the art of the unknown

i'm breathing, i love you, and i want to stay

My loves,

Can I be honest? I kind of just want to give everyone a hug right now. Or rather, I would just like to receive a hug from everyone right now.

It’s Friday night. We’re in Rome. We just ate a salmon burger and spinach (off brand, I know). There’s a third litre of water beside us (not off brand, because we have to glow), and - I just want to talk to you.

First, the elephant in the room. Why am I eating salmon and spinach and not my usual pizza al tonno? Well my friends, I have been in an anxiety loop for the past few days.

Every August…I can’t explain it. It’s like when you’ve had too much vacation. Too much time. You’re restless and you can smell change in the air. You’re ready to get back to something, even if you don’t exactly know what that something is.

Whenever my anxiety is bad, or whenever I find myself going down the hole of self-loathing, one of the first things I do is switch up my diet. I stop with my wine and with my pasta and with my carbs. I love them, but I know that the veggies and salmon and litres of water will make me feel more at ease.

And maybe, it’s because my hanger makes me forget about my anxiety, but I don’t know, there’s something about that meal that makes me feel like - ok, Emily: 1, Anxiety: 0.

The root of my anxiety is this: I don’t know where I’m going to live. Or where I even want to live, rather. That’s always the main cause of it all: home.

I realized, the other day, that I like to live my life like a fairy. I like to float and I like to fly around and just scratch the surface of things. Sprinkle a few love notes and memories here and there. Leave people better off than I found them, even if it’s just for a night.

I like to be free, I like to change my mind. I like to tell my lovers that they’ll never see me again, only to show up the very next day with a smile on my face and a sparkle in my eye. I like to tell myself that it’s all part of the fun, and that it must be hard for them to stay mad at me.

This is never an issue, until I realize that - when I love something, I don’t want to let it go.

The biggest accomplishment, in moving across the world, I think - is the relationships that you make. To be in a city where you know no one, and with time (because that’s what it takes: time) - all of the sudden, your weekends become full. There’s the accidental drunken weekday dinner, there’s the spontaneous villa getaway, there’s the impromptu Saturday morning beach plans.

And you become so grateful for those full weekends, because you know how it feels to have that empty, empty, calendar.

There’s the boys at the bar. There’s the blowing of kisses to the grocer, the “love you, see you tomorrow!” to the girls at the bakery. They become family members who don’t know each other, but they all know you.

Love…love has many different meanings. And maybe the most powerful one? The one that grows. Maybe it’s the one that starts off slow. Maybe it’s the one that you lightly dance around with, that you just scratch that surface with, the one that you part ways with - hopeful but unsure.

But something keeps you coming back. It starts to become familiar. Is there anything wrong with familiarity and comfort? I used to think that being comfortable equated boredom. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe being comfortable is one of the greatest joys in life.

I took a nap this afternoon. A short and quick 15 minute nap. I closed my eyes and fell into the peaceful silence of having nothing and no one to answer to. And when I opened my eyes, I let myself stare at my kitchen across from me. The bright red backsplash and the 2 moka pots on the stove.

This. 

Absolute peace. And absolute quiet. The view was beautiful, even though it was one I saw every day. But it was my view. The afternoon sun. My purse and half of its contents spilled out across the kitchen table. A few journals and an empty water bottle. 

This. 

Okay. I’m breathing. I tell her as I bring my pink, fuzzy blanket closer to my chin.

I’m breathing. And I think you would love it here.

I miss her, especially in these moments.

These moments of change and uncertainty. Sometimes I envy those who can just pick up the phone and call their moms for sound advice. Don’t take it for granted - I want to tell them.

But I’ve learned to wear the envy with pride. My aloneness is a badge of honour.

Look at how much I’ve accomplished on my own, I want to tell her. I know she sees it, I know she is proud, but I’d love to feel that reassurance anyway.

And maybe that’s all love really is, too. Reassurance.