|Hanging out to dry in Genoa, IT|
I am a big advocate for celebrating discomfort. So much so, that I left a very slight incline of a film career in Hollywood, a measly one hour drive from where I grew up for the past 24 years, to live as an au pair in Torino, Italia.
I am 6,000 miles from home, and after solo tripping across the country for two weeks back in August, a trip which consisted of me and Fran tip-toeing along the Canadian / US border for 5,444 miles, a 6,000 mile move seemed doable.
I am a sucker for change. I call myself spontaneous, but maybe at my age, spontaneity is just an optimistic word for being rash. See, I can cross borders, rivers, and oceans, leaving familiarity in a billow of dust behind me, but I can't run from myself. Six thousand miles and I'm still afraid of commitment. Three months and I'm still making excuses as to why I did not write today. One month till I'm 25 and here I am considering if I should start a food blog when I get back to Virginia.
Allora has a better ring to it than "so." And yet: So, this is me saying I am grateful that I get to live in a city with a cinema museum, reminding me of the career I can return to in a few months. This is me saying I am thankful for the rare opportunity to be so far away from home by choice, learning a new language and new skills for the kitchen. This is me saying that I have met incredible people from all over this beautiful pale blue dot, whose post cards can fill my walls in the years to come. This is me admitting to myself, yet again, that my curiosity is a gift, but it only takes me so far.
What's after these 6,000 miles?