It’s been a few days. A few quiet days. Mostly because my brain has been quiet. Like someone dimmed the lights. Closed for a few days. 

I think the awe and wonder of being in a different place has worn off quite a bit. I’ve definitely settled in. And if I’m being very honest, doing this has been much harder than I thought it would be. There are things that I wanted, needed, to sit with. So I planned a significant amount of time and space. But now that I’m in it, I wish I would have done all of this in a month, sped through without stopping, no time to sit and let things rattle around in my brain. Anyway. The grass is always greener. I still love it here.

When I first got to Florence I looked online for all of the obvious things—il Duomo, Uffizzi, David. A stupid thing to have waited I soon realized. The next available tickets to Academia (where David lives) were AFTER I leave the city. Seriously? I started getting sweaty. How could I come all this way and miss that. I guess like I missed the Sistine Chapel….

Keep searching and come across tickets for Academia, Uffizi, plus a walking tour through the city. Ugh. The walking tours around here are very annoying to me. People clogging the way in big groups with headphones listening to someone tell them about parts of the city. I didn’t want to partake of this experience. But if I want to see another Michelangelo masterpiece, I guess I have to. I book the tickets. 

Friday morning we meet at the Uffizi Plaza under the statue of Galileo and start our slow walk through the city. I actually did learn some things. 

Two hours later we meet at the Academia. Our guide gives us our tickets and bids us farewell. How strange. A nondescript building in a rather nondescript part of town. They are very strict about tour times because the place is so small. So interesting for one of the most recognizable pieces of art in the world. 

I wander through the other art. I can’t remember anything of particular interest, which sounds terrible, but I came to see David. Turns out, so did everyone. 

In this very tiny gallery you turn a corner and see the statue from across the length of the building. It really is beautiful. Bathed in sunlight. Standing above the crowd of people. 

He stands contrapposto, but still maintains strength and confidence. Michelangelo chose to illustrate the moment before the action that makes him a Biblical hero, the rock in his right hand, and the sling across his shoulder. An intimate moment of contemplation. The moment when he is still his average human self. With us. 

Somehow it’s better than illustrating victory.

I walk out. It’s a little after noon and the Uffizi tickets aren’t until 3:00. I walk around the city, grab some lunch, and head back to the room to cool off. 

Thankfully when I show up for the tour I am told my tickets are for the “self-guided” tour through the Uffizi. Thank god. 

Some of the masters of the Renaissance. Very excited about Botticelli, Caravaggio. All paintings I had to memorize and their location—Uffizi—and I’m here. 

But listen. At some point I got overwhelmed. And a little bored if I’m perfectly honest. This place is so beautifully decorated and packed with Roman sculptures. Busts of every emperor, god, person that was known by the people. But after the tenth, fifteenth, twentieth one it’s just like ok, another Roman bust. 

The same with the paintings. Another Annunciation, Visitation, Crucifixion, Ascension. You could spend days comparing composition, symbolism, form, color. Your entire career. Luckily people have already done just that, and I see the famous pieces and understand why they are the most celebrated. Thanks for saving me the time.

I love Botticelli, Caravaggio, The Madonna with the Long Neck, a few Rembrandts, the pieces by DaVinci are great, especially the large unfinished piece. And then I’m out. 

I wander to the east. I sometimes try to get lost a bit. Wind my way through the streets without knowing where I’m going. And then try to find my way back. Find the river. Like at home. Orient toward the river. Except this is the Arno. 

At night I sketch a few postcards from the rooftop. I can hear the bells from Santa Maria del Fiore.

The next day I sleep in because I did not sleep the night before. Grab a quick breakfast and cappuccino at a small cafe and make my way to the Boboli Gardens.

I can’t decide what this day will be like. The gardens remind me of my friend. She loved plants and gardens and flowers and birds and butterflies.

I wait in line and walk in and lose myself in the landscape. Winding paths, gardens, fountains, groves of trees, gravel under my feet. This feels good. 

It feels like I needed to be among the trees. I miss my runs through the park. 

I spend a little over two hours in the gardens and check out the Pitti Palace. They were not joking about “palace.”

I decide it’s too much. Entirely too much. Money dripping from the walls. A gross display of it all. So obvious. Again I’m bored. 

I find a few pieces I like, in the “modern art” exhibit. And then I’m out of there too.

I’m much more interested in subtle moments. Things that connect me with the simple parts of life, of living, of being a human, of being a small part of the universe. It’s harder to achieve, and sometimes even harder to find. Or maybe it’s easy.

I don’t know, but I’ve felt disconnected. Untethered. I remember when I was taking care of my mom I was reading The Untethered Soul. A bad idea when I had the uncomfortable feeling of floating, of having what I was tethered to dissolve. Like your boat anchor turning to sand. And your compass tossed overboard.

Trying to tether to myself. Which also seems dumb. The same as floating.

The book talks about letting life pass through you, not holding too tight. A lesson I am trying to learn too late. It’s not who I am. I cling to what I love with everything I can. People, places, memories, treasures. Small dumb treasures. 

I’ve got some hard feelings I’m dealing with. Some I’ve stood before many times, others I’m trying to bring up and work through. Please just let them pass through. My heart is an idiot. 

This trip is so wonderful. So incredibly wonderful. But I’m carrying around this backpack of a broken heart through the streets of Florence. And things won’t just pass through. 

And for a long time school was a distraction. It was a good distraction. And I loved it as a distraction. An excuse. I could separate my life. And when it was over, I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea what to do. Nothing had passed through for so long. And now, here I was, achieved it all, but completely terrified and frustrated.

Then work became a distraction. And I love it too. But I feel like I can’t distract myself anymore. 

I read something the other day that said something like “you’re not broken, your nervous system is working hard to protect you.” And damn if it hasn’t been for a long time. And I’m so tired. I say it all the time. Every time I talk to Emily she says she’s tired. We’re tired. 

The problem I have is that people go through so many horrible things, and carry on with such strength. And I can’t do it like I used to. I can carry on, but I can’t get back. I can’t make something out of it yet. 

And damn I’m exhausted. And impatient. Things in life I want and I can’t get there. And my brain is tired. I wanted this to be a moment of thought, of creativity, of getting back. And maybe it still is, but not right now. Right now it’s about rest I guess. 

An article from a good friend about Kevin Morby’s experience in Memphis. In that moment I miss home. Maybe I could have done this there. Maybe not.

After the Boboli Gardens I decide I need some more forest bathing. There is a lot of green to the south of the city, so I find a park on the map and make my way there this morning. 

I grab my book and bottle of water. A book about the origin of consciousness. Better than the other book I picked up that said it “could change your life” from the New York Times. “Could” change your life, not “will” change your life. A very important distinction. Anyway.

Hill after hill. My map says take the stairs, but the stairs are closed, so I have to take even more windy, hilly roads to get where I’m going. 

This is going to be good. I’m going to meditate. Climb the mountain, meditate, wake up my brain. People have done this for centuries. It’s gonna be good. 

I get to the park, drop my things and sit in the grass. I start my guided meditation. But nothing. I do another. Nothing. 

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Come on. I’m frustrated. So I lay in the grass and read. Pretty stupid to think I could get somewhere in an afternoon.

Back up to wander the dirt paths. I’m so mad. Impatient. But my brain won’t budge. Just quiet. No good words, no thoughts, nothing. I’ve got nothing. 

This is a lesson. I haven’t meditated since I tried about a month after we lost my mom. And tears just poured down my face. I stopped and haven’t done it since. I haven’t been running very much since November, since I lost my friend. Slowly pieces falling away. And it’s going to take some time to get them back. Trying to be patient. Some things needed to make their way out. Maybe this is it. An internet journal where I share entirely too much. 

I took a nap when I walked back from the park. I saw a cute cafe for dinner, so I got myself together and walked back across the bridge to find it again. 

I get there and stand in front of the guy at the bar. The inside of the restaurant is empty. Completely. He finally acknowledges me by looking up. 

“Um, ciao, do you have a table for one.”

“Hmm, I don’t know let me check.”

The manager of the restaurant walks in. He asks about a table for one. She rolls her eyes. Says something to him in Italian. You know what, I’m good. 

Before they finish talking, “don’t worry about it.” I walk out. 

Everything else on the way is packed. Fine, I’ll make my own party. 

I get a sandwich at this very good sandwich place that is so good they have three storefronts right next to each other to make ordering go faster. I mean, so good. 

I stop in at the grocery and pick up an orange and some cherries. Get my sandwich. And now I’m sitting on the rooftop again with an Aperol spritz. 

A text from Emily: “also Max will not let me touch the clothes I brought from your house, he just sits by them and paces”

Uggghhhh. I miss him. That poor, sweet baby. My best boy.

“Ps your blog is really amaze”

“I mean are you gunna win a Nobel prize in lit for it probs not but it’s very you”

“Sounds like you are over at my house just telling me about your day”

“It’s very comforting”

Ha! Thanks for keeping it real. I’m not going for a Nobel prize, I’ll leave that to the pros. I want it to be a way to connect. I hope it’s comforting. That makes me feel good. And I love it when people text me about it. Connection. Maybe I’m tethered to the people I love. And maybe that’s ok. Maybe I can’t change that. And maybe that’s ok too. 

Maybe David and I are in the same place—the moment before something great. I really hope so.