For two weeks I will walk, sightsee, read, visit, pray, meditate, and eat by myself. I am never lonely or bored. I’m the first to say that this kind of life itinerary isn’t for everyone, but it sure is for me, and I’m very grateful to be able to fulfill this longing. My life is busy here at home, and will be when I return, so this getaway is most welcome. Some lucky folks go to Florida or the Cape; I go to Florence.
You may be wondering the date of my next solitary trip to Florence. Well, wonder no more. I fly to Rome March 20, spend one night in the Eternal City (plan to visit Castel Sant’Angelo) and take the train the morning of the 22nd to Florence. I’ve rented a new-to-me apartment behind the Duomo for thirteen nights before hopping back on a train to Rome for an afternoon flight home on April 4.
For two weeks I will walk, sightsee, read, visit, pray, meditate, and eat by myself. I am never lonely or bored. I’m the first to say that this kind of life itinerary isn’t for everyone, but it sure is for me, and I’m very grateful to be able to fulfill this longing. My life is busy here at home, and will be when I return, so this getaway is most welcome. Some lucky folks go to Florida or the Cape; I go to Florence.
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As I refrain from watching the news or reading the paper, I continue to be amazed at the physical and psychic time I have to be positive. My head isn’t in the sand, nor the murky waters of current politics; rather it is in the sky of thankfulness. Last Sunday I attended an ecumenical Thanksgiving service at the Islamic Center of Boston, located in the town next to me. On a more practical level, I feel less pressed for time. I am not suggesting that everyone follow my news blackout. It’s right for me; it doesn’t mean I don’t care. On January 21, 2017 my daughter, granddaughter, sister, niece and her children are participating in the Women’s March on Washington. We care for women, for the LGBTQ community, and for immigrants. They are not other; they are us. P.S. If I couldn’t make it to Washington, I’d go to Boston. If I didn’t live in Massachusetts, I go to the event in my state capitol. I am still in awe of the many people I saw on my travel to iona who were making the trip in spite of their physical difficulties. Canes, walkers, wheelchairs, as well as many putting one step in front of the other without added help. Buses and ferries are accessible to all, but it still takes physical, emotional and mental courage to complete the journey. Some had the help of a friend, family member, or staff person, but it was their own mettle that kept them moving and upbeat. This has been a different kind of trip. All good but different. I took fewer photos and wasn’t concerned by the lack easy internet access on the island. In fact, it was refreshing to let go of posting all the time. (If you want to see pictures of Iona you just need to go back to June 2013-15.) What else was different? Although I did a great deal of walking, I didn’t feel drawn to return to the usual hiking destinations on the island. What surprises me most as I sit her at the Glasgow airport is that I had less desire to write. Why, I wonder? Because I didn’t have anything to say. I was happy to BE, whether walking, knitting, sitting or eating. For the week I lived among the thin space of Iona. That sense of being is still with me at the airport. Amidst the noise and complexity I am in solitude. My mind isn’t taking in all the activity. Hmm, wonder if I can carry this home with me. We’re home after a marvelous graduation celebration. Very busy social time. Now I’m getting ready to fly to Scotland on Monday for seven days of silence, solitude and simplicity on Iona. This is the fourth year in a row that I’ve been on the island in June. I was also there in September 2011 just before Mom died—plus other times. I stay at one of the two local hotels on the island. I go by alone and spend most of the time wandering about the island and attending morning and evening services as the abbey. Same routine, but something always different flows into my time there. Hmm, I wonder what it will be this time? Stay tuned. We have heard carpe diem, the power of NOW, one day at a time. But to practice living that way is a challenge. To begin with, we forget and get wrapped up in our own agenda. My tendency is to think and plan ahead; others dwell on regrets; some embrace both. This morning as I began packing the car for our week long trip to Pennsylvania,I made a conscious decision to live one day at a time, knowing that the next week will offer little silence, solitude or simplicity-- a week of festivities with family, the culmination being our grandson’s high school graduation. All good, very good, but how special it will be if we all can enjoy each moment, each event, each meal, each dishwasher load, each walk, each conversation, each good night’s sleep. The more I am conscious of that possibility, the more I’ll share it with others, and the more I’ll notice little moments of silence, solitude, and simplicity. Observations on the way to Florence. • The Logan Express driver took Rt. 30 instead of the Mass Pike. Reason: One (yes only one) wild turkey was stopping traffic as he (yes of course a he) wandered back and forth between the east and westbound lanes. • Hainan Airline pilots, stewards, and stewardesses (yes, all fifteen of them) were told to cut through my security lane at International Terminal E. I’ve never experience this before; flight personnel usually have their own lane. Does this have to do with being a airline from China? • Most movies I see are on airplanes. Since my trip in January, two new ones have been added. ‘Brooklyn’ was yesterday’s pick from Boston to Frankfurt; ‘Concussion’ will be it on the way home. • It took the little bus 11:22.40 minutes to to drive from the main terminal in Frankfurt to get us to the plane for Florence. That is one big airport. The good news we didn't have to taxi far for takeoff. My observations of my first wander about in Florence. It’s the day before I depart for my eleven day retreat to Florence. Packing, finishing a jigsaw puzzle, watching the last episode of Season Five of Downton Abbey; maybe a walk in the rain. I’m always a little restless on the day before I leave, even as I enjoy the final getting ready. I fly to Frankfurt at 5PM, and arrive in Florence at 9AM Monday morning (six hour time difference), in time for a second cappuccino. I’ll check into my apartment and then wander down to the Arno and just stand there on the Ponte Trinita and gaze at the Ponte Vecchio. Then pizza on the Piazza della Signoria, followed by a little nap. On it goes, or shall I say on I go, following my bliss. This week I’ve been mapping out the article I’m planning to write while there: ‘Seven Days Walking in Florence’. So far I’m considering ten different themes, but as I walk and wander I’ll settle into the perfect seven. I don’t know why, but more than usual I’ve heard a longing from those I’ve told about my trip. Oh, I wish I could do something like that… I wish I were you…I wish I had been more adventuresome. Undoubtedly each comment is particular to the individual. I don’t know what they specifically had in mind, nor perhaps did they, but they definitely weren’t throwaway comments. In fact, there was a common theme: a deep desire to tap into something essential, to express their authentic self, which they knew they could only access by stepping ‘out of the box’. Perhaps this is why I continue to take my solitary trips—to keep my authentic self alive and developing. In many respects I don’t feel like I’m stepping out of the box anymore, but I know I am. Not everyone started practicing as early as me with parental encouragement to be a decision-maker and risk-taker. For that I am very grateful. But I believe that our deepest longings are not fulfilled with by a one-time event. We have to keep at it, keep finding out what we need to do to keep developing. And so I will keep at it tomorrow and for as long as I can. Yesterday’s drive to visit my sister brought back memories of all the times I’ve made the trip from Massachusetts to Connecticut. Let’s say once a month for 52 years adds up to 620 and I know sometimes, especially when I was visiting my mom and my dad in their last years, I made the journey twice as often. Then there are the times we whizzed right by on our way to visit our daughter in Pennsylvania. Trips alone, trips with my husband. It’s all about family. All good, even the sad ones. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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