A couple of months ago, I settled myself in the Algarve through a permaculture volunteering project. I was as empty as a bottle of water left covered by desert sand for weeks.
It was the second stop of a solo travel with no final destination. This trip had nothing to do with moving from places to places to snap pictures or to check names off a list. I literally had no idea where I was going. I gave away all my things and embarked in a ‘follow-my-gut’ kind of travel.
I stepped in that corner of Southern Portugal with the idea to stop for a couple of months. Enough time for learning new things and writing my own books when off duty.
Be silent. A different kind of temporary disappearing from the sight of the world. These were the things I was looking for.
Time passed by and I slowly started opening to what the universe was serving me on a sparkling golden plate. It was will to live, to smile and to enjoy simple things after a long time, heartfully. With some more time, I started trusting someone again – someone special. At the beginning was the hardest thing compared to all the rest, which instead came pretty natural.
I spent some evenings doubting each and every single word I was hearing as if I was part of a playwright. There were times I had to leave and almost tried to escape far, to follow my old patterns of old ex when no one was ever saying something which was meant. I saw ghosts of my past patting my shoulders when I was trying to fall asleep. I heard tricks of my mind growing louder when everything seemed too perfect to be in my life.
But I did not give up, despite many times I was very close to do it. This was – and this is how I started trusting again after many years. For me, the most difficult thing of all because if we want to learn how to trust someone we can only trust the person. It is a gambling game but when feels right and the time proves it right too, it is another way of saying ‘yes’ to life.
In order to do all these things, I often declared a big ‘fuck off’ to that dark, rotten, sad part of myself. The one sitting in a dark room to type down pains after a hard day working in the fields – as if writing can’t happen in any other situations. The kind of myself who at times is all about falling into the tricks of a manipulative mind which may start talking garbage when all I have to do is enjoy my present.
When eventually felt right, I jumped out of that corner of the Algarve, to join new adventures elsewhere.
During these past months, I read lots of books about creativity. When you want to create something out of nothing as a book, there is a lot of saying related to this process, often addressed as painful. It is true that strong emotions favor words poured down in such a way that can impact more the reader, as they may come from the darkest corners of ourselves indeed. However, from the books I read and from my small experience, I want to say that the creative world isn’t always connected to sorrow and drunken mornings.
It’s a lot of silent work when everyone else is asleep and there is a full-time job and other chores to carry on inside a 24 hours calendar day.
Sending things out to the universe for me is an act of sharing what I hold inside. It took me all my life to understand how beautiful is to cultivate an art which is the one I truly feel as mine. Now that I found and accepted my truth, I will never hold back again. Publishing is a way to keep diligence in the promise I made to myself to never stop writing anymore.
So after the Algarve, I went on with my no-plan for some time. I worked for a hostel, slept where was not allowed and followed my gut once again when it was time to hop on a plane to meet old friends on a Greek island and embark on a trip in the south of Caucasus.
I eventually welcomed that overwhelming warmth. A feeling that, after having been single for many years, it would dread everyone to death. A pure sweet indulgence that harmoniously traps you and makes you realize that the best things are the most stupid, like sharing everyday bullshits and laugh at it like kids.
If I look at that myself of some months ago, typing outside of that garden of the Algarve, after a day out in the dirt soil, I see the dawn of this new beginning I am living now, written in the sky.
It seems a constant struggle living the life we want as there is always room for something missing.
It is ok to feel what we feel. It is ok to live our days in such a way that sometimes all that was in our head can go and feck itself out of the room.
I know what I have now, in the place where I am, surrounded by the people I have, it is all I feel right.
It all comes with the right time. There is no logic anymore in me saying
‘and if I did or did not do it…’
If I choose one way instead of another, I am the only one who can decide whether I am right or wrong because there’s truly not right nor wrong in our decisions.
This is the freedom I will never give up.
Looking at myself fitting into a new season of my life is like watching the sun making its bed on the last line of the ocean until my bare eyes can see. Every piece of this painting slots together as if all the pieces were meant to be that way since the beginning of their days.
It is a matter of welcoming. It is all about the lenses through which the image is filtered.
Bad days go – the same way as they come. That’s energy moving the universe 🙂