I’m still thinking about the concept of cynefin– the one place where you feel that you were meant to be. As I said before, I don’t think I’ve quite found that place just yet, but Rome– Italy in general– might come pretty close. I was listening to Melody Gardot’s commentary on her new album, The Absence, and she said the following about Buenos Aires.
I knew in my heart I was meant to be in Buenos Aires…I mean I felt it. I felt that something pulled me, compelled me, moved me to my core.
I’m not sure that “compel” is the right word, but something draws me to Italy. I wanted to go there initially, but God had other plans and I ended up in Germania instead. But even in the heart of Germany, surrounded by Weinachtsmarkt and snowy Bavaria which looks like something out of a fairytale, I would find myself inexplicably drawn to Italy. It seemed like I travelled there at least every other month. I can’t tell you much about Berlin or Munich, but Milano, Venezia, Roma, Cinque Terra, Verona, Tuscany Sestri Levante, and Mirabella are absolutely some-fabulous-Italian word-that-I-don’t-know-so-plain-old -“spectacular” will have to suffice. I think I’ve seen more of Italia than the continental U.S.
Perhaps my love for this country where I’ve yet to live isn’t so inexplicable. In fact, there’s nothing mystifying about it in the least! I think the millions of touristas that visit each year must feel the same way. We share a mutual love for gelato, Duomos, narrow, cobbled streets (with clotheslines strung between them) and centuries-old relics down the street from Mcdonald’s. It’s the bella lingua though that will drive me to take up residence in one of of Italy’s glorious cities and discover if it is my actual cynefin.
The rollicking tongue of Italian makes me smile whenever I hear it. I am convinced that it must be the language spoken in heaven because of the sonorous beauty of it! How can you not love a country where everyone sounds like they are singing to one another. Even the fiercest of arguments ( and there are bound to be plenty of those) make me think of larks chirping back and forth to one another. I think I could wander the hot pavement all day just listening to this tongue where kisses are bacci and dreams are sogno and someone is always calling you, bella I think I could get used to that.