Tick Tock

I'm typing most of this entry from 38,000 feet above the ground...on a flight back to reality. Summer is over. And according to my self-imposed timeline, I'm supposed to have a plan by now...but I don't. I kind of thought that everything would just come together for me, like it always does...There'd be obvious signs and open doors leading me in the right direction. I'd be lying if I said I'm not concerned by my lack of a plan. I'd also be lying if I said this summer is ending the way I had hoped. Sometimes things just don't go as expected. Sometimes making a big decision is too scary when there aren't any signs telling you to make it. And sometimes there are just too many choices.

So the main problem I'm having is that my ideas are all over the place...and my mind gets distracted so easily. (I think I might have ADD.) In a typical morning, I'll be researching jobs in San Diego when I'll get sidetracked by the idea of teaching English abroad again...and then before I know it, I'm searching for jobs in Rwanda or Mexico or Thailand. Sometimes I even apply!  Then I'll go back to my original search, fixate on something that isn't even a good fit for me, and then before I know it...it's time for a nap. Then I'll spend the rest of the day pretending like I won't need a job. Ever. 

Here I am on Lake Tahoe feeling
very worried about my future.  :) 

There's always a dichotomy to the decision making. I'm torn between my grand visions of moving abroad again and the reality of what it would actually entail. I'd love to go back to Africa to teach those who would benefit most from learning English. But then I think about the discomfort, the money, the loneliness, the mosquitoes. Fantasy versus reality. Wanderlust vs. nesting. Spending time exploring vs. spending time with loved ones. 

You've heard the saying that not making a decision is actually making a decision? Well, I think my lack of a plan is actually forcing me to implement my default plan, which is to stay in San Diego. Nesting here feels about 90% right. Mostly because I want to take my cookware collection out of storage; I want to hang up my photos and art; I want to be close to my little nieces and my family; I want to go to dinner with my friends; and after two years of mostly being away, I want to be "home" for awhile. But still, there's a voice in my head that's a little worried that I might make the wrong decision.

My Aunt Rita, our family matriarch,
on her 87th birthday, and my Uncle Jim,
one of the greatest men ever created.

Like I aleady mentioned, I'm currently on a plane (increasing my carbon footprint and drinking cheap wine) back to San Diego. I'm returning from Rhode Island, where I spent the last five days with relatives from my mother's side of the family. We were celebrating the life of my grandma (who we lost one year ago) and the birthday of her younger sister, my Aunt Rita, who just turned 87. When I say I was with my relatives, I'm talking about aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, third cousins, and friends of family members who we've "adopted" into our crazy group. There's the stereotypcial drinking, storytelling and miscommunication you'd expect from a big Irish Catholic family...lots of confusion, but never a dull moment.  As one aunt said, "we put the fun in dysfunctional."  Our gatherings are like a strong medicine, best taken in small doses. I need them for my survival...but an overdose would probably kill me (or at least zap me of ALL my energy). We may be crazy, but at our core we're full of love for one another...and we're all connected by a strong bond and a mutual appreciation for the inspirational matriarchs of the family who have modeled how to truly enjoy life.

Rewinding to how I enjoyed life last month...a distant relative from my father's lineage made the trip of her lifetime (with some coaxing by yours truly) to come visit me in California. Despite being nervous to travel alone to a new country, Tatiana made the solo trip via (scary) JFK Airport and into Los Angeles. Her visit gave me a chance to reciprocate the tour guiding she did for me during my time in her country. Turns out, this also was an opportunity for my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder to return. I had forgotten what a weirdo I am with schedules and planning itineraries. I just wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for her, so Krazy Kristin emerged and micromanaged every single detail of the trip. Poor Tatiana got to see the neurotic side of me while we were together 24/7 for three weeks. I ran a tight program that included many firsts for her and that I think gave her a nice overview of life in Southern California. I tried my best to debunk the Italian myth that American food sucks. And since much of Californian culture is about freedom and non-conformity, I think she discovered that not having rules tied to all parts of daily life can be kind of liberating. (You can eat what you want, when you want, where you want, with whomever you want. Yay!) Here are some of my favorite photos from her time here...

Padres baseball game (thanks Chuck!)

Southern California livin' - Cocktails in the pool

Big Sur - on our way to San Francisco

Newport Beach...Tatiana's last night. (I miss her.)

In the process of being tour guide for Tatiana, I fell in love with my home state and more specifically, my hometown. I guess this is another reason why staying here feels (90%) right. I love the diversity of the city; its proximity to the ocean, mountains, desert, and Mexico; the countless 24 hours/day drive-thru taco shops; and the relaxed San Diego culture. Of course there's also traffic, a high cost of living, and too many shopping malls...but overall, it's pretty awesome. And showing it to someone from another country made me really appreciate it.

Before Tatiana's visit, I was in southeast Alaska visiting Natcho during his brief break from the wilderness. Like most of our reunions, the time was just long enough to reconnect before it was time to separate again. But whether or not we realized it at the time, there was more at stake during this visit. I finally saw the town he calls home in the summertime...the town he's raved about for years. And I liked it, but I definitely felt like a foreigner in a strange land. I could never live in Alaska....or in a super small town...or without plumbing, for that matter. Also, our "see you in a few months" pattern has finally reached its breaking point (with me). Sadly, I'm conditioned to live without him in my day-to-day life and therefore, living without him feels more normal than living with him. For the last nine years (!!!) I've held on to a hope that we'd be able to figure out a way to have a more traditional lifestyle and relationship, but now I don't see a solution...except to accept that there isn't one. 

We've put it into an avian metaphor: I want to build a nest...and so does Natcho, but unfortunately, we're two different types of birds. You see, he's an extreme long distance migratory bird, like the Arctic Tern. Whereas I'm more like the Brown Pelican, which likes hanging out at the beach and only traveling up the coast to see friends or to grab a bite to eat. I don't need to travel for survival. Migratory birds, on the other hand, need to be on the move...or they die. He's tried to convince me otherwise, but I don't believe him...I guess only time will tell.

Wildflower walk in Gustavus

Finally saw a bear on my last day in Haines!

Speaking of time, I have a love hate relationship with it. Maybe everyone does. It's either moving too slowly, like when we're waiting for something to happen; or it's moving too quickly, like when we're wishing for something not to end. Slow time can be fantastic, like when you're savoring something special. But often it's difficult, almost painful...like when you're waiting for a long flight to end, or waiting to see that special someone again, or waiting for a sign from the universe to show you what to do with your life. But in general, I think time is slipping past us without most of even noticing...Until we're on the other end of it, looking back and wondering where it went. 

How we spend our time is an indicator of what's most important to us. Why don't we spend more time with the people who we'll miss most when there isn't any time left? Why do we choose to spend time with people who don't bring out the best in us? Why do so many people (myself included) waste so much time on things that pull them away from productivity? Why do people spend their workdays doing something they don't even enjoy? How we spend our time is how we spend our life. Our one life! 

Hopefully by the next time I write (although maybe this is my last entry):

- I'll have found a job that makes me happy, but doesn't stress me out. 

- I'll be making enough money to live, eat and travel. Living simply. 

- I'll be spending more time with the people I enjoy and love. 

- I'll be using my time in a more productive way to make myself a better person, thus spreading happiness.

Wish me luck!

p.s. Check this out: Timelapse Video of Earth 
(It reminds me of how quickly we're all moving in our little lives while our planet spins and rotates around the Sun.)

Letter to Verona (City of Love)

Dear Verona, 


You probably won't even realize I'm gone, but I want you to know that I'm going to miss you. A lot. Considering our rocky start, this might come as a surprise to you. I won't bring up all the problems we had at the beginning of our relationship, but I think you know as well I as I do that you could have been a little nicer to me. In the end, though, you made up for it. (Thank you.)


Oh, the memories... Remember that time I accidentally crashed my bike into a high-heeled Italian goddess? That was actually kind of funny. Or when Corso Milano started to become my "comfort zone"? (Not so funny.)  I didn't have a place to live, friends to eat with, or a sense of direction in this small city. Thank God that transition period didn't become my Veronese reality. I found an apartment. I made friends. I learned how to get around town without getting lost. I'm still running into pedestrians (and other cyclists), but that can't be helped. 


Speaking of our early days, I actually owe you an apology for my behavior. I'm sorry for judging you, for talking behind your back, and for threatening to not return after the holidays.  In hindsight, I see how ridiculous I was being. (It's not like you even cared if I returned or not. Duh.) 


As you probably know, I chose you so I could become better connected to my distant relatives in Olfino. The plan actually worked better than expected. Not only have my great-grandfather's relatives become my real family, but his birthplace is now my second home. And something even more amazing happened...my countryside acquaintances became my friends for life. They are the truest of true friends, and leaving them is maybe the hardest part of leaving you. 


I was reminded of some valuable lessons while living here: 

• Language is powerful. It can bring people together or it can divide them...and sometimes it can isolate them. But really, you only need eye contact and a smile to connect with another person.
• Take a chance. Don't wait. Time is precious...and it disappears quickly. 
• Open yourself up to new people and things. (This is especially good advice for you, the Capital of Closed People.) 
• Be patient. With everyone. Especially yourself.
• Don't think too much. (A 90 year old man in Cinque Terre kept telling me this.)
• Life is too short to spend time with boring people. Find the interesting ones.
• Wear high heels every once and awhile. Discomfort is part of life. Embrace it.  
• Keep smiling. (Even when you're alone.) 

For many months I didn't understand why you called yourself the "City of Love" because love was the last thing I felt here. But during the last couple months, things started to change. Good thing I'm patient because the real Verona was worth waiting for. I'm leaving here full of love for you and for those I met along the way: my students, my new friends, my colleagues, the produce man, the girl who works at the enoteca downstairs, the security guards at the barracks, that older woman on bus #12 every Thursday at noon, the barista in the cafe across from my school, and even the mean woman next door. All these people, put together, were the puzzle pieces to my little existence here.


A quote by Tennessee Williams that pretty much sums up how I'm feeling: "There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go."  The anxiety I feel from not knowing my next steps doesn't mean I'm supposed to stay here (although part of me would love to). Even though I'm sad to leave, it feels right. 


I'm no stranger to goodbyes, but this one is especially bittersweet. How do you say goodbye to people who you care deeply for, but who you'll probably never see again??? I'm pretty much an expert at it. So here's the secret: Pretend like you will. 


Ci vediamo...until we meet again...hopefully soon. 


With Love,
Kristin

Decisions

Life is full of decisions...some small, some big.  While some decisions are obviously life altering, others are secretly life altering. (Did you ever see that movie "Sliding Doors"?) I've always had trouble making decisions. I tend to overthink things, maybe because I'm fearful of having any regret. Even on the smallest level, like at a sandwich shop, it sometimes takes me forever to make up my mind. And then afterward, I'm like, "Damn, I should've gotten it toasted." So on a bigger level, it's often extra hard for me to make a decision. And then it feels impossible when you don't even know what your choices are!  I'm once again at this crossroads where I can go in just about any direction, but nothing feels right. I feel pressure to do something grand, something with passion, something that makes the world a better place...but what?

To add to this confusion in my head, I've really grown to like it here. I'd be quite happy living here longer, but I have this nagging feeling to do something more meaningful with my existence. (Something other than eat gelato, teach English to the privileged, and expand my knowledge of Italian wine.) Should I move back to the States? Find a job; settle down. Move to a different country? Find a purposeful job; create another temporary home. Return to Italy? Eat more gelato. 

Just as I was feeling really unsure about everything, I received a message from the Universe that read like this:

A Universal Rule on Decision Making...

Don't make them, Kristin, until it's time to make them.

Unless you already know what you want, in which case, however, there is no decision to be made.

OK, so decisions don't need to be made until it's time to make them. Got it. If you know what you want, then it's not technically "a decision." Got it. But what if you're like me, for example, and you're 37 years old and need a job after this job and a place to live after this place? Then what? Then I think it's time to make a decision. Or is it???? 

Why did he choose the middle doorway?
Why not the left? Or the right?
They lead to the same place....Or do they?

During the last two months, I've traveled just about every weekend and seen some more of what makes Italy so special. The best part was sharing part of it with my mom and aunts, who were here for ten days last month. 

Me & my mom in Florence!!!!!!!!!!!!! (pinch.)

Then a weekend in Cinque Terre was the best possible way to spend Natcho's last few days in Italy. 

Our hike down to Corniglia, through vineyards and wild flowers

Feeling a bit sad that my loved ones had all left, I realized I have loved ones here too! So Tatiana and I planned a road trip down south to a region I had never even heard of before: Marche. 

It's hard to say which region is the most beautiful, but Marche definitely comes in at the top. 

Despite feeling like I need a grand plan, I'm going to put my soulsearching on the back burner for now. With just five weeks remaining, my main focus is on spending more time with my favorite Italians, both my distant family and my new friends, who I know I'll miss deeply after I leave. And the other focus is to just enjoy each day. Sometimes the biggest decisions we make are to just get out of bed, go outside, be present, smile, experience & enjoy the little moments, and be kind to every single person we encounter. And for me, right now, that's enough. 

Peanut Butter

When I was a kid, my mother and I developed a code word for the times I wanted to come home from a slumber party or a friend's house. The code ("peanut butter") was used so my friends wouldn't know I wanted to go home.  For example, "Yeah, I'm having fun but I sure am craving some peanut butter." It was that simple. Use the word and my mom would come pick me up. Homesickness was always a challenge for me and "peanut butter" was my safety net. 


Embarrassingly, the use of this code continued after childhood. While in college, the adventurous part of me thought studying monkeys in the Costa Rican rainforest would be perfect for me, but once there all I could think about was going home. After a little more than a week, I called my mom collect and told her there wasn't any "peanut butter" in Costa Rica. Her response: "You've GOT to be kidding me!!!???", but within a few days I was back home. Too mortified to tell my friends that I quit my big adventure after only two weeks of my two month monkey program, I camped out in my bedroom and hid from the world. After that depressing experience, I lost faith in my ability to be adventurous and independent. I became somewhat paralyzed by my fear of feeling homesick and failing again. Despite my strong desire to leave San Diego, I grew roots and decided I was destined to live there forever. It's beautiful, has a perfect climate, geographically ideal, and most importantly....close to my mom and all things familiar.


I played it really safe for about six years, and probably would have continued to take the safe path in life, despite my desire to be more adventurous. But then I met Natcho...and things changed. Like, really changed. I was introduced to a whole new world of nature and adventure and independence. Not only did he force me to leave my comfort zone, he took me to places my comfort zone didn't even know existed! To him, I am probably still a city girl who won't ever be able to live like a real outdoorswoman/adventurer. But to me, I'm a superstar. I left home! I've been gone for a long time and not once have I even considered using the secret code. This is huge! Because of this, I now know I can do anything I want to, whether it's move to a new country, quit my dream job, or reinvent myself again and again. I'm finally that independent woman I daydreamed of 15 years ago. 


My mom's coming to Italy to visit me next week! She asked me what she could bring me from home. My response: "Vanilla extract, measuring cups, my bathing suit...and peanut butter...the crunchy and salted kind from Trader Joe's." 
My, how times have changed.

Attenzione!

The title of this entry is only meant to capture your attention. There actually isn't all that much to report, but there have been a few mildly noteworthy things that have happened in the last month:

First of all, I have a bicycle. It's a foldable vintage bike (though I haven't figured out how to fold it and it might not actually be vintage). A student gave it to me to use during my stay here, which is the kindest thing a Veronese has ever done for me. Since I'm not allowed to store it in the garage of my apartment building (more on that drama later), I have to carry it down and up the stairs each time I use it. I almost gave myself a black-eye with the handlebars during my first attempt, but I'm slowly becoming more efficient & careful. It's all about balance and control, so I guess carrying a bike isn't all that different from riding one. 


I'm also in a new love-hate relationship with the Present Perfect.  It's complicated.

I've adopted the use of an alarm clock into my daily routine, an unwelcome addition, but a necessary one due to my Mon-Wed-Fri early morning classes at the army barracks. (Where I get to teach a classroom of uniformed Italian men!)

And we've had a couple earthquakes, ones big enough to scare the Veronese into closing the schools for a day and a half. Did you know you can predict earthquakes? Neither did I, but after the 9:30 a.m.  quake, another trembler was predicted for about noon that day. This meant that almost everyone was outside, evacuated from their office buildings, schools, stores and hospitals. Just waiting. 

I had my first cold of 2012, which I thought was an allergy attack to my new alpaca sweater. Thank god I was wrong because I really like that sweater. Then I got my second cold of 2012, which turned into a sinus infection and put me out of commission for a couple of days. It was then when I realized the important role Sudafed plays in my life. When you start rationing decongestants, you've seen better days. By the way, did you know that I got sick because it's cold outside? Yes, in case you missed the memo from 1928, people get sick from cold weather. Not from viruses. It's a common fact here. 

Speaking of cold weather, it's been snowing! This is new territory for me...I mean, I've been in the snow before, but I've never had to walk or bike to work in the snow. Snow = slippery! Winter here means lots of fur coats.  It also means less eye contact, a constant reinforcement of the "closed" behavior that the Veronese are so well known for. And amazingly, it means Verona has become even more beautiful. There's just something about a medieval town laced in white frost.

Winter also means comfort food at the Stefanoni house. After much anticipation, I have finally eaten pearà. This is perhaps the dish that the Veronese take the most pride in, as it is seeped in regional history dating back centuries. It's only served in the winter months and best when prepared by an Italian mother. My surrogate Italian mom, Margerita, made it for Sunday lunch and it was definitely worth the wait. It's basically a super savory peppery sauce (made with bone marrow) that is served with various boiled meats. Yes, I said bone marrow.

And I'm trying to teach myself about Italian art, which is giving me a focus during my stay here in Verona. So far, the learning has mostly happened only through osmosis. I stumbled upon Giuseppe Arcimboldo while teaching a 12 year old girl in her home and was transfixed on her poster of this amazing produce man next to her little desk. While visiting Il Settecento a Verona, a temporary exhibit here in town, I absorbed some 18th century Veronese-related art that provided insight into the history of this area. Portraits of regular people and rich people and rulers, as well as some religious art, of course. I get all mixed up when I try to remember the names and the periods and the details, but for now, this is my new thing.


On the horizon: 
I turn another year older this Saturday, which I guess is really fantastic when you take into account the alternative. One of my colleagues, perhaps the youngest one, recently told me that I looked good for my age, especially considering how old I am. I think this was a compliment. 


Also, on Feb 22nd the three mean women in my apartment building will have their official apartment building meeting, in which the issue of my bicycle will be on the agenda. Will it be allowed overnight storage in the ground floor garage (which is huge and practically empty)? Or will I need to continue carrying it up to my fourth floor apartment? I think I know the answer already.


With only four months left here, I plan to continue enjoying every day, person, class, bite, sip and sunset I encounter. Each day is a gift. Here, there, or anywhere. 

Olfino Horizon, Jan. 2012

Neither Here Nor There

Verona from my castle window

With my new niece Capri!

I've been back in San Diego for the holidays, which has meant lots of much-needed family & friend time, amazing weather & sunshine, delicious non-Italian cuisine, hikes with views of the Pacific Ocean, and trips to Target. It probably goes without saying that I'm staying at my mother's house, in the bedroom I've slept in for most of my life. This is my home. Sort of. My possessions are dispersed among here, my apartment in Verona, and my storage unit (yes, I am still paying for that space!). It's a strange feeling to be on vacation at home and then return "home" to Italy. It's all backwards. Sometimes home feels like nowhere, and I guess that's OK. 

I keep getting asked a lot of the same questions, so here they are along with my responses:
So, how is it? Fine.
Do you like living in Verona? Yes, sort of. Usually. More now than in the beginning.
What's it like? Expensive.
How are the people? The Veronese refer to themselves as being "closed." At first I took their unfriendliness personally, but now I just find it odd. 
Do you like your job? Yes, sort of. Usually. More now than in the beginning. 
What's it like? My classes are spread throughout Verona, so I spend just as much time speedwalking as I do teaching. My more advanced students know English grammar better than I do and I'm constantly second guessing whether or not I should be teaching English. I'm the Queen of the Dangling Preposition so what am I doing trying to teach grammar?!
What are your students like? Almost all are adults and range from beginning English learners to conversational speakers; from military personnel to college students.  They've reminded me of how important interpersonal connections are to my happiness. 
What do you miss most? Cilantro. 
Don't you just love Italian men? Not so much.
(gasp) Why not? In general, they epitomize metrosexuality and are more concerned with their designer labels than anything else. And quite honestly, they're not into me either. 
Are you going back? Yes, definitely. My job commitment and apartment lease are both through June. And more importantly, I have tentative plans to go to a Wilco concert in Bologna in March! 

Living in Verona is kind of like dating someone who you're not that into. Someone who sounds like a great catch, but who is missing that special something.  Verona is quite possibly the most handsome city I’ve ever dated. It’s very sophisticated (some might say pretentious) and has an impressive capacity for food, wine, art and architecture. But despite its attractiveness and wealth of knowledge, I know this will just be a temporary relationship. 

While walking down the street, a Veronese will probably look at you while you pass, but in a disgusted “Linen in winter!” sort of way. When I smile at a passerby, the other person looks at me like I'm crazily skipping along and singing “Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah.” I've been told that this "closed" behavior is common in colder climates, but I don't believe that's the correct explanation because Minnesotans are some of the friendliest folks I know. However, now that I've penetrated the invisible xenophobic membrane of many Veronese, I can say with certainty that they are wonderfully warm and friendly people once you get to know them. 

Rainy but magical visit to Venice

Even though Verona is situated in an ideal spot that allows one to easily reach another region of Italy or a different country altogether, I haven't traveled much farther than Olfino. To travel around costs money and this vagabond is on a strict budget. I make just enough money to cover rent and food, so planning little getaways hasn't been a possibility. But then Natcho came to visit, which meant weekend trips were in my destiny. Once my Sugar Daddy rolled into town, I was whisked away to Venice, Florence, Siena, Milan & then NYC before my final flight home. It's amazing to me how much ground we covered during his three week visit, but this will probably come as no surprise for those of you who know him. Highlights included possibly the best risotto of my life on the Venetian island of Burano, sunset picnics everywhere, climbing to the top of the duomos in Florence & Milan, and the ignition of a spark inside of me to learn more about Renaissance art. 


People keep asking me about my post-Italy plan like I'm supposed to have one. That's like six months away! I think I have plenty of time to figure things out and I'm confident that my next "move" will be the right one, whether it leads to another temporary home or finding a more permanent one. Either way, I'm excited to see where 2012 takes me!

Burano Island, home of the famous fish risotto found at Trattoria Da Romano

"That's Amore"
Young Italian stallion seducing one of the many American college girls in Florence.
(Best eavesdropping of my life.)

Inside the duomo of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence.

Siena...Wow, wow, wow! 
This is a glimpse into the piazza where they have the Il Palio horse races.

Milan's Duomo, which took over 500 years to complete!