Ciao belle!
It has been weeks since I wrote anything other than an email or a text message. I promised you a part two to La Dolce Vita, and that will come in time, but familial grief and logistical juggling have occupied just about all of my free time for the last handful of weeks.
So for now, here’s a simple New Year’s reflection, because I do think of you all often, even if I’m not writing. You can also follow @utopiaitalia on instagram for more pictures and video content!
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Ciao for now,
x ash
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I went for a run this afternoon and considered the meaning of resolutions. As a former project manager, tangible goals make sense to me: run three times a week, write every day, improve my Italian. It wasn’t until a friend asked about that last goal— would I aim for B1 level fluency?— that I realized how relatively unimportant the tangible goals are when considering the significance of the renewing of the year. After all: one can start a workout program or begin to learn a new language any time (and certainly commencing self-improvement should not be contained to a single moment in a year).
When faced with the question of B1 fluency in Italian, I frowned, and instead said, “I just want to feel more comfortable here, in Italy and in Italian.” I wasn’t sure exactly how one could quantify that.
I thought about that for a long time as I tried to ignore the stitch growing on my right side. I still run like someone who knows how to run long distances— tight, controlled paces meant to conserve energy for the long haul— yet any runner will tell you that when you are re-engaging with the habit after a long latency period, each step can feel as heavy as though you’re running through molasses, or as distasteful as though you’re an unruly horse fighting the bridle.
But I am not a creature of comfort, and I never have been.
My life has been remarkable in many ways: some positive, some negative, but never boring or dull. I grew up stretched across three very different countries, studied in two, and explored three different career paths at the highest levels of those paths before I turned thirty. In the last five years, I have moved eight times through five cities. Because I thrive in chaos (due to nature or nurture, it is hard to say), these have not seemed like particular achievements in and of themselves: I just knew what I wanted or didn’t want, and had little fear or reservation in taking steps to change whatever wasn’t suiting me at the time.
So the thought of wanting to feel comfortable was a novel one for me, and I realized it was a latent thread running through many of my other tangible resolutions: my desire to pick up running again, my determination to finally finish one of my many started novels, my yearning to feel comfortable expressing myself in Italian.
As I considered the concept more, I realized that comfort is, by and large, a product of habit and repetition. We feel at ease when we feel safe, and we feel safe when we are deeply familiar and at ease with surroundings, events, and people: something that is hard to achieve when one is constantly moving or changing jobs.
And so, as I padded along the banks of the Dora, I realized that my actual resolution, more than any of these tangible goals, was to explore an entirely new way of living, something so very foreign to my enthralling, engaging, continually evolving lifestyle: a life of comfort, of contentment and consciousness.
I wanted to run along the same river, look at the same mountains, and observe the same trees every day. I wanted to focus on simple meals, poetry, meaningful connections with those closest to me. I wanted to focus on every day in and of itself, rather than as a stepping stone taking me to the future.
In short, after a lifetime of newness, change, and chaos, I realized that I wanted to see what habit, repetition, and patience might bring me. What might be learned from feeling utterly grounded. Fortunately, as Adam and I have bought an apartment we are rapidly making a home that we have no intention of leaving anytime soon, I am afforded the opportunity to explore this instinct, to settle into a home and create habits and patterns to last.
Fortunately, Italy is perhaps the perfect country in which to indulge this particular inclination. My mantra for this exploration— that contentment is not complacency— is, now that I think about it, one of the many ways I understand the concept of La Dolce Vita. (Hey… I guess I did in a way live up to my promise to continue the theme of la dolce vita in this essay!)
I wish for you to achieve all of the goals you may or may not have set for 2022, but above all, in this uncertain world and uncertain times: I wish you contentment.
Contentment is Not Complacency