I opened my eyes. Often when you wake for the first time in a new place, it takes a few moments before the brain figures out where you are. Not this morning. The instant I woke I knew I was in the studio apartment that was to be my home for the next two and a half months. The studio apartment that I’d chosen after looking at scores of possibilities because it had all three of my major requirements: washing machine, large balcony, and gorgeous view of the “foothills” of the Italian Alps. Seen in my mind’s eye, this view had sustained me for the past many months as I’d packed up my life and prepared to return to the region that had called to my soul since my early teens: Central Europe.
I looked over at the other bed. My friend was still sleeping. After 24 hours of travel the day before, from Northern California to northern Italy, we’d crashed into bed sometime around midnight Central European Time.
In addition to being physically exhausted, I was also psychologically and emotionally drained after spending the previous thirteen months disposing of most of my belongings and wrenching myself out of the quicksand that had passed for my life. For twenty years I’d stagnated, personally and professionally. I’d done things — I’d moved to Boston and earned a master’s degree in journalism and then launched myself as a freelance copy editor; I’d spent a decade as honorary coach and photographer with a high school baseball team; I’d started a website dedicated to rock music and interviewed famous musicians — but in my core I’d been numb. Adrift, I’d been searching for purpose and direction, but no path had been right.
And now, at last, I was back in Central Europe, picking up where I’d left off 21 years before.
As a New Zealand citizen and a freelancer, there was no visa category I fit into, so I was facing an indefinite period of moving in and out of the Schengen area, but I was determined to stay — this time for good. I’d find a way. In the meantime, all that mattered was that I was here, in my own apartment in a small town nestled at the edge of an Italian alpine valley. And outside, there was a balcony, and there were mountains …
Suddenly energised, I shuffled my feet into slippers and tiptoed to the window. Slowly, as quietly as I could so as not to wake my friend, I heaved on the sash to raise the heavy wooden shutter. Light pierced the gloom of the shuttered studio and I had my first view of this place I had chosen from afar. I gasped. Across the green valley and orange rooftops were bony mountains, white with snow.
I was home.
