As I explained to my father and brother and sister-in-law and my oldest nephew (the only one of the four who’d stuck around for our family video call) last February, it was as if I woke up. Suddenly. My physical response to the sudden comprehension even mimicked the physical act of waking up. In that moment when I realised I could live anywhere in the world that I chose, my head shot up and my eyes opened wide. At long last I was in the world again, after a twenty-year torpor.
Writing this, I look up ‘torpor’ to make sure it’s exactly the word I want. This is the definition I find: “A state of mental or physical inactivity or insensibility; the dormant, inactive state of a hibernating or estivating animal.” Now I have to look up ‘estivate’. Oh, this definition is perfect. “To be in a dormant or torpid state during a hot dry period, such as the summer months.” That’s me!
In moments of sober sensibility I know that it has been worth taking this year of preparation time. It has allowed me to observe the cause and effect of my mysterious and baffling health issue and to develop a basic strategy for dealing with it, as well as to save (a little) money.
It has also allowed me a transitional year, psychologically and emotionally. With each passing month, especially as I got into stride of learning Italian, I have felt myself coming back to the person I was when I left New Zealand on a one-way ticket, a quarter of a century ago, setting off to explore the world.
This process has also brought growing comprehension of how deep were the effects of the marriage-that-shouldn’t-have-been. I used to be sociable.