Tag: psychology

Rome… Rain… Rest… and The Golden Girls

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Walking in Trastevere in the morning, 2.15.11

Up until this week Wednesday (the 16th), I have been taking long walks around the city of Rome.  When I say long, I mean like 4 hours long…  I am not quite sure how many miles I have been covering, but I do know I have been enjoying myself immensely!  There would be nothing very special about my walking for long periods of time (especially in my 3-inch heels!) except for one fact:  I have fibromyalgia (FM).

Although the fibromyalgia syndrome has become more well-known over the last few of years, it still remains somewhat of an enigma to the general population.  This is due to the many symptoms associated with the syndrome, the complexity of the diagnostic procedure, and also the continued controversy within the medical field over the validity of the diagnosis – Some doctors like to have a specific “cause” they can treat, rather than dealing with numerous “effects” and uncertainties.  Moreover, the nature of fibromyalgia is that it is chronic, even though many people can live for years in remission. 

Tender points used in diagnosing fibromyaglia (public domain image by NIH, from Wikipedia)

I won’t go into the details of the fibromyalgia diagnosis. I will, however, give you some highlights as to what the symptoms are, so that you have a fuller understanding as to why I am writing about this today.  The symptoms include, but are certainly not limited to:

Fatigue

Pain

Cognitive Dysfunction (problems concentrating, long/short-term memory impairment,  etc.)

Sleep disturbances

Migraines / Nausea

 

So, what does this have to do with my stay in Rome?  Well, everything.  You see, since Tuesday afternoon I have been spending most of my time… sleeping. 😉

I will tell you that the onset of my fatigue coincided with a drop in the temperature, followed by rainfall… and weather typically has a dramatic effect on many people with fibromyalgia.  Also, many people diagnosed with fibromyalgia may also have a comorbid diagnosis of seasonal affective disorder (S.A.D.), amongst a host of many other diagnoses… (see above links).

As a person living with fibromyalgia, especially as a therapist, it is important to incorporate self-care into my daily schedule.  Moreover, it is important for me to be mindful of how much energy I am expending, how much stress I am experiencing, and above all to keep my mood elevated.  🙂  So, what’s the point, D?

D in Boston (late autumn, 2010)

The point is that while I was in Boston, I could hardly walk down my street, or really do any physical activity without feeling extremely tired and being in pain.  I often woke up feeling tired, nauseous, in pain, and sad.  There were probably many factors that played a role in my experiences (like… well, Boston decided that a snow storm every week was really the way to go…).  Upon arriving in sunny Rome, I found that all of these symptoms seem to fade away.  I had boundless amounts of energy, was never nauseous, had no pain, and my mood was great!  Well… Until this week. 😉

D in Rome, 2.17.11

You see, the thing with fibromyalgia is this – You have these moments when you feel amazing as though everything is okay with you, that your brain and body are actually functioning in the way that they ought.  When you have these moments of remission, it can create within you a feeling of self-doubt.  Why?  Because you begin to doubt whether the pain, the nausea, the sadness, and the fatigue are real…  That is, whether or not you are truly experiencing these symptoms or if you are merely being psychosomatic, especially because, as I mentioned above, there is no known/verified cause of fibromyalgia.

When you experience a significant relapse (and the likelihood that you will may be pretty good depending on your lifestyle), it drags you back down to your reality, which is… that you are a chronically ill person.  Yes, it confirms that you are not crazy… that you are not making your symptoms up, and that they are real!  It, however, reminds you that you cannot live life as though you do not/may not experience these symptoms ever again. 

Thus, here I am… a bit tired, a bit in pain, a bit sad, a bit nauseous… Just a bit.  This week has been a reminder for me that I didn’t leave my fibromyaglia behind me once I stepped off the airplane upon my arrival in Rome.  This week is a reminder that I am still who I am in some ways…  I am still a person with fibromyaglia, who needs to take care of herself. 

And yes, Rome has been good to me and for me, and for that I am glad.  I need also to be good to me as well… And so, I am going back to bed. 😉

 

The Golden Girls

I love “The Golden Girls.”  This is not a result of the new Betty White craze.  From a very young age, I enjoyed watching the show because of the wonderful acting, brilliant writing, and important themes.  As an adult, I have continued to watch “The Golden Girls, ” and was presently surprised to come across a two-part episode titled, “Sick and Tired.”  The episode chronicles Dorothy’s experience of dealing with chronic fatigue syndrome (CFS), which is a similar diagnosis to fibromyalgia (FM) – Actually, many people with fibromyalgia are encouraged to receive a primary diagnosis of CFS in order to receive disability, because FM sufferers are often denied disability.  Back to “The Golden Girls.”

The first time I watched this episode, I was overwhelmed by emotions because of my own struggle with being diagnosed with FM.  I had been suffering for years with many symptoms, from migraines to immense fatigue.   I had been told by doctors that perhaps my problem was that I was “overweight,” or that I “didn’t drink enough water,” or that I “needed more exercise.”  No doctor, it seemed at that time, was willing to help me put the puzzle pieces together… And all the while, I became sicker and sicker, constantly getting colds, constantly feeling pain to the point that I could not walk, and being so tired that I could not get out of bed, even lifting my head felt like a chore.  It took the wisdom of my therapist and (randomly enough) my dermatologist to help me begin sorting through what was happening to me… To give me a name for what I was experiencing.  And more importantly, to validate me and my stated symptoms, and thus help me to validate myself.  So, if you have a chance, take a look at this episode.  I think you can see most of it on YouTube.  You may never know when you may meet someone like me… who may have a diagnosis that isn’t readily apparent, and not easily understood.

 

You can see part 2 on YouTube.

What if I told you… a Secret?

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What if I told you that on Thursday, October 14, 2010 as I sat on an airplane travelling back to the U.S. from my very first trip to Rome, I wrote the following words,

“I want to return to Rome and stay for 6 months 1month very soon.”

At the time I had no idea as to how I would do this.  I had no money, no time, and no seeming way that I could make this manifest.  I just knew that I wanted to do it.  I knew I had to do it.  I believed that I could and I would do it, even if I didn’t know how.  From the moment of writing those words, a series of many things happened, both experienced as good and bad.  All moved me towards achieving the above goal. 

What if I told you that by October 27, 2010 I had bought my ticket to return to Rome for less than $500?  What if I told you that along with the above words, I had also written,

“I want to live alone while I am there.”

and that by November 11, 2010 I had met the man, from whom I would eventually rent my studio at an affordable price.

 

The Power of Belief and Self-efficacy

The self-fulfilling prophecy is a fairly popular concept in today’s society, but it can be traced back throughout the ages. 

The idea is a simple one: what we truly believe, we will manifest into reality.  Typically, the self-fulfilling prophecy has a somewhat negative connotation as it may be used in association with “bad” events.  For example, if a man continuously worries that his wife will leave him, and then eventually  she will.  The self-fulfilling prophecy, however, is a simply strategy of thought manifested into reality.  The manifestation, however, can occur in three ways: positive, neutral, or negative. 

A positive manifestation is simple enough.  It is when we desire something positive to occur in our lives and we truly believe that it will, and thus it does.  The negative manifestation is, of course, the opposite of the positive.  A neutral manifestation (and this is my own term) is when we want something to occur in our lives, typically positive, but we do not fully believe that it will – We end up with perhaps a type of “mixed” result, a neutralized experience. 

For example, you may have just been interviewed for a new job and believe you will be hired because you see yourself as the best candidate.  At some point, however, perhaps due to delay in response from the company, you begin to doubt yourself as being the best candidate… you still believe that you are a very good candidate and that there is no reason why the company shouldn’t hire you, but now you are not sure.  So, you get the call.  You are hired!  Yes!  There is a problem, however.   You are offered a lowered salary or a different position altogether, because the company believes you are not as qualified for the position as they would like for you to be.  Do you see?  The situation has been neutralized.  You are happy for the job offer, but unhappy because the result is not exactly the way you had hoped for it to be… It is exactly what you believed it to be – That is, perhaps you were not the best candidate, merely a good one – Why would a company pay top dollar to good candidate or give that person the position when they can hire the best?   

In psychology, we have been quite happy to latch on to the self-fulfilling prophecy to help people to change their thoughts and their behaviours, and thus ultimately their lives.  Regardless of the branch of psychology, in my opinion, the ultimate goal is to have people have better opinions about themselves and a more positive outlook on their lives, in order to live their lives more effectively and successfully.  As a practitioner of DBT, I am constantly asking clients (and myself) to keep themselves open to new ways of interpreting the experiences they have in the world.  Why?  Well, like I said in my post on Saturday (2.12.11), it is our thoughts that dictate our emotions, and our emotions that dictate our actions, and our actions result in direct and indirect consequences (some of which we may not like).  Thus, it is in controlling our thoughts that we have the power to control ourselves, and the impact of the world around us on ourselves, holistically.

What we think, i.e. our thoughts, is one aspect of the self-fulfilling prophecy.  It is, however, not enough.  Thinking something once does not make or break you (and thank goodness for that!  Or else, I would be in serious trouble!) – It is the pervasiveness of our thoughts, i.e. how much we believe in our thoughts.  How often are we thinking these thoughts?  Are they there in the back of our minds as we go throughout the day?  Are they the first of our day, or last thoughts before we go to bed?  Are they the instant thoughts we have in reaction to anything “bad” or “good” happening to us?  This is what I mean by pervasiveness… by belief.  How much do you believe in your thoughts?

There are many of us who would like to say, “Oh, I might think some negative things about myself, but I don’t believe them.”  Really?  Then, why do you say them to yourself?  Ask yourself. 

The truth is that we can see ourselves as quite capable individuals in many areas of our lives, and are able to say to ourselves, “Bravo, you rock!  You’re awesome!” (These are some of my cheering statements – Feel free to borrow.)  There are, however, other areas, where we may not believe ourselves to be as capable and may say things like this ourselves, “I can’t believe I am so dumb!  Why do always crazy crap like that?  Nobody else would have been so stupid!  I’ll never get things right!  I am such a mess up!” (These aren’t my self-doubting statements, but you get the point – Remember, D says, “Don’t use these! Bad for you!”)

I intentionally listed more self-demeaning/self-doubting statements.  Why?  Because, we tend to verbally beat ourselves up more!  That’s why!  Come on, think about it!  For how long do you keep yourself in a state of misery after something not so great happens?  For example, let’s say your boss, or teacher, or parent told you that you did something wrong, and they were angry with you…  I know this must have happened to you at some point in your life (and if it hasn’t happened, then bully for you, and just try to imagine it).  For how much longer after that conversation, were you upset with yourself, with them, with the situation?  Think about it.  No, really, try.  Perhaps, if you are trying really hard right now and remembering a very specific situation, you might even be experiencing the very emotions associated with the situation.  You might even feel a pang of anger, of embarrassment, and/or of fear.  And as I told you before… our feelings are a manifestation of our thoughts.  So, what are/were you thinking?

We are who/what/how we believe ourselves to be – Remember that I did not say “imagine ourselves to be.”  If you believe yourself to be “an incompetent fool” underneath your projected image of competence, then what you are is an incompetent fool.  Moreover, what people see is that you are an incompetent fool pretending to be competent.  (And if you don’t believe me, see the history of, thankfully, former American President George W. Bush.)  Think about that.

Self-efficacy

I decided to give self-efficacy its own subheading, in order to give this rather lengthy post a bit more structure.  

 I am truly a fan of the concept of self-efficacy.  It incorporates so many of the principles that I consider truly important in creating a meaningful and rewarding life.   To develop a sense of one’s self-efficacy is to begin understanding and, yes, believing in one’s capacity to create and accomplish one’s goals and other tasks in life.  These goals are not merely intrapersonal (relating solely to the self), but also interpersonal (relating to others).  It is sort of that idea that no matter what challenges life presents, you have the ability to tackle it! 

To go into the complete ideology of self-efficacy would be time-consuming and perhaps (somewhat) boring.  Thus, I will not.  I will encourage you, however, to look into it.  Also, think about how self-efficacious you are in this moment.  How do you see your ability to take on whatever life throws at you?  Remember, self-efficacy is not about “going it alone.”  It is about understanding your strengths, understanding where you may need help in order to achieve your goals.  It’s about using your smarts/intelligence/wits (however you want to put it) to get you where you want to go, but knowing/believing that your smarts/intelligence/wits will get you there no matter what!  You dig? 😉

A secret… The Secret

I suggested that I would tell you a secret…  And I shall. 

There are very few pop psychology book/self-help books that I really recommend that people read, or that I even read myself.  After all, most of my time is spent reading… well, psychology articles or books that are more strictly pertaining to my professional interests and background, which takes up a lot of time (as you can see… people in psychology like to write and talk… a lot ;)) – Thus, it’s nothing personal, and definitely not an issue of snobbery on my part.

As such… here is my secret:  I have been reading “The Secret” by Rhonda Byrne from page to page.  Now…  I will tell you that when my mother bought this book for me back two Christmas’ ago, I was a bit nonplussed.  After all, I am a capable and competent (read “self-efficacious” here) therapist, what do I need with this pop psychology book?…Okay, maybe there was a bit of snobbery. 

I will tell you three things about The Secret: 

1. It is about self-fulfilling prophecy aka the power of belief  with an emphasis on the power of positive thinking (See, Positive Psychology). 

2. It is about believing in/developing a sense of your own self-efficacy (see discussion above). 

3. It is small enough to put in a small bag.

Mind you, I am not endorsing The Secret or any particular thing on my blog.  If, however, you decide to run to your local library, get a copy, read it and like it, then… the only other pop psychology book I have ever bought (besides ones about eating disorders, which is my specialization… so I ought to know what’s out there) is Bryn Collins’ Emotional Unavailability : Recognizing It, Understanding It, and Avoiding Its Trap.  

Let’s just say, if you have ever been in a bad relationship, or if you are in one right now… or perhaps you are always in bad relationships… and you can never understand why… Well, Emotional Unavailability might help give you some perspective.  It’s a slight introduction to some basic DBT concepts on interpersonal effectiveness). 

 

Some thoughts on being a secret-keeper/privacy-holder:

As a therapist, it is my job to be a secret-keeper/privacy-holder for secrets/private thoughts that are non self-harming to my clients.  It is an important role and one that ought never to be violated.  I feel very honoured to be and to have been entrusted with the thoughts of so many who have come to me for help throughout the years.  There are truly not enough words to express my gratitude and humility.  

The title of this post, “What if I told you… a Secret?” though meant with some humour is actually a commentary on the fact that we may not often share with others what knowledge it is that we may have amassed over the years that has been truly beneficial to us in living our lives.  My secret is that I live my therapeutic practices every day of my life – I practice what I preach.  And it is truly my hope that in sharing these thoughts with you that you will benefit in some small way in your own life.

Best regards,

D.   

For the purpose of full disclosure: I am a registered Independent.

Hunting for Valentine’s Day! Plus, a woman eating alone = Feminista!

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I will admit it.  I forgot. 

Upon waking this Monday morning, I had only two thoughts: one, call April and wish her a happy birthday; and two, finish my blog entry for yesterday.  I completely forgot that today happens to be Valentine’s Day.  As I mentioned in my very first post, I am usually late… and apparently, not just with time.

So, it was that I received excellent electronic reminders that today was indeed the day to run out and get your beloved all sorts of treats and flowers galore! And I thought, “Wonderful!  I am in this city that is supposedly filled with romance.  I am bound to find red and pink heart-shaped decorations, chocolate fountains, and dozens of roses just littering shop windows and even the streets!”

I actually threw on a pair of jeans and sneakers (and for those of you who have been around me more recently, the fact that I am not wearing heels is perhaps amazing), and ran out the door, ready to be greeted by amore and strains of “‘O Sole Mio.”

It's still a regular day on Via Arenula (2.14.11)

What I got, however, was this (image on the right).

Life in Rome was simply going along as though the day had no particular significance.  I couldn’t believe it!

I decided that I must be in the wrong section of town, and walked back over towards Campo dei Fiori, where I was certain I would find evidence of Valentine’s Day! Or, at the very least, some tourists showing excessive amounts of PDA.

Heart-shaped cakes in store window (Campo dei Fiori)

 

Campo dei Fiori did not disappoint me!  Although sadly, in comparison with the commercialization of Valentine’s Day (V-Day) in the U.S., the V-Day efforts of Campo dei Fiori seemed quite mediocre, if that. 

I was pleased to see the evidence of V-Day celebration being displayed by some of the vendors in the marketplace and also by some of the stores (well, one store).  

Woman with heart-shaped headband (Campo dei Fiori), 2.14.11

One woman, in particular, was really in the V-Day mood as she made her way throughout the marketplace.  Another woman was selling flowers (or hoping to) with a beautiful array of roses amongst other equally attractive flowers.  A male vendor sold carnivale masques and some V-Day theme items. (Although I am still not sure what they were… I just saw the sign.)  All in all, Campo dei Fiori had a pretty good and promising vibe for V-Day, especially as the weather was bright, fairly warm and sunny.

Woman flower vendor (Campo dei Fiori), 2.14.11

The experience at Campo dei Fiori left me feeling very hopeful. Thus, I made a mad dash towards Largo di Torre Argentina, camera in hand and at the ready to snap pictures of V-Day in the making.

I love Birkenstock sign (Rome, Italy), 2.14.11

Well… to cut a very short story even shorter.  There was nada, or niente (for the sake of adding an Italian flare).  I did, however, discover that there were expressions of love for other things… like Birkenstocks (I think Germany will be happy to know this on V-Day.)

Couple walking (Rome, Italy), 2.14.11

Oh!  And I almost forgot!  There was also the random couple that actually showed some potential acknowledgement of V-Day… 

Side note: Yesterday, Giuseppe told me that “love is the most important aspect of [Roman] life.  After all, Roma spelled backwards is ‘Amor,’ which means love.”  Really?  You could have fooled me.

 

 

 

 

 

I eat alone.  Therefore, I am a feminist!

After my long and emotionally taxing (Yes, it is quite emotionally draining to search for love – You and I both know it’s true!) morning spent walking around the apparently anti-Valentine’s Day city of Rome, I decided to head back to my neighbourhood of Campo dei Fiori for lunch.  Recently (as in, last night), I discovered a wonderfully inexpensive, but quite good, bar/cafe very close to my home.  It was to this cafe that brought my tired self to enjoy a little V-Day lunch before heading home.

I had been thinking much about yesterday’s demonstration by the women of Rome, and wanted to find a way to talk with some Italian women about their experience of gender roles in Rome.  Luckily, the night before I had met a young woman named Janet, who works at the cafe.  She also happened to be working today.  I decided to ask Janet if I could make a time to speak with her about her experiences. 

At the conclusion of our very brief conversation to exchange contact information, one of the male servers asked Janet a simple question in Italian.  Unfortunately for him, he assumed that because I spoke in English that I could not understand Italian. 

He asked: “Lei è femminista?” (Is she a feminist?)

I answered him, “Sì. Io sono femminista. Perché?” (Yes. I am a feminist. Why?)

In English, he responded, “Because only a feminist would eat alone.”

And so there you have it… If you do not want to be seen as a feminist in Rome (per this Italian man), best not eat alone.  As for me, eating alone is equally as comfortable and appreciated as eating in the company of others. 

I wonder what he would think if he knew that my grand plan for this evening is to watch the movie “Gladiator” and to write?

 

In Rome on Valentine’s Day

Love I will not write

The cold of my heart like snow

Words of my mind – death

Just when I thought hell would have to freeze over… Demonstrations in the streets!!

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I will tell you, there is nothing quite like thousands of women and men shouting the English word “bullshit” all in unison!  No… really!  Especially, when this is done with strong Italian accents, it really makes you smile, and feel proud to be an English speaker! 🙂 

Women's Demonstration against Berlusconi & the Government (2.13.11)

Okay, there were many other reasons to feel quite proud today, and they had nothing to do with being an English speaker.  They, however, had everything to do with being a woman!  Yes, that’s right!  The women of Italy must have heard about me complaining in my blog, or somehow psychically felt my ever-growing disgruntled pms-ing energy pervading the universal ethers (because everything is really all about me – No, really, I know! 😉), and decided to show me that the women of Italy knew what was up!  And what was up was their dander!

"Al sesso, bello, sporca, tutto, un capo brutto" Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

The very same thoughts that I have been sharing over the last few days about my observations on the behaviours of Italian men, or at least the structure of the Italian patriarchal society that so highly influences its men’s behaviours, was being reflected back to me by these angry and highly organized as well as mobilized women!  They shouted for respect and equality!  They asked not to be seen as just sexual objects to be used and abused by men such as Berlusconi, the current Italian president.  They asked for all Italian women to be united and to stand up for themselves, and to demand their place in society, rather than be treated as second-class citizens!

"If not now, when" Sign at Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

I was amazed, dumbfounded, and humbled.  I realized that I have had the misfortune of only having had the acquaintance of Italian males, and did not understand at all the experience of the average Italian female.  In my independent, liberal-minded, feminist, American arrogance (Yes, I said, “arrogance,” because it was true.), I had made the assumption that the Italian woman was okay living in this system, and had quietly acquiesced to her place of submission –  I was wrong, and am truly glad for this discovery.

Women at demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

What is equally amazing is that I would not have known anything about this demonstration had it not been for a man.  Enter Giuseppe: a politically-minded, middle-aged, professional.  He along with a number of many other Italian males were participating actively in the demonstration and screaming and shouting along with the women, and applauding the female presenters!  This was highly encouraging to see.  After all, up until this point, I had all but decided that Italian men were… well, let’s just say, not quite enlightened.

Men at Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

The cynic in me, of course, is always able to point out the many people who are, what I call, “token” activists.  That is, they come to a demonstration here or there, but otherwise do nothing, or actually do everything to thwart whatever the movement is. 

These “token” activists are able to say, however, that they believe in the movement because they went to a demonstration.  It is like people who say they do not exhibit any racist behaviour because they have minority friends, yet still they may make stereotyped commentary about minorities (all under the guise of “It’s just a joke.”)

I suppose this is my fear –  That these men might just be “token” activists,

Berlusconi Flyer (Given out at the Demonstration), 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

and do not actually believe in the cause, or will not actually do anything to help the women further it.  That these men, in essence, are there just for lip service and to be a “token” display of gender alliance. Well…  I will choose for today to look at the glass as half-full however… and be happy for these women, and happy for myself too, to have been witness to this event. 

 

 

 

 

 

It is not lost on me that the women chose to hold this event on the day before Valentine’s Day… Especially as I have been told, Valentine’s Day is not much celebrated here.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

 

 

 
 

"Indignant!" Banner at Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

"Enough!" Banners at Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)


















Thousands gathered, Women's Demonstration, 2.13.11 (Rome, Italy)

Reflecting on week one… and Pressing the “Play” button.

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It may be easy to forget, especially amidst my somewhat colourful observations, that when I first started to write about my experience of Rome, I compared Rome to myself.  Today I wanted, to reflect on this.   This is in order for you to understand a little more about why I chose to come to this place; where, for all intents and purposes, I am so utterly harassed and seemingly jarred by its culture. 

In my work as a therapist, I have chosen to focus on two modern approaches to understanding the human experience – I will, however, confess that I am also quite rooted in both humanistic psychology/existentialism and psychodynamics – These approaches are dialectical behavior therapy (DBT) and internal family systems model (IFS).  At this point, you might be wondering, “Okay, D, what exactly is the point?” 

Well, the point is that these two approaches have, in essence, saved my psychologically-saavy booty from disaster time and time again!  I suppose, I wish that I could apply these approaches to Rome… If only Rome were a person, with whom I could corner, speak and encourage (Apparently, I am quite good at all three of these actions, particularly the last.  My thanks to April, Doli & Isobel and others who have agreed.) to have a session either with me or someone else (Group therapy even!  I am sure there are some other cities, whole countries,…entire continents, who would want in!). 

Perceptual Organization (Two silhouette/Vase) - Image by Mila Zinkova, who neither endorses this blog or my use of this image.

You see, Rome reminds me of how I used to be, i.e. unable to show my true “Self,” only showing to people (and myself) various “parts” of myself, but never the whole.
   
I will spare you the lecture on IFS (today).  I will, however, try to explain what I mean by the above-statements.  It is like the image on the left – I think most of you know this famous illusion. What do you see?  The two faces? Or the vase?  Either way, your mind will force you to see either one, and then the other, but rarely simultaneously.  In essence, we are seeing only one “part” of the image, and then the other “part” reveals itself to us eventually. 

People are like this too.  We sometimes compartmentalize ourselves, and show only parts of ourselves to the world around us.  At any given moment, ask yourself, “What part of myself am I showing right now?” or “From which part of myself am I operating?”  It is when you begin to realize that you are not whole, not completely synthesized as a human being, that I believe you can begin to make effective change.  Because at that moment, you can begin to become more aware of who you are, the many parts that make up you and why they are.  Now back to Rome.

A restaurant in the Campo dei Fiori neighbourhood.

 
So far, I have been only able to see Rome dichotomously.  I am presenting this picture on the right as an example of the dichotomy of which I have been experiencing.  When I first looked at this area, all I saw was a restaurant.  My eyes, however, were then drawn to the image at the top of the building directly ahead.  Do you see it?  If not, then I will give you a closer look below. 

Religious image on building in the Campo dei Fiori neighbourhood.

Pleasure and religion –  These are the two sides that I have been able to see of Rome thus far.  For me, the merger of pleasure and religion has quite a jarring effect, and has created within me this feeling of Rome as a place of inauthenticity and superficiality.  There are usually and thankfully, however, more than two sides to every story – My own self-development is a testimony to this.  Thus, I am inclined to give Rome a chance to tell her story in a new way, and to keep my ears and heart open to experiencing her differently.  After all, this is what I have done for myself, and as a result I am the most content I have ever been in my life with who and how I am as a person in this world. 

Pressing “Play”

Last night for the first time in a long time, I truly cried.  I cried not because I was angry, or something bad had happened.  I cried because I could actually allow myself to feel a moment of fear, and to let it manifest in tears for myself and my unknown future.   Crying is a healthy action, and I have encouraged it for years in my clients.  It is, however, something I have despised doing for a multitude of reasons.  Allowing myself to cry last night meant something very important to me.  It meant that I was continuing to grow, and to become more emotionally healthy as a human being – And there is nothing wrong in that. 😉

In DBT you learn that our actions/reactions are often triggered by our emotions, and our emotions are triggered by our thoughts, i.e. how we perceive the circumstances that are occurring in our lives.  The point is, if you are able to become aware of your thoughts and to change them, you are more capable of effectively managing your emotions, and thus able to manage your actions.  Why am I harping on about this?  Well, I am going back to my crying last night.

Crying is a reaction to an emotion I felt, which was fear.  Emotions are wonderful and powerful, and a driving force for creativity.  How we choose to manifest our emotional states is important to consider.  Crying is healthy.  Throwing a chair out of a window is not (and no, I have not done this, but I have seen it done). 

As I said our emotions are caused by our thoughts.  So, what was it that I was thinking that caused me to feel fearful late on a Saturday night while alone in Rome?  What caused me to feel fear was that I did not know,… that my life is in an uncertain place – And in that moment, I doubted my own self-efficacy.  Doubting one’s self can be a difficult and life-stopping experience.  It can ruin careers, relationships, and even actual lives.  When we begin to doubt, we are in essence putting ourselves on a type “pause.”  We are holding ourselves in abeyance until we have some evidence of a direction in which to go that helps us to feel more secure or self-assured.  Being in abeyance can feel safe for a long time, but you are not living if this is where you are.  You have hit the “pause” button on your life, and hoping that “something,” or sometimes “someone” will come to propel you into the play of life once more.

However, the reality is this: you pressed the “pause” button.  Thus, it is up to you to press “play.”  No one can do this for you.  You can get help, and there are always people to help, if you are willing to be helped.  The job, however, is yours…

So, I am taking my own advice… I am pressing “play.”  There is a time for fear, and I have felt it.  My life is uncertain, yes.  What isn’t?  (Oh yeah, death and taxes… I know!)  This uncertainty, however, can also be looked at as a chance for a grand adventure and new opportunities.  So, world (and presently, Rome),  I am opening myself to you and accepting all the life-benefitting, wonderful and rewarding gifts you have to offer!

Watch your thoughts, they become words.
Watch your words, they become actions.
Watch your actions, they become habits.
Watch your habits, they become your character.
Watch your character, it becomes your destiny.
-Anonymous

Rome is in-love… with Viagra. Plus, who knew? Io so come parlare nell’italiano.

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Ah…. Love.  It gives you that warm and queasy fuzzy feeling in the pit of your stomach… kind of like menstrual cramps (For the men out there, think of a bad bout of the stomach flu – It’s basically the same thing.)  By the way, just for the record, my sister, Michelle, told me this morning I was a bit of a cynic.  Though for the life of me, I cannot fathom why!  Now on to more truthful statements. 😉

Yesterday I thought I was emitting pheromones.  It turns out that I wasn’t far off, because today I discovered the source of the pheromone-emission: Piazza Navona.  That’s right!  With its centrally located and overbearingly phallic Bernini fountain shooting sprays of water for all passersby to enjoy and be potentially sprinkled by, Piazza Navona acts as some type of Roman pheromone repository to be accessed just in case the sexual tension eases even ever so slightly in the Eternal City.  And apparently with my arrival, the heaping amounts of asexuality that I normally drag around with me like an untamed and hungry elephant (I had to trade the lioness in – She really didn’t take up quite the right amount of space and didn’t cause nearly enough damage.) was just enough to set off the alarm bells from Campo dei Fiori to the Piazza di Spagna.   

Thus, upon my first visit, my asexual powers were neutralized as I stood (like any good tourist would) close to Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s Fountain of the Four Rivers aka Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (that’s right… four) to take a picture! 

Close-up of Bernini's Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi (Piazza Navona)

My subsequent visits only resulted in a type of dousing that has left me… Well, you know already… (And if you don’t, then read the last post and catch up!)  By the way, there are three fountains in Piazza Navona: one on either entrance (Fontana del Moro, located at the south entrance & Fontana del Nettuno, located at the north entrance; both by Giacomo della Porta) and then the above-mentioned granddaddy of them all.  So, truly, there is no getting around the pheromone emissions, ladies… So, deal with it and carry a fly swatter, or a baseball bat, or a can of mace – Whatever your fancy… Unless you like the attention.  If you do, then have at, because the men surely will!

Welcome to Piazza Navona... and it's fountains. (South entrance)

 

Fontana del Nettuno, "Fountain of Neptune." Honestly, I wouldn't mess with him... Just spray me with pheromones already! Especially, if you're going to be all weapon-wielding and testosterone driven. Sheesh! (Piazza Navona)

Fontana del Moro, "Fountain of the Moor." So, I am less intimidated... but still, every orifice something pouring from it... (Piazza Navona)

 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 
 
 

 

 

 
 
 

     

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Fontana dei Quattro Fiumi, "Fountain of the Four Rivers" Um... Yeah. I think that says enough. (Piazza Navona)

  

Ahem, but actually, this section was about love… That’s right! The warm, fuzzy, yada-yada…(and I never watched an episode of Seinfeld in my life)… Couples, couples everywhere and evidence of breeding to spare!… This was the situation in Piazza Navona (and I have the pictures to prove it)… On the one hand, in the overcast gloominess of the morning, it was sort of sweet (in a cloying way) to see these happy young and old couples walking hand-in-hand, pregnant women, and children playing… After about 30 minutes though, I was quite sick of the public displays of affection (PDA).

Love is in the air... (Piazza Navona)

Love, all grown up!

Sweet... Isn't it? (Pizza Navona)

And then, of course... (Piazza Navona)

Not even the next generation is spared... (Piazza Navona)

 

I know… You might wonder, “D, why can’t you just appreciate and enjoy the wonder of love?”  Well, I guess, as I said above, I did… for a brief moment.  It is, however, things like the following situation that just kind of… well… kill it for me.

 
So, I mentioned yesterday that I had been accosted by no less than 4 middle-aged Italian men.  Of the four, I found that one seemed relatively harmless, and didn’t speak a word of English – Ciao, Vincenzo!  Thus, I thought, “Aha!  Here is an opportunity to practice my non-existent Italian… And if I need to (in case he turns out to be more on the strange side of things), I can always simply just start speaking in English while slowly backing away.” 
  
I met Vincenzo at the Piazza Navona in the latter part of the morning to take a walk around Rome and to see the sites (Vincenzo is visiting from another part of Italy).  When we reached the northern entrance of the Piazza, Vincenzo suggested that get a cup of coffee at one of the many gelatarias/coffee shops to be found in the area.  This one happened to be right at the north entrance – I tell you this, so that you can go there one day.  Upon entering, I was instantly attracted by the colourful display of gelato (What?  I am not stupid!  This is gelato we’re talking about!)… Now, when I say that after this experience, there is nothing else in Rome that can surprise me, I really mean it.  I mean…  If this does not tell you about the state of the patriarchal structure here in Rome, then I don’t know what will:

Try some gelato... Viagra flavour! (Cafe, northern entrance of Piazza Navona)

 

I made this picture quite large because I know the quality isn’t the best.  Um, but I think you can make out the word.  Now, I have never seen Viagra pills in my life, but apparently they are blue – Isobel informed me of this later on the day.  So, here it is… A blue gelato called “Viagra.”
 
 
 
I know how to speak in Italian. (Io so come parlare nell’italiano.)

It wasn’t enough for me to simply see this gelato and leave well enough alone.  No, I had to talk to the shop manager, who was quite a lovely lady and who also did not speak a lick of English.  Well, I am not sure how I managed to find my dictionary so quickly, however…  With the aid of my handy-dandy Berlitz Italian-English Dictionary, I was able to have a conversation with the manager about this Viagra gelato. 
 
The conversation went something like this:
Me: “Um… This is Viagra gelato?”
Manager: “Yes.”
Me: “Why?”
Manager: “I don’t understand what you mean.”
Me: “What is the meaning of this ‘Viagra’ gelato?”
Manager: (laughing, turns to male customers) “She wants to know the meaning of “Viagra!”
(A great deal of Italian chatter and laughter then ensues amongst the men.)
Me: “Yes, why do you have a Viagra-flavoured gelato?”
Manager: (Still laughing) “For the men, of course!  They need to have Viagra gelato!  It is good for them”
Me: “Um… I will have to let the ice-cream shops in the U.S. know about this then. Thanks!”
Manager: (Smiling) “You’re welcome!”
  
And so now I believe… sometimes… just sometimes, it’s better to not know… and I will remind myself, every now and then, to simply to leave well enough alone! 😉

 

I am emitting pheromones… and a night of Italian punk

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There are certain things I have come to realize about myself during my brief stay in Rome: 1) I more of myself than I ever was, and 2) who I was is now gone, and I am not quite sure if I existed.  With that said, let’s talk about today (Just so you are with me, it’s actually Thursday, February 10… Nevermind the posting date if it’s different.) 

Middle-aged Italian men have “ginormous balls.” What I mean by this is they have the amazing ability to dismiss whatever non-verbal social cues, such as the ABW scowl or head-turn (you know, you know what I’m talking about!), one might be displaying, which might mean something along the lines of “Now, really?  Do I look like I want to talk to you?”  Apparently, the sarcasm is completely lost them, or they choose to ignore it, because they always answer what is a truly rhetorical question with “Why, yes, D! You do want to talk to me.”  (Read/go watch and learn, young Italian men! Cat-calling is not the only way: Sheer and dogged questioning, regardless of language barriers – This is how you do it!) 

So, it was that I encountered no less than 4 of the above-mentioned men in a span of what amounted to less than 2 hours…  And what was I doing?  Was I sitting still?  Standing stationary somewhere, looking desperately in need of company?  Nope!  Actually, if you talk to anyone who knows me, I keep a military pace when walking.  It’s double-time, baby, when you’re with me!  Hop to it!  So, I ask you… How, in all that is beloved, did they manage to catch up to me?  (I have a sneaking suspicion it has to do with those 3-inch heels I have been marching around in! Thank you, Mudd shoes!)

Now, you might say, “D, why didn’t you just ignore them?”  Well, first, I hate being rude.  Second, the image of myself, a semi-tall Black woman, being chased by a rather short Italian man was too comical for even me, and so I thought it better to spare everyone the scene – Please, don’t get the wrong impression here.  I am far from egotistical.  Actually, I think I am quite ordinary/plain-looking.  So, I have actually chalked this whole Italian-men-chasing-me-thing up to pheromones, exoticism, and a serious need for a more cosmopolitan society.   In the interim, however, does anyone know if there is any kind of “Pheromone-off” spray I can use?  Please, send to Via dei… Oh, forget it!  Do you know about the Italian postal service? (Let me put it this way: It will probably reach here after I am back in the States.)

The Art of Punk

Let’s just continue with sex… I mean, The Sex Pistols, and the rest of Punk movement, which lasted how long?  Um… Is it actually over?  Someone really needs to tell some of the people I know back home… And apparently, some of the people here in Rome too, like the ones at tonight’s exhibition on Punk art (to be followed by an 80s dance party with intermittent moments of punk, doo-woop, and surf music – That’s right…“Surfing U.S.A.”).

My courageous companion, Isobel, to whom I offer many thanks for the invitation to this very entertaining event, looked shell-shocked as we watched the parade of young and old “punk” Italians break out their best dance moves to the Bet-you-can’t-guess-what-beat’s-coming-next music offered up by the brilliant and talented DJ (who I know, for a fact, possesses mad skills, because he exhibited these prior to people actually coming on to the dance floor).  I suppose, however, that I should stick to mentioning the art exhibition.

Well… Hmm…. I am not really sure what I can or should say about the exhibition,… and that about sums it up.  It’s best to leave well enough alone.  No, really – It was less of an exhibition and more of a reason to get together, drink, dance, show yourself, and be a part of the in-scene.  Perhaps that’s the exhibition I should actually talk about. 😉 So, let’s!

There will be a day (perhaps tomorrow) when I will actually devote some time to describing what I call the “peacock” trend of the Italian male.  Italian men are not merely metrosexual… They are something beyond this (I just can’t think of a word.)  I mean it is like taking every single gay male stereotype regarding grooming and tossing in healthy dose of another stereotype, i.e. the high-maintenance, gold-digging ex-girlfriend/boyfriend in the mix (It’s simply not enough to be high maintenance, in my humble opinion, gold-digging is a must!) You know?  Well, we’ll get into that another time.  For now let’s talk about the attendees of tonight’s exhibition.

I love the word “fop” and am quite dismayed that we do not use it more often in the English language to describe men and have now resorted to “metrosexual” (Wait just one minute!….  This is the word I was missing earlier! Aha… “Welcome, to Era of the Italian Fop!”)  Well, my version of the Italian fop was nowhere present at this event.  Isobel, however, made the comment that these men, more than likely, “spent more time in front of the mirror before coming [to the exhibition] than she did” (and the beautiful Isobel is no slouch in putting forth her best self ).

It was hard for me to understand what she meant, however, because all I could see was some sort of cross between a sort of “roll-out-of-the-bed-welcome-back-to-the-90s-grunge-look” meets the still (apparently) popular “emo” look, which was born out of punk but isn’t true punk.  Then again… I am no fashion expert.  

My lack of knowledge, however, was quite okay.  Isobel let me know that I was graced to be in the company of Rome’s trendiest of scenes – I was actually attending a gathering of some of the ‘It’ people of Rome, who the rest of Rome actually looked to, in order to understand the latest trends in fashion.  Ah hah!…  I wondered why their grungified and emo’ed clothing was so highly fragranced in Eau d’Euro…  It was all coming together for me.  Did I mention that this event took place not a stone’s throw away from Via dei Condotti, a rather famously fashionable, always busy, and disgustingly expensive shopping street?  Actually, I make it a point to walk down it whenever I go to the Spanish Steps… just so my two favourite stores, Goodwill and Buffalo Exchange, have some free international advertising. 😉

Speaking of advertising, why is there a free drink stand for Absolut Vodka at, what seems like, every social event (usually they are  lgbqt ) to which I have been over the last few years?  Is it not enough that Italians have to deal with wine?  Must we now add vodka to the mix?  Furthermore, and not saying that this event involved lgbqt people whatsoever (besides myself), but the prevalence of alcoholism in the lgbqt community is an enormous problem, and having free drink stands at any such event only serves to increase it.

Side note: Oh, by the way, my gaydar says “I see gay people…” Now, if I could only find the cats…

An old gypsy woman, Italian men… and renewing my “Bitch” card.

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An old gypsy woman at the Spanish Steps, Feb. 9, 2011

I realized today (…Am I caught up yet?) that unbeknownst to some men (and I am sure some women too), third-wave feminism did not die out in the 90s when it began, but is actually still alive and kicking its very high and pointy stiletto-ed heels as well as steel-toed combat boots (both of which I happen to own, even if I am more partial to the pointy variety at the moment)!  By the way, I am generally inclined towards ignoring the outline of my headlines and just plunging into whatever topic most interests me first.

Italian men

What a way to start?  The topic that most interests me first is Italian men… Right!  Well, it’s perhaps not in the way that you might think.  No… This is not the “Eat. Pray. Love.” – version (Yes, there may be many more references to come… Deal with it) of some handsome, young, Italian man with an unpronounceable (at least, for me) name such as “Massimiliano” sweeping me off my very queer-loving feet into some fairytale love-land or even love-fest.  Actually, this is a two-part observation: one of two men I know personally, and the other of the Roman men I have observed so far… or should I say, who have observed me?

Part 1. I have two friends here.  Fortunately, or unfortunately, they both happen to be male and Roman.  One, I believe, is more accepting of his Roman-ness and wears it as a badge of honour (Friend A).  The other, well… We’ll just say that he thinks of himself as a sensitive type of man (Friend B), which I am not quite certain fits in with my perception of the Roman male… Then again, what do I know?  I have only been here a couple of times in my life, and only know these two guys.  So, what the heck.

Without going into very long and rather tedious stories, I will simply state that both Friend A & B demonstrate a similar behavioural pattern, i.e. the when all else fails, “women-are-at-fault-all-times-no-matter-what.”  Curiously enough, this behavioural pattern has manifested only when I was engaging in an assertive act, such as expressing my own position on a topic, or my own right to act independently, or my own right to be heard and not be demeaned.   Immediately from both of these men, I was told that I was somehow injuring them by being assertive.  That by actually standing up for myself, I was actually being “rude” and “aggressive!” (Insert “Angry Black Woman Syndrome” because that is what it surely sounded like they were suggesting to me.)  I am in therapy.  I know for a fact that I am certainly not a sufferer of ABWS. (Now,where is that certificate of proof?)

Part 2. Beyond my two friends, I have been subject to the scrutiny of the general Roman male population, whose members, I can tell you, are not shy about making their assessment of your sexual appeal known.  Between the catcalls (“Bella!”), the stares (up and down, and up and down, and up and down, and call the friends over to stare up and down again and up… you know), the polite hellos (“Buonasera“), the direct one-on-one pretend conversations (“Hi, are you American?”or “Where are you from?”), and the pull-the-car-over-to-the-side-of-the-road-to-stare-and-try-to-engage-in-conversation (yes, this actually happened on Sunday); life here in Rome has been quite simple as a woman to enjoy. 

I don’t at all feel like a walking vagina on a daily basis whatsoever.  Nope.  Not at all!  I don’t at all feel like I should try to scrub away the filthy, grimy looks I received all day long as soon as I get home – Mind you, one never knows if the looks are due to lewd thoughts, or racist thoughts, or some whacked combination. Either way, it does make leaving my little studio each day quite an adventure!  It could be enough for a more reserved woman might want to resort to wearing a burka, were she permitted to do so.

Back in October as well as now, I wondered how Roman women have been able to deal with this kind of crap (what I deemed Roman male chauvinistic attitude towards women’s equality and sexuality) for generations.  Then, I thought about the rapidity of the language of Italian… and how for the most part, it was pretty hard for anyone to get a word in edgewise… and I had the answer!  The women didn’t listen to these whining,complaining, and seemingly sex-starved men -The women just talked over the men! (Okay, maybe I am being a bit simplistic, but…) 

I suppose the therapist in me had prompted me to have the patience to listen to them, or even to pay mind to them.  In the case of my friends, the reality was that they just did not like having a woman stand up to them… once again.  In a patriarchal society, what’s new in that?  And in the case of the general Roman male population… Well, men always desire what they esteem highly, but can never have.

Renewing the “Bitch” card

So, I renewed my “bitch” card, put on my name tag “Bitch Numero Uno” and wore it proudly today as I walked out of a bookstore, leaving Friend B behind, who thought that I should spend my time chasing after him (after he walked off and left me without letting me know where he would be going… I imagine he did this because of the small lecture I gave him on feminism… Oh well!).  Side note:  I am beginning to think I need to pick better Roman male friends.

Being a “bitch” is a necessary mode that all Black women must be able to access in my humble opinion.  When I say “bitch,” I mean that you are quite capable of showing even deeper levels of your personality, that you too are  a “beautiful, intelligent, talented, courageous hellion,”  and will serve all of that up with a smile. 😉   All you need is a reason.  Right? 

Black women have for too long been subject to the bottom of the totem pole.  It is in our best interest, therefore, to thwart anyone who tries to get in our way from upward movement… At least, these are my beliefs.  I could also apply the same thoughts to a whole slew of minority groups to which I also belong (general women-folk, foreign-folk,  gay-folk, chronically-ill-folk…you get the picture).  In essence, down with the man!… Did I just write that?  Well, what I mean is… Power to the people!  And the people, in this moment, happen to be me.  And I happen to be a Black woman living in Rome, albeit for a short time, where minorities are not well-liked or respected (no matter how nicely it’s put – Thanks, Francesco and Catherine)… and I am not sure exactly what the position women exactly hold… and if it is actually seen as vertical (of course, I am quite new to Rome, so don’t hold this against me… My opinion might change).

Old gypsy woman

There are many beggars here in Rome like many cities around the world – This is nothing new.  Guidebooks, natives, embassies, your friends and even parents warn you against them.   Don’t give them your money.  While one distracts you, others will come to rob you.  Darn right!  It’s true…  It is equally true, and not surprising for me, that a majority of the beggars that I have seen in Rome have been women…  And of course, minority women.  From what little I can tell, my assumption is that they are gypsies, who have been notoriously stereotyped as thieves and who live in fear in Italy due to their minority status, especially as the level of intolerance for cultural and ethnic diversity increases throughout the Italy’s major cities. Sadly, it seems to me there is a lot to be feared by the Italian male, if you happen to be female and a slight shade darker than White… At least, this is my opinion for the moment.  Who knows what experiences and new insights 17 more days will bring.

For the most part, I like beggars.  I always have.  I should actually rephrase that.  I like to help the homeless.  I was brought up that way.  It is not in my nature to look askance at someone, or to turn my nose up, or to shift my eyes away from that which makes me uncomfortable.  I learnt this from my mother, who I watched when I was a child give to many strangers bags of food when we, ourselves, were quite poor.

Distinctly, I have a memory of an old man who came to our home in Jamaica asking for food in exchange for work.  My mother would have been happy to have given him the food without having him work, but he insisted to cut the grass in the back of our house.  I watched him all day cut away at the tall grass with nothing but his frail body wielding, what seemed to me then, a giant cutlass.  This image has never left me. 

So it was that I found myself today standing atop the Scalinata della Trinita dei Monti (“Spanish Steps”), located in the Piazza di Spagna, looking  down at an old gypsy woman holding her hands clasp together as though praying.  She called to each passerby and to those who stood above her, “Ho fame.” (“I am hungry.”)  I stared at her for a long time.  I did not think much about whether or not she were telling the truth.  I only thought that I liked the look of her face.  Her face told many stories as she had seen many things – Stories I would never know. So I took pictures of her – Several.  And for that, I placed a euro in her jar.  Still afterwards she called to me, “Bella, ho fame.”

I smiled at her, and thought, “So am I.”

Playing catch-up… I can be such a hypocrite.

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Cold pizza tastes good,
warm.  Rome is in its winter –
No frost on windows.

I am sick of pizza.  Perhaps it is a blasphemy to say this in Rome… or anywhere in Italy.  It is, however, true.  As a vegetarian, Rome leaves much to be desired.  And as a vegetarian with penchant for Thai food… I am sooo in the wrong place.  Perhaps this will become some sort of abbreviated ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ – type thing.  After all, I am a young woman searching for herself, or something… No, I don’t think so.   Now, back to pizza.

I have a favourite restaurant now in my little neighbourhood, which is effectively Campo dei Fiori, and a grocery store that is two doors down from my apartment building.  There is even a yarn store (yes, I am a yarn addict – find me on ravelry.com).   What I don’t understand is this: why, my goodness, must there be a million and one pizza restaurants in what amounts to less than one square mile?  Okay, so I am exaggerating… just slightly.  But seriously!  Why not throw in a Thai or Indian or Chinese or Japanese or Caribbean or Ethiopian or some other country restaurant in the mix?  I understand that foreigners are not exactly welcomed… but truly, it would break up the monotony, people!  Is it just me?

Sunday, Feb. 6. Everyday I take a walk across the Ponte Sisto bridge over to Trastevere, which apparently is a favourite night spot for the young people (apparently, I am no longer young as I have no interest in being there at night).  This day found me strolling through what are becoming familiar streets and also quite unfamiliar streets.  And just to go along with my above rant, I thought I would mention the other thing that I found quite incredible in Rome as well: a tendency towards duplicity, hypocrisy, if you will.  A restaurant, Aristocampo, had posted on the front of their building, “We are against war and tourist menu.”  This is all fine and dandy…  Now, one of the things that Trastevere is renown is its wonderfully inexpensive prices for food.  So, it was quite to my surprise when I noted just how “expensively” “touristy” Aristocampo’s prices are.  I suppose they are quite fine to take as much tourist dollars as they can, but not so fine to cater to tourists otherwise. 

Rome cannot hide its duplicitous/hypocritical nature behind the fading “romantic” facades of its ancient buildings.  At least, not from me… as we are quite the same, Rome and I: grasping to become better versions of ourselves while attempting to assuage the years of damage done to us by ourselves and others.

Rome, che cosa vuoi?

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Statue of Giordano Bruno

Rome is a hard place and I am a hard person.  What I mean by hard is simply that Rome is all stone and little nature.  It is all grit and grime and movement.  I often feel now that I find myself to be same…  That there is no softness, purity, and no patience…  I am eager to build upon the last event and move on from the present one.   I feel as though my life has shown me too much in too short a period of time, and has made me too wise… but not wise enough to avoid this place where I have now found myself.

If you asked me what I want most right now, I would say to be free of all worry… then I would say to remember… then I would say to forget… then I would say nothing… for why should I want?

I despise Rome because it is so much like me – It reflects back to me so much of myself… or at least, who I have been in my many forms.   And it seems that now I am finding myself to be no different from many of my clients, whom I have seen over the years, i.e. wanting the past to go away… wanting to be far away from myself, but finding myself nowhere else but here with me.  I suppose I am human after all.  And so I have placed myself here in Rome, a physical manifestation of all of the parts of me I had come so to resent, but perhaps no so much anymore.  Now, Rome, what do you want?

Nessun Dorma

“Nessun Dorma” (“None shall sleep,” an aria from Puccini’s opera “Turandot.”)