I've maintained a relative radio silence since arriving here in Italy just over two months ago. I've done so partly by design: to help me focus on where I am. But also because I've been at a loss for words. And my lack of words is exactly that: I can't seem to find the ones necessary to describe in complete detail and with enough clarity so that you may understand my experience thus far. I know no words with enough power to do so.
I don't know how to describe just how green the hillsides are. Or the beautiful cadence of the Italian language. I don't know how to tell you in words how wonderfully simple but bold Italian food is. I can't describe to you exactly how a fresh pastry flakes apart in your mouth or how a espresso seems to kick you in the face and lift your senses. Or how to tell you exactly how pungent the rosemary is that flanks countryside roads and seems to follow you wherever you may go. I have no way to tell you what the city sounds like or how dizzyingly chaotic is feels. And for that matter, nor can I describe what noise the wind makes from a atop Tuscan hillside or just how quiet the nights here can be. I know no words that can tell you just how alive I feel. I know no words to describe this Italian life of mine.
But I don't see my inability to express myself as a bad thing but a challenge. It's a opportunity for self-improvement. Just by being here, in the cradle of the Renaissance, I can feel my own reawakening happening.
Italians have learned and they have adapted for centuries. Look at the Cinque Terre. It was built around the landscape. They learned its shape, its weaknesses and its strengths. Just like Italians have adapted to this land for centuries, I will adapt to my new surroundings as well. I may not yet know how to describe this place to you, but that doesn't mean I cannot learn to.
I hope that you will journey with me and learn alongside me as I find the words to tell you of this Italian life.
Ciao for now,
