I begrudgingly drove my dad up a steep, narrow, and windy road to a small town near Lake Como called Brunate, where he was to reunite with a longtime friend--enter low expectations for any hint of a pleasurable day--and instead found myself, after having survived the drive, absorbed in deep conversation with him and his wife, both being people in their seventies. I enjoyed listening to him, a pedagogue and writer of almost four books, describe their themes and recount his upbringing. I also took an instant liking to his wife, who was very friendly and sweet with me.
It brought me to questioning once again: why the milly leaf is it so much easier to talk to the wise (as I will politely call their age group) than to the young? My calling them "the young" probably doesn't help much either. Oh, those youngins...
I have heard on occasion from others that I have an old soul. I've always had a liking for ancient history, appreciated wisdom in its many forms, and tried to advise friends (when asked) in the efforts of being helpful. When I was a teenager, my singing teacher once said that I was much too calm for my age. Placid. It was hard to get me to emote while singing. It still is, and not just for singing.
Coming to Italy, one of the things I had wanted to change about myself was this absence of affect. I desired to be vivacious like so many young women my age--vivacious like so many Italian young women my age who seem to just attract attention wherever they go, whether by speaking, walking, or just being. I've come to terms that this isn't me, or if it ever is, the possibility of its occurrence hangs on the thread of an off chance that I perhaps may be in one of those moods that have seized me rarely before, normally brought about by a combination of sleep-deprivation, Mis Trucos' white sangria, and/or the company of a good friend. And there is nothing wrong with this. The world needs some shy and reserved people too.
It just amuses me that if I had to choose between talking to my 15 year-old cousin or one of my dad's friends, no matter what language, I would more happily choose the latter. Maybe it's our viewpoints or my having been raised by older parents; or maybe it's because I'm more comfortable learning from someone than trying to set an example or weave myself into appearing semi-cool. Dagnabbit* I think I can be pretty cool sometimes, just not in the conventionally-believed way.
You think you leave home to find yourself, and then you realize that you've been there all along. You think change is the answer when the question really is how much you will grow. Life is coming to terms with who you are while becoming that citizen of the universe who deserves to leave a positive impact.
"Senectus ipsa morbus est", my dad's friend said to me. "Old age itself is a disease". Maybe to some, but for me I say let's sit and chat for awhile. Tell me your story and I will listen.
*I swear to you that that is the first time I have ever used that word in my life, but you probably now think all the more that I am somebody's grandma living on a farm spitting tobacco and sitting on a rocking chair. And for that, I say to you that I can't imagine enjoying the taste of tobacco, but perhaps if there are no mosquitoes and I am allowed a good book I would quite enjoy the farm and rocking chair situation.
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