“When everything that you thought was important is no longer important, and everything you thought impractical or improbable, becomes possible, sometimes it’s just best to hit the reset button.”
Luke Lombardo
Welcome to my first blog post on The Spaghetti Diaries. Thanks for stopping by and spending a few minutes with me as I begin to document the experience of reinventing my life in Europe. My husband, Darin, and I planned this move together for two years. Unfortunately, Darin was diagnosed with recurring cancer in 2017, and his life was taken on March 16, 2018.
The way we originally planned it is certainly different than the way it is unfolding. I’m heading out on my own solo journey. I feel compelled to stay on the plan that I made with my late husband, not because it was “our” plan, but because it was the “right” plan. I know he will be with me every step of the way. With that in mind, cominciamo! (Let us begin!)
Part of our human experience has disruptions built in throughout our life to make us stop, reassess, and force us to evolve from who we are into something different and better. Some of these changes are welcomed into our lives: we get married, we change careers, or we relocate to new locations. Some changes are not: we get divorced, we suffer illness, or we lose somebody we love. Regardless of the circumstances that bring us here, these changes can be pivotal points in life that we embrace or resist. When my husband died last year, I had a choice; I could fight, or I could surrender to the loss. I believe when we release resistance our journey towards who we are meant to be becomes easier. I am choosing not to fight, and instead, make meaning of his loss and find a rational place for it in the broader story of my life.
When we are in the beginning of these life transitions, they are disruptive, messy, emotional, and if we’re lucky, maybe even exhilarating. What is common in each of these experiences, as we move through them, is that we do not always recognize they will change us forever. Once they start happening, they are impossible to stop. We cannot go back to who we were, and we cannot slow the change without the feeling of significant resistance. We are swimming against a fast-moving current, and eventually, we surrender. I believe the Divine, or God, or the Universe, however you label the Creator, takes over and sweeps us up into the change. Like a raft on a river, we have no choice but to hold on and ride the rapids until the water calms. Resistance only makes it more difficult, and the message becomes clear, “Like it or not, you are going to change—you must change!”
My life has been unfolding over a series of events the last three years. Those events brought me to where I sit today as I write this. I left my employer of 23 years, attempted to reinvent my career, and most recently, cared for my husband. After all of that, I sold my house and gave away or stored everything else of importance that I could not take with me. I no longer own a car or anything of monetary value other than those things that are irreplaceable to me. I am on a plane, with my personal items packed into the cargo hold of an A380, and I have a one-way ticket to Rome. I only have the skeleton of a life plan. No longer am I concerned with long-term goals. I simply just need to reinvent, do something different, and I have no idea what’s in store for me. That’s where my story becomes exhilarating.
This recent break from normal, as unwelcome as it was and still is, literally forced me to my knees. It required that I flush my cache of bad memories, regrets, pain, and all of the unnecessary things I have collected up until now. I feel like I am an electronic device that needs to be rebooted to clear out every disturbance from my past preventing me from moving forward. I begin the reboot today with wheels up at 3:59 pm on February 11, 2019. I am traveling from Los Angeles to Rome.
After years of planning and document gathering, I am about to become an Italian citizen. I will settle in Italy for the foreseeable future. I do not have any plans to return to the United States at this point. My only plans are to stay in Rome for now, start Italian language school in a week, and then begin to create a new life that might start to feel normal again. Seems simple, right? Recently widowed middle-age man sells the house he loves, leaves the state he loves, and his country. He says goodbye to the friends and family and moves to a place where he can’t speak the language yet. Yeah, that’s probably not under the definition of returning your life to a state of normalcy.
Some people said it was too soon in my grief recovery. My truest friends applauded me for my courage. Some people simply asked: “What in the hell are you thinking?” As usual, there is never a shortage of varying opinions from the world’s finest minds in grief management, but ultimately, it’s all on me. I own the success or failure of this change. But I ask you to take comfort in knowing that this is not a failure in the making—this is an incredible gift I have been given. I would be crazy to squander this gift. I have the opportunity to reinvent who I am, what I do, and where I go. It’s a painful but exciting revelation. Whatever happens, I cannot return to the person I was. Yes, I can always go home, but I can never go back.
I think that is a common experience for people who lose their husbands, wives or life companions. You don’t just lose the person you loved, you lose the shared life that you lived, and like it or not, you lose your own identity, which you may or may not have loved. Sure, you keep your name, your experiences, and your physical things. You earn the painful title as someone who is now “widowed” in life, and by those who know your story, you will never be looked at the same way again. It becomes awkward to have conversations about your newly bestowed title, and often, you just want to avoid retelling the story all together.
Truthfully speaking, I no longer want to be defined as the person I was before. I don’t believe that person was the best version of me or the person who will lead me through the next stage of life. This loss has forced me to reflect on everything that led me to this point in time. It has stripped me down to the basics of what is important, how I want to be known, what type of relationships I want, and what contribution I want to make in life. I get to rethink what value I bring to family, friends and community, and I get to recreate everything!
Several months ago, when the loss and grief were fresh, I had a meditation that still sticks with me today. In my mind, a scene was playing. It was me sitting in the middle of a pile of bricks, rubble, and destruction. It looked like a war zone. The image and feelings were so clear to me, and it was unfolding like a movie in my head. I could literally feel the dust on my skin. At first, I just sat there frozen and sobbed like a child who had his Lego masterpiece destroyed. I felt as if my life was a pile of ruins. I gazed around in fear and panic and I felt the same emotions as someone who had just lost everything. I asked myself, “What does this mean, and what am I to do?”
Finally, the crying stopped. I looked at the dusty bricks, and one at a time, I picked them up and felt them. I assessed if they were strong enough to be reused. Some were cracked and some were broken. Some could be repurposed, while others would need to be discarded. I had enough bricks to start over. I knew I could not recreate the same life, I had to build a new masterpiece.
Today I left California, and I left the Luke of the past behind.
Today I hit the reset button. Cominciamo!
This is my first attempt at autobiographical writing. Your comments and feedback are encouraged and appreciated so that I can improve. I would love to hear what in my writings resonates with you, and quite frankly, if something doesn’t, that’s ok too. I’m trying to keep the postings inspirational, informative and light hearted. I don’t think anyone wants their daily dose of depression by reading my blog. I appreciate your interest and for following The Spaghetti Diaries. Grazie mille! – Luke