Written Tuesday May 21, 2019 at 4 p.m:

 

I loved the essay “Lightness” by Italian Calvino.  I could write for days about it and never say enough—but was given a firsthand lesson in Firenze.

 

The weight, the inertia, and the opacity of my experiences in just this past year have come at me harder than the rest of life combined and I needed to learn how to just start letting things be what they will be with grace.

 

I came to Italy with much less than I thought I needed but much more than I did.  I realized that today when the only electronic device I brought (with all my social crutches on it) got stolen when I sat on some stairs to check the map.

 

I took a deep breath and was okay.  I had been WAY more upset about being late to the Uffizi in the morning.  Having to find the next museum alone with no resources was the thing that made it more okay.  I have probably talked to 2 dozen people today in the little bit of broken Italian I struggled to learn but didn’t need to use yet.  Everyone I talked to was nice and wanted to help.

 

When I got to the museum, I asked around to see if anyone knew where to get a cheap replacement but if I was going to do the whole “no phone” thing, I should have left the tablet home too.  That tablet was heavy.

 

I avoid keeping paper journals because line by line, I edit obsessively.  There is no freewriting.  Messy handwriting, scratched out words, even a pen smudge demands a rewrite.  Not being able to finish anything that can’t be absolutely perfectly how I want it to turn out is also heavy.  It’s held me back my whole life.

 

The mismatched harmony, beautiful defacement, and juxtaposition of unlikely architectural elements is what makes Firenze beautiful.  Old buildings never get torn down to build new things.  Beautiful new things simply get added.  I should not be editing my journal.  It should be my piece of Firenze to take with me.

 

Right now I am sitting next to this man at the pizza place in the Piazza.  He is standing with his arms thrown out, looking between the sun and the Duomo shouting about what a beautiful day it is and how wonderful it is to be alive, and here.  Yet, he lives here.  He has embraced everyone who’s passed him and spoke.  I am watching him leave.  He has nothing in his hands a and a smile on his face.  He knows lightness.  He is comfortable just being himself somewhere.

 

So instead of getting a new tablet or a

phone, I got 3 sketchbooks, bearing the images of my favorite pieces of art now that I know what they mean: the divine spark, David’s courage, and new hope every spring.

 

I feel lighter already.  For the rest of the trip I will carry as little as possible.  Lighter, I may find another level of perception and the face of my reality may change.