to italy, and to you

embracing second chances

I’m curled up on my friend’s couch in Melbourne. It’s 2 PM and it's overcast outside. I’m wearing a strapless black knit maxi dress. My hair is damp from the shower, and I’ve used my friend’s coconut body lotion, so thankfully, I smell like coconuts and not self-tanner. We’re sipping on our first coffee of the day, and I have something I want to tell you.

This New Year’s Eve was special. I’ll be honest with you, I have one piece that I will read back and forth, over and over and over again. I have it memorized, and I honestly cannot wait for the day that I get to read it in front of a group of people. And I often (always) find myself returning to it when I want to be reminded of a time of transformation amidst uncertainty. 

What Isn’t Ours is ultimately about the fear of time. Of having too much of it, of not having enough of it. Of being scared to hold on to the moment in front of you, because you know that time is both giving you that feeling you long for, but also taking it away. We’re scared of having too much of it, scared of letting it not mean anything, and scared of never having enough. 

I’ve learned that the feeling of home can come to us in the most unexpected of moments. And I believe this New Year’s Eve was one of them. A group of us sat underneath the shade, on a picnic table in a backyard. We drank afternoon mimosas, pulled tarot cards and talked about one word that we wanted to focus on to define our 2023. 

Here we were, semi-strangers who were comfortable enough within ourselves and each other to open up and admit what areas in our lives we want to improve upon and enjoy more of.

My word for 2023 is embrace. And not in the ~ embrace the moment / live, laugh, love ~ way. But in the way of embracing creativity, the ability to change our minds, to embrace love, the ability to cry, the ability to enjoy, and most of all, the ability to embrace time.  

Sometimes you have to leave what you have loved in order to realize just how much you loved it in the first place. And I find this to be true with many things. Not just friendships and relationships, but with homes, countries, and experiences. 

Rome is the only city that I’ve ever cried for while leaving it. I cried in the backseat of the taxi on the way to Fiumicino in September of 2021. I cried in the Benetton of Fiumicino in May of 2022. I cried the entire of my 9 hour plane ride home in October of 2022, an evening flight with my sunglasses on, reading newsletters from start to finish, while listening to Oasis’ Champagne Supernova.  

I have seen relationships around me over the years that take breaks and breathers for a certain amount of time. And I know the general reaction to a couple taking a break is usually, “well, it’s all downhill from there.” Perhaps this is our way of perceiving the world as black and white. 

An old therapist used to tell me that I can’t look at things so rigidly. That one fight doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world and the relationship can’t be salvaged. That giving second chances isn't a sign of weakness. And sometimes, our very, very, very, strong Leo Rising pride can be set aside.

Time. Time lets us see what we are not seeing, and time lets us see things from a new perspective. 

When I wrote What Isn’t Ours, I was on my hands and knees every single night. Praying and begging to the universe to help me find a home. 

And I found it. I found it walking alongside the jasmine and terracotta in my bright green Zara dress and matching sandals. I found it when my Airbnb host had to wait up for me every single night because I couldn’t figure out how to use the key after being there for a month. I found it when I burst into tears at the cat sanctuary, when I burst into tears on Via Giulia, and each and every time I burst into tears at Fiumicino. 

I found it when he told me that I was able to put into words something that most people wouldn’t be able to.

Rome gave me so many things. It gave me stories, and it gave me the chance to write stories. It became this place where that timeline stopped existing. It gave me freedom, it gave me the chance to be myself - something I hadn’t ever quite figured out how to be. The spontaneous part and the part that always longed for a story. In its complete chaos and its complete beauty, and how they both simultaneously exist together - it is a place that moves me to tears. 

I want to always be fearless. I want to always embrace the chance to see things differently, to experience things differently, and to feel things differently. I want to embrace new beginnings and second chances. To embrace forgiveness and believe that people, places, and myself can change. 

This is what I need right now. This is what I want right now. And might it be different in 5 weeks, 5 months, 5 years? Maybe. But that’s what embracing is all about.

I’ll tell you something else. And I know he won’t mind me writing this. Me and one of my best friends went on a friendship hiatus over this past year. And, thankfully, we both put our Leo Rising pride aside and came back together. 

I love him so much, and I think the past year gave us the chance to become better people in general, and, ultimately, become better friends to one another.  

Love, and I mean real love is something that time cannot touch. Which, now looking back, maybe that’s why love is feared so much. It’s the one thing that overrides time. 

2022 was probably the most humanizing year of my life. 

And I’ll end this piece on a cute note. You know how I can never, ever figure out how to use a lighter? Re: all of last summer’s newsletters that involved me asking a bouncer to light my drunken cigarette while I shed a few drunken tears. 

It’s almost midnight on New Year’s Eve, I’m sitting beside a new friend. And, of course, I’m struggling to light a drunken cigarette. He starts to laugh, takes it from my hand, and lights it in a nano second.

“Are you laughing because I’m not as cool as you?”

“No, you’re not as cool as me. You’re something a lot better.”

Here’s to embracing. 

I love you,

Emily