“Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.”
Semisonic
After four months in Roma, I am now settling into the life of the Piemontese in Torino. I have started the next chapter in my story, “Mr. Lombardo goes to Italia.” My first two weeks have been a bit of a whirlwind, taking everything in that this beautiful city has to offer, as well as acclimating to life with the “Italiano.” I have new characters in my story, places to explore, and a never-ending amount of experiences that generate plenty, “How did I find myself here?” moments.
Leaving Roma was bittersweet for me. I am grateful to the city. It was the place where I started my journey of healing. It was my friend Joe who said, “Start in a big city where you can get lost, and then you’ll figure out where you need to be.” It was wise advice over a few too many glasses of rosé in France last summer. Roma was the right choice, but I’m not sure I ever felt lost there. At times it felt more familiar than foreign. I appreciated the anonymity among the wonderful mix of people that call it home. It wasn’t my forever place, but it was a good place to begin.
I am settling into a new rhythm in Torino. I have a new language school, which I find to be a much better fit for where I am at with my language skills. I take individual lessons from a young and enthusiastic teacher, Lucia. I would guess her age to be around half of mine, but she doesn’t let my maturity overstep her. I would like to make her laugh a bit more, however, my American humor mostly falls flat. We meet twice a week for 90 minutes and talk, a lot. Which I normally enjoy, but in Italian, it’s a far more limited conversation.
The Italian language is designed like a Tango. Each word is architected so that it hands off seamlessly to the next. It is melodic, hypnotic and sultry when listening to a native speak it. To my ears, it sounds like one big beautiful word that has no beginning and end. When I speak Italian, the sound is far less sultry and more like a struggling American in desperate search for a place to pee. I just have to keep trying to parla and ascolta! That means talk and listen.
I’ve also started taking yoga classes, and it seems to be a good combination of physical and mental exercise. Many here were surprised that a Zen guy from California doesn’t practice yoga. I never could find the courage to start regular classes.
I was scarred early on in my yoga journey. My first group yoga class was at a company executive retreat with 75 of my not-so-closest coworkers squeezed into a hot hotel conference room on a summer afternoon. If you know anything about yoga, you know two things are likely to happen; someone will fall asleep, and someone is going to fart. (The Italian word is flatulenza–even that sounds sultry.) Sure enough, at this retreat, one executive fell asleep and started snoring during the first five minutes. That could only be topped by another coworker wearing that, “Look at me, I know yoga and I know what I’m doing.” face. When we were doing our final stretches and in “happy baby pose”, she began trumpeting out the vaporous byproducts of her lunch. She spent the rest of the night trying to explain her flatuenza, “Yoga, is natural movement and we shouldn’t be ashamed of our body’s natural reaction to movement.” After that experience, I never wanted to be on the giving end of the natural reaction. (If you are not familiar with the “happy baby pose”, Google it. It will provide further visuals that will lock your intestinal tract permanently!)
I also have been meeting the locals and creating relationships with the local purveyors of service. I have a great bakery (Forno) just outside the front door, and the largest outdoor food market in Europe, Porta Palazzo, is a five-minute walk from the flat. You can find everything and anything you desire from over 800 stalls. I visit often to walk around and experience the vendors, customers, and products. It is an unbelievable experience.
I had my first Torinese haircut yesterday. Not only was the stylist talented at cutting hair, she was quite the salesperson. That woman could sell a carton of cigarettes and a case of booze to a nun. After dropping 100 euros, I walked out with something called an Oleplex treatment on my hair, guaranteed to make it shiny and soft, some expensive conditioner in case the Oleplex didn’t work, and a set of eyebrows that resemble Gina Lollobrigida’s in “Beautiful but Dangerous”. I didn’t expect to have my eyebrows waxed, but I was encouraged that it would open up my tired eyes. Well, after opening up my tired eyes when it was over, I would have preferred to keep them shut until the remnants of my former eyebrows had a chance to recover.
The “How did I find myself here?” moments come often. In a way that is wondrous and amazing. Last week at my yoga session, I laid on the floor for the final meditation. I took that moment to catch my breath, not just from Torino, but from everything I have experienced the last four months. I found myself tearing up not from sadness, but from wonderment. I could not have imagined this life for myself a year ago, when loss was fresh and the pain intense. I am happy to be alive in this corner of the world, and there are days when I long for something easier.
Life would be easier in the United States, but I don’t think I could get away with these Gina Lollobrigida eyebrows anywhere else but in Italia.
Arrivederci Roma. Ciao Torino!