I’m not going to Italy to find you; I’m not even writing the book to understand you. I’m going because “I should know better.” What this means, I’m not quite sure. My three week Bar Vacation became a four month Sabbatical when I visited Flip, a wiser, more experienced widower, who told me “I should know better.” I guess I’ll find out.
I think it means Peace. Peace with you, myself, and the person I will become. I’ve caught some glimpses of Peace over the past three years: on the cold hard concrete benches outside of school in the October afternoons, marching up the mountain to school in the misty morning sunrises on the city, even in front of the fireplace studying Evidence. I often had to work to find them, and when I did I had to take a moment to recognize them as such, because it was such a foreign feeling from the struggle of heartache, the challenge of functioning, and the emptiness of uncertainty.
Normally, the feeling of peace was fleeting. I would become so overwhelmed with gratitude for having been blessed with the moment; I’d end up back in tears, desiring to sustain it, grab onto it, and cling to it for dear life. True to its nature, it would evaporate just at that moment.
I’m going to Italy to be overwhelmed with those moments, not to stock up on them, but to let them flood my heart and soul, so I may come back with renewed energy to start again.
