as I knew it for most of my time last year.
Reflection Section
This is not the most cohesive newsletter. This week was hurried and disjointed. I hope that does not project too directly onto this newsletter, but I've divided this section up into two unrelated sections. None of my points are in any particular order.
On last year
- I noticed before my arrival in Mondragone, during that family dinner bathroom power outage journal session, how much I was looking forward to and relying on having my own living space in the apartment. That is partially because I've not loved my roommates in New York, but also because I am, for as social as I am, a deeply introverted person. If I do not have a cocoon, I cannot recharge. (Throwback to all my reflections last year on isolation, loneliness, and recharging from social interaction. As predicted, that pendulum has swung right back to pre-Italy introversion). The cocoon is a slippery slope, though, as someone with a tendency to isolate. My question coming out of this week: how to make my own living space both a cocoon where I can disappear and go inward, but also a place where I can live fully. My Mondragone apartment, and Mondragone as a whole, was one of those things. Next goal: best of both worlds.
- I spent effectively all of 2022 traveling. Even back in the States, I traveled a lot these past few months. And even pre-Italy, in 2021 post-vax I was doing my Farewell Tour. So from June-ish, 2021, to present, I have not really settled into a place fully. I am looking forward to settling into where I am in 2023.
- My return to Mondragone was also a return to this writing practice! In retrospect, an additional function of this NL in my life last year was a way of channeling my loneliness, of feeling heard by my far-flung community in moments when only my own voice was echoing off of the walls. I think part of my affinity for the terra itself, the coast, the mountain, the dunes, is because they also kept me company in my solitude.
- This week, I had many moments of feeling seen, recognized, even empathized with, by strangers or people who I felt otherwise distant from. Even if it was at a distance, I did have a presence in this town last year. Most closely, the mother of one of my students, who also owns the cafe outside the high school, was very happy to see me. We'd spent a lot of time together when I went to Napoli to see the show my students were in. She, at the time, asked me why I had not socialized more with the students, and I cited professionalism and cultural difference. This time, she said even more explicitly that she saw I'd had a "long winter" and that I was a bit "sulle tue" -- "on my own." Next level out, I was walking with my friend Rosalba and we stopped to talk with one of her customers outside the dog groomer. The customer asked if we'd met before, and said she'd heard about me last year and asked how I was. She said that I was always alone when she saw me last year. And finally, I was also welcomed back by the woman who cleans Lisa's home and office, who said "You're even more beautiful! Welcome back, cara." This was the most distant one, but I still felt recognized.
- While sitting at the Fabrica, Mondragone's newest watering hole, I found myself among new people -- mostly folks in their mid-20s who live in other European cities but who extended their Christmas holidays to spend more time with family. Classic! I found myself engaging way more fully in these social interactions than I did with anyone last year -- I was taking the lead, asking my favorite reflective questions, taking initiative to ask to hang out again before leaving. I wish I'd shown up last year as that same someone who engages fully: what happened? I was so afraid of turning the whole town against me that I hardly showed up at all.
- I am a person who takes a while to warm up to things; I always have been. In elementary school my teachers said that I observe before participating. People who do not know me well would describe me as reserved -- a word that nobody who knows me well would reach for. But that characteristic does not align with this whole moving-every-6 to 9- months thing I'm doing. I am looking forward to staying put for a little bit, to being able to enjoy placekeeping as the reward for placemaking in a way I have not gotten to since Vassar. And, I want to keep my New Experience Muscles flexed. While the total disorientation was difficult, I got a lot out of it. What would it look like to upend key elements of my life every 5-10 years (in a non-destructive way, of course)?
- I have been trying to articulate for myself what draws me back here. Hypothesis: even though much of my time here was sad, lonely, difficult, it gave me space to and helped me to heal. This aligns with my theory about my feelings of love towards the humans in my life with whom I may not have had the most pleasant interactions with, but who gave me space to and helped me to heal. Whether a fleeting interaction at a critical moment, or a long, drawn out, messy situation that I learned from, where I have healed, I send love. Mondragone is no exception.
- 1) It feels very, very good to walk into a classroom and be greeted by applause. Especially when it's applause I worked for. It was an applause that conveys care, respect, and gratitude.
2) I earned the trust of my students in really big ways. My senior music kiddos want to add me to their meme groupchat which is "not for the other teachers," and my youngest humanities students all ran up to give me a massive group hug in a way that is so not aligned with Italian school culture. They were also really touched that I remembered their names -- I cannot imagine not knowing their names?! And when I referenced any of last year's lessons in passing, they were quick to jump in with very specific details that I had not expected them to remember.
3) I noticed a difference in the connotation, the affect, of the classrooms that I taught in with my least favorite co-teacher. Her presence was an active barrier to connecting on an even more meaningful level with the students than we did. Don't get me wrong, we did connect deeply in all my classes except for the super disengaged one. But the difference between my rapport with her classes and with my others was palpable. There was a level of caution, of self-preservation, with hers. That made me sad, and was also very validating of how I was perceiving our dynamic last year.
4) How good it felt to be at the front of the room with the Protect Democracy website on the screen behind me. A quick overview on my life in America turned into a lesson on Jan 6, the separation of powers / checks and balances, and authoritarianism in America. I am so grateful to do the work I do. And, Protect Democracy aside, how good it felt to be teaching, period. Education will continue to be part of my life via dialogue; but goodness, I really missed the performance nature of teaching high school. Getting to be animated, to act things out, to know exactly where the joke will land -- getting to tap back into that experience felt like re-lighting a small wick that sits in my core, and being able to turn inward to warm up my fingers near the flame when I get caught up in other things in life.
5) Most importantly: you may or may not recall that back in March I dedicated quite a bit of newsletter real estate to a pizza dinner with a group of colleagues. I found their views towards teaching and the students absolutely despicable, and I was furious on my way home. This Tuesday, I walked into a classroom to teach for an hour, and one of the more vocal teachers who had been at that dinner was at the front of the room. She was confused to see me. Once we re-explained why I was there and that it was my lesson, she was still reluctant to cede the computer. But a few minutes after I launched into my 'lecture' (this was my final class, so it was really polished at this point), she had moved from a chair next to me to a desk among the students, and was listening intently. She did not speak English, but since they were my youngest group, I translated every English sentence into Italian. She even asked questions! And when the bell rang and I put on my jacket, she said "You're going already? Can't you stay another hour? You're so pleasant to listen to, and I learned a lot even though it didn't feel like studying." Wow, wow, wow, wow. If I had to lose my memory of everything that happened on this trip, and could only keep one thing, I would hold onto this.
Naturally, ending on the photos of all my Italian animal pals. Regina plopped herself down right in front of my door when I got back...
And let herself in as soon as I stepped away to carry my pellets inside.
Little lioness. (For the record, Laila is around and so much bigger! But still a ball of energy, I couldn't get a non-blurry photo of her all week).
On the complete opposite end of the cat spectrum, I got to meet Vittoria, who is roughly 2 months old and who has the spunkiest personality.
That same shot from a different angle -- featuring me for scale.
Gatti d'Abruzzo! This is Trilli sunning himself.
And, less majestically, Trilli staring a hole in the fish scraps left on my plate after dinner.
Finally, last but not least, Gio!! Gio is 12 years old but has the energy of a puppy. Much like Trilli, he is patiently waiting for post-dinner scraps.
As always, ending on the sunset -- I had to work for this photo because it was cloudy every single day I had in Mondragone. And the one non-cloudy day I ended up in Napoli.
In other news, I will be moving to DC tomorrow. Yes, I touched down in JFK a few hours ago. Yes, it's going to be an intense few days. But it's without a doubt the right move (ha!) for so many reasons. I'm including this both as a life update, and also for the serendipity of it: I planned the move and this trip totally separately. I booked the tickets for this flight 3 days before my departure last July. I was, as you all know, quite prematurely nostalgic during my final weeks here. Knowing when I'd be coming back made July's departure a little easier (and goodness, leaving this morning without a next trip book was utterly heartbreaking). Meanwhile, I decided the third week of December that I'd be moving, and that a Feb 1 lease was the most reasonable timeline. (Admittedly, I'm questioning my use of the word 'reasonable'.)
For additional context on my relationship with the places I've inhabited, I began writing this in mid-November as an end-of-2022 reflection, which I abandoned:
"I was recently texting one of Giulia's friends in Bologna (he thought of me because he was diagnosed with Celiac disease and has realized how difficult it is to navigate restaurants & friends' homes. He wanted to send his condoglianze, condolences.) He asked how I'm adjusting back to being in America, and when I told him that I miss Mondragone he was surprised because 'I didn't speak well of if while I was there.'
"And that is entirely true! As you all heard in my last update, I cried and cried and cried when it was time to go. But, in that moment, if the Fulbright commission had called me up and told me to stay another year, I would not have. I get to thrive here in New York in ways I could not in Mondragone. And, I needed all that time in Mondragone to unlock parts of myself that are enabling me to thrive here.
"I wrote in my final newsletter that 'this year I’ll be trading green space and low rent for proximity to my communities' ..."
Obviously, I've since decided that the trade-off wasn't worth it! And so I'm off again. I've been experiencing a similar sense of closure on my life in Brooklyn as the one I felt here in July -- noting the end of normalcy in my living space, noting the 'lasts' of my routine, naming the things that I will miss (and those that I will not). The emotions were similar enough that, as I got myself to the airport and boarded the plane to come here on the 12th, I felt the beginning of the wave of emotions that I felt every other time I've boarded a plane to or from Italy in the last few years. I teared up when the airport came into view, I took deep breaths in the security line, my breath caught in my throat at the sound of Italian at my gate (that one may never go away), and I was teary boarding the plane. I was bracing for a full shedding of a version of myself that I'd outgrown.
Then the plane took off, I was listening to my Airplane Takeoff Song TM, and taking deep breaths, and .... nothing groundbreaking? It felt exciting, and I was aware of the long flight I had ahead of me. But as far as total emotional upheaval and redefinition of my sense of self, nothing. I don't need to. (Actual journal excerpt: "This is so f---ing low-stakes. I'm literally just going to see people I love in a place that I love. Isn't that cool?") It helps that this upcoming move is not the total disorientation that I had coming here. It's not a blind leap into the unknown; it's an intentional move closer to what I want for myself.
This trip has functioned as a palette cleanser, as a full and total reset, and, in many ways, exactly as it functioned in 2021-22 in that it has given me space to check in with myself, be out in nature, eat really delicious food, and soak up the impact I've had here. It also gave me the chance to begin to make sense of which elements of my experience last year were ephemeral, and which were not; I've proven to myself that I can return, that the mountain and the sea are not going anywhere, even if stock ringtones and scented detergents are. And so, as I close another (albeit shorter) chapter of my life -- 6 months in New York instead of the 9 I had here -- it feels right that I get to enter DC right off of a week in Mondragone. Sharing my reflections here feels just as right.
Con tranquillita`,
Antonella
ps -- please excuse any errors or typos! I wrote most of this on airplane wi-fi during turbulence, and proofread in my 23rd hour of being awake:) alla prossima