--from October 19, 2018
Tonight I write to you all as I watch the movie, Eat Pray Love.
I am on my second glass of wine, eating about the dozenth piece of chocolate from the Halloween basket my mother gave me that I, of course, refill as often as I can. My new year-and-a-half old kitten (yes, I became a cat mom--something I never imagined I would become) sleeps cuddled up by my side as I type swiftly on my laptop. My heart is warm not just due to the wine, but because the words have finally emitted from my fingertips once again.
Sometimes I find myself doing absolutely nothing. Lately it has been lounging on my couch immersing myself into movies or books, often the classics. And tonight my roommate recommended the title.
A film about the life of author Elizabeth Gilbert and her travels and journey of discovering herself, I was inevitably touched by lessons she learned in food, in faith, and in love.
You see, I have been wallowing in a tremendous amount of guilt.
Worried about the foods I eat, how often I am working out, the way my eyebrows look and if I need to get them done, or which headband I need to wear to work, or if my body is as good as it was when I was playing hockey...seemingly silly and detrimental thoughts, but real.
I battle the dichotomous aspects of sports retirement--wondering if it's weird I have not been on the ice in a while or if I should be lacing up the skates for open hockey, wondering if it is strange I do not have the pressing urge to do so yet. I miss my teammates, the people I used to laugh with every second of the day, who I now sometimes go days without reconnecting. Then there is that crazy, awesome feeling of color commentating that sparks that innate passion being a player once provided. Yet that is only a once-a-month opportunity so there are these moments of simplicity that I am left with. Especially on my days off from the restaurant.
It is on those days, the days where everything stops, that I am forced to reflect. As I mentioned previously, the thoughts that consume my mind during introspection have not been the most ideal.
Yet, a scene from this infamous movie changed my perspective on it all.
While Gilbert is walking the streets of Italy, tasting the sweet wine and pasta that encompasses the country, she befriends a little misfit crew of Italians that teach her some of the greatest gifts. In this particular instance, the lesson felt it was meant for not only Gilbert's character, but my own personal heart.
There is a saying in Italy that goes like this, "dolce far niente," which means "the sweetness of doing nothing."
In a society driven by a fast-paced, dominating culture, we often affiliate nothingness with laziness. Therefore, when we find ourselves sitting on the couch or doing something that is not productive towards an ultimate goal, we feel remorse. We feel a sense of failure. We consider ourselves stuck.
I have fallen succumb to this so many times, and if there is one remarkable godsend of a message this movie reminded me of, it is that:
We all need to strive for dolce far niente.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Eat the damn brownie. Pop that champagne. Dance around the living room as your workout. Choose to spend time with the person you love, cuddling, instead of going on a run. Mediate. Read a book. Spend a whole day in bed if you want. Do not regret it the following day.
Bask in the nothingness. Be so fully present that you start to feel each moment you live with every ounce of your flesh, of your soul, letting go of anxiety's grip.
The small amount of time I had to spend with my amazing boyfriend today, I spent crying about how I felt I did not have a purpose in my life because I was not really doing much of anything. Rather than enjoying simply being in his presence, enjoying the simple beauty of having time together, I let my mind darken and prevented my heart from remembering what really matters in my life:
Eating. Praying. Loving.
It is only now, after hearing such a gorgeous Italian phrase, that I understand. I understand my mother's gentle words of guidance, reminding me that where I am right now is only the beginning of the greatest next chapter. I understand my boyfriend, as he grabbed my face and reassured me of my capabilities in not only my career, but the way I impact others in general, whether it is himself or my newly-adopted cat or my family or friends. I understand unconditional love through the way he loves me. I understand what it means to have faith in the unknown--in God's plan that is completely unseen--real, raw, and steadfast faith.
I finally get it. The art of finding pleasure in nothing is empowering.
And yeah, I am sure there will be a plethora more of awakenings like this that I will endure, but that is a part of growing. That is a part of becoming a better human being--of refining and redefining the ways I wish to live my life, what I dream about, what I hope for, what I believe in. Being able to explore nothingness?
This is a gift that stems from the ending of an era, and it is only the beginning of an exciting new adventure.
Buono giornata,
Baylee
Comentários