Travelous

 The town is quiet save one house at the end of Isnello where the faint, muted bass of American music radiates through thick stone walls. I am light on my feet, but heavy in my heart. I mask my vulnerability as I have little interest in creating connections and every interest in moving my body as swiftly as possible away from the anxious embrace of light conversation. As I pass through town, there are scant signs of life. The sun is out, still inching toward its peak position in the vast, blue, Sicilian sky. Four men gather at the bar in Quattro Cannoli. Each sits in a small plastic chair, facing the street as if they've been patiently waiting for me to walk by. They don't speak to each other. They stare. I smile. We exchange pleasantries. Connection is made but it may as well have been silence for the lack of stirring in my soul. I wonder how it was for them. Some days I cut through the back streets to avoid their gaze, but today I am feeling generous in my assumption of the g...

 It is curious what a difference a week can make. Like the week after your period. Or a week of sobriety after a festival. One in which friends soothe the ache in your heart just be being in the same room. When your body begins to communicate in lockstep with your brain and human feelings turn from despair to hope.  I will savor the hope and relish in the despair, because both are my inalienable rights. Only I possess them and only I can take them away and, despite the inherent fraction of pain they will inevitably cause, I think that's pretty damn cool. Ya know?

 This morning I slept until 10:00, which means I slept for 10 hours. This has been the prevailing trend since I left my job came to Sicily. Each morning I wake up and the first thing I think to myself is 'don't sleep too late'.  It is 43 years of my mother's voice echoing in my head. My body, however is in a full state of blissful comfort. Heated blanked, luscious duvet. It is a recipe for extreme, soothing solace and I've never once felt as if I were physically distressed. It is only my mind speaking to me, and it is a mimic of the words of other people followed by a steep spiraling into a sea of all the things I'm missing out on.  I'm healing and resting my body for more than the standard socially allotted time and I must fail at this. If I don't fail, then I will single-handedly destroy the meaning of the post-industrialized and late-stage capitalism that has been drilled into my head since kindergarten. Oh no. At the very least, I cannot thrive. Thri...

It took me 33 minutes exactly to write this. I'm stoked. I have to physically, emotionally, and spiritually prepare myself to drive in Sicily. This is especially true when it rains, as it did today. It is even more especially true when I'm driving a rental car. The roads in Collesano are so narrow that a thousand dollar door scrape is only a slight miscalculation away, and there is no sympathy-yield from the locals who have navigated this terrain for generations. It rained this morning and the main road in town was closed for removal of carnevale tents. This double-whammy sent me into an immediate tailspin through which I had to channel years of studied meditation breathing techniques. I was delighted to experience not only the steady endurance of the stress of a forced detour into the side streets, but also a softening of fear as a result of counting the seconds of my exhales. I, and the drivers around me, came out unscathed. On the main highway to Cefalu, and all others in Si...

It is a Sunday morning in Sicily and I'm clicking through Instagram and Facebook and feeling especially lucky that I'm not in the United States. One of the main goals of this three month period in Sicily was to restore my mental health from the continued trauma of being an American Citizen through years and years of catastrophic "unprecedented" events and a toxic hustle culture. I am far from that goal, but stepping in the right direction. The first phase of this goal has been to gain back the circadian rhythm I lost working a 9-5 corporate position that demanded I give up any semblance of an individual life.  Daily I pointed out to my 'superiors' that working ten and twelve hour days plus weekends was not only unhealthy screen time for our brains, our human relationships, and our self worth, but completely unproductive and unsustainable in the long run. My boss and coworkers continuously spoke about their spouses and children wishing that they had more time t...

Ensenada, as most of Baja, is a captivatingly dirty place. Every coastline, corner, and alley is veritably littered with photogenic charm. The marine layer arrives thick in the Autumn months, and stays much of the day. Its light haze mixes with the dust of unfinished infrastructure and sun, spreading a twinkling glow from la zona centro all the way to the malecon.   The only deliberately swift and forward motion in town this Halloween morning is my black-sweatered figure, long in stride and towing two tiny, reluctant chihuahuas behind me. The locals move mostly vertically. They clean, hang, and lift, preparing their tiny tiendas for the day's pedestrian haul. A cruise ship arrives in two hours and the streets will transform this hazy heaven laced with faint sounds of Mexican polka to a swarming anthill of visor-clad tourists and pop music. The coffee stand is bustling this morning. One single patron nods a warm hello as I arrive, and moves down a stool to give me access to the...