Nostalgia Maria

No news is good news, right? Well, Paul Bäumer would disagree, as the day of his death was noted as “All quiet on the western front”, at the end of the First World War.

In my case, no news is no news. December was a shit show and I’m not speaking only figuratively. My birthday, the big 3-0 was the highlight of the month and maybe the fact that I survived all the guilt, frustration, hate, anger and desperation.

January felt like a year, as it always does. I had an online appointment with a shrink and the conclusion was that I was not depressed, just had a difficulty in accepting and accommodating with reality. Let’s pop the champagne, I don’t need antidepressants.

February, I don’t remember much about it, just days starting and ending, weekends filled with an online course, snow that kept me indoors even more than usual and some happy talks and laughs with my friends.

March, ah, the beginning of spring and the perfect moment for us, humans to rebirth an learn from nature that, no matter how hard winter is, the flowers will bloom, the leaves will fill the branches, the bees will buzz, the birds will sing and the mosquitoes will annoy us once more. Well, what changed for me in March was the cold shower I received when I realized, once more and maybe a bit more profoundly, that my life will never, ever, ever turn out as I planned it. And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Well, good or bad, it’s not something I can one hundred percent control. Of course, I’m not gonna jump in front of a train or go rock climbing while still needing Mr. Cane, but you get the point. I cannot control many aspects of my life and that scared the shit out of me.

Fast forward to April, an idea for a post emerged as I was listening to a podcast. How millennial of me, searching for meaning and a possible cure in a conversation between two individuals on an online platform. Plato or Socrates would be impressed. Why go outside or listen to nature or just sit on the beach and contemplate life, when, with just a click of a button you can listen to other people’s opinions, ideas and thoughts and make them your own? Sarcasm aside, this podcast made me realize something: when I first started this healing journey, when my body started to act up, back in August 2021, I was sure I made all the right decisions and, even more dangerous, I was focused only on the how, the when and a faulty why.

My how was through other people: I tried acupuncture, magnetic therapy, homeopathy, essential oils, Reiki, Bowen, phytotherapy, you name it. If there was a one percent possibility of healing and someone offered it to me, I took it. I tried them all at once, each one on a different day or week, I had such a full schedule of supplements, drinks and procedures. My physical body was tired, my mind was confused as none of the methods had proven effective and my heart was aching because I was feeling worse everyday.

As an impatient creature, my when was now or, even better, yesterday. I wanted to see results. If I meditated at 12:00 PM, by 12:05PM the same day I wanted to go hiking or run the New York City marathon. Not seeing the results I expected and felt I deserved after all my dedication to all the methods mentioned above, I felt really frustrated, angry, hurt and betrayed.

Moving on to the why, well, my why for healing was very egocentric. I wanted to be the first patient to cure herself miraculously, I pictured reporters following me around asking questions and desperately wanting to know the secret to my success. Even more, I wanted to prove Western medicine wrong and I did it all in spite of my mother. A sort of “I’ll show you, suckers, you’re all wrong! Look at me, pissing all over your theories and ideas. Look at me healing.“

A pretty shaky foundation to start my journey, wouldn’t you say? I gave up my power to other methods, I didn’t trust the timing of the process and I did it all just to show off and prove my mother wrong. Good job healing or just trying to feel better with these feelings being the fuel.

Going back to the podcast I was just listening to, the guest said that, when manifesting or meditating on something, one should focus on the what and the why, and put aside the how, the when and the who, because the last three aspects only bring resistance and limit the possibilities of your goal manifesting itself. As a control freak, this is a tough lesson for me. But, seeing as the method I believed to be the one turned out to bring only frustration, guilt, anger and sadness, what do I have to lose? At this point, not much.

As the Bleachers’ song goes, “The tiniest moves you make/ The whole damn world shakes”, we are the only ones responsible for our well being. Not a magical cure, not the supplements, not the doctors, not our close ones. Of course, they help, but only when you decide you want help and you begin by helping yourself first. Then, the pieces of the puzzle start fitting and you begin to see the bigger picture. Until then, you could be touched by God and not get well or not get what you desired.

So, my intention is to be more calm and patient, to let go of the when, who and how, to embrace the changes and to forgive myself for my oh, so many mistakes.

On December 24th I turned 30. I know, the big 3-0. Safe to say, for the whole month of December, leading to the big change, my emotional status was like a rollercoaster on crack. I cried, I laughed, I was desperate, I was hopeful, I was in despair, I was joyous. Easy peasy lemon squeezy, right? No, as the meme goes, easy peasy lemon difficult.

You see, when I was 24 or 25 ( back in the olden days), I imagined myself turning 30 on a sandy, tropical beach, along side my faithful, loving partner, maybe a kid or two around, the picture perfect life in the picture perfect scenery. What I got was no faithful, loving partner, no kids, no scenery and no sandy beach. Expectations 1- Maria 0.

Having to choose between being even more depressed and floopy in the privacy of my own home and actually doing something that would lift my spirits up, I chose the latter. I booked myself a park view room at the Radisson Blu in Brașov, from the 23rd to the 24th, so I could wake up on the morning of my birthday in a five star hotel. I also invited my friends to a celebratory drink that evening, so it would be easy to arrive at the bar from the hotel.

The initial plan was to meet them in a bar near the hotel, so I can arrive easily and safely. But the weather forecast had other plans. Starting from the evening of the 22nd, it snowed. That is an understatement. We have several blizzards mixed with sunny periods or windy periods. It was a blast. I asked my dad to come with me to the hotel to check in and then I asked a close friend to join me for lunch at the hotel restaurant, before going to the bar. Safe to say, I was scared to go out, as the snow layer was getting thicker and thicker by the minute, and the risk of slipping was increasing exponentially. I was thorn between canceling the night out, facing the blizzard and asking my friends to come meet me in the hotel lobby for the celebration.

After realizing that they are some of the closest and dearest people in my life and that they will never judge, I asked them to come to the hotel. They instantly accepted, no question asked, no judgements or second guessing my options. The doubt was, just as most of the time, just in my head.

Some of them arrived as I was still in my room, they called and told my friend and I to come to the fourth floor, where the sky lounge was located. As it turned out, they told the hotel staff that it was a special event and they offered us the privacy of that lounge. They waited for me with the cutest cake and the warmest smiles. I’m not gonna go into much detail, depicting all the events of the evening, but safe to say, it was one of the best birthdays I had spent with them. It was flawless and effortless, full of laughter and conversation, a birthday only fit for people in their 30s who, as Joey once said, want to spend time in a quiet place and talk to their friends.

In the morning, after waking up, taking a relaxing five star hotel shower and enjoying the heated floor in the bathroom, I orders some breakfast in my room and enjoyed the snowy view of the park. I had ticked off all three wishes on the bucket list for this birthday: I ate something from the mini bar, I ordered room service and I charged something on the room. It may seem small or insignificant or useless, but it felt pretty good to do it.

Moreover, as I spent the evening at my parents’ house to celebrate with the family and some close family friends, it was all so smooth and nice and pleasant, that I surprised myself feeling so happy. I was expecting to feel blue and irritated and dissatisfied but, au contraire, it felt perfect.

This year was a whirlpool of events, feelings and thoughts: I cried a lot, I felt desperate, I had some physiological incidents that I may, once their memory is not so fresh and stingy, disclose, I had some minor accidents and I wished for it to be over maybe one too many times. But, as life goes, the Universe helped me along the way and, especially during the days I depicted in this post, I never felt more loved, understood, appreciated, supported, special and at peace.

I’m sure that everything happens for a reason and maybe if I were to have gone on that exotic trip with the perfect partner and the well-behaved kids, I wouldn’t have felt so good. All in all, I learned that, as I released myself from expectations and I freed myself from the plan and understood that I can change it last minute and still have a good time, life offered me the ultimate gift: peace of mind, gratitude and a sense of ease.

So, as the song goes, with a little help from my friends, family and parents and a leap of faith, I got to enjoy two awesome birthday celebration days, which turned out amazing. And FYI, I’ve been 30 for two weeks and the world still turns, the Sun sets and rises and I am pretty much the same, only some extra lessons learned.

This morning, as I was taking a long hot shower only proper to a cold, rainy and gloomy November morning, I decided to listen to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. My favourites are Summer and Winter so, as I was cleansing myself, the superb tunes and notes followed along the way. (I know!, call me a posh bitch for listening to classical music at seven thirty in the morning).

As I listened to the music, it hit me: it’s due to my father that I know all these pieces. He showed them to me when I was little and, even more, I watched him listen to them and to many others. Then, as I was taking the hair that fell during the shower out of the drain, it hit me again: it’s due to my mother that I am so tidy and know bits and secrets about organizing a house and keeping it clean.

You see, for the past couple of months, well, since I moved back home, actually, I’ve had this internal battle regarding my parents: why they are how they are, why they are not how they are not, why they say what they say and why they do what they do. As a curly hair girl wants straight hair and as a straight hair girl wants curly hair, I wanted the opposite of what I had.

I imagined how fun it would have been to have outgoing, adventurous parents, I imagined how much confidence I would have had if my mother had praised me more as a kid and I imagined how artistic I would have been if my father had supported me more in that direction. If I had seen or heard of a hippie parent, I would have wanted such a parent. If I had heard of a family of aristocrats, I would have wanted that. If I had heard of a family of six or of a family with many cousins and aunts and uncles, I would have wanted that. Anything, please, anything, but not what I have.

The struggle grew stronger and stronger as I realized that I cannot change my parents: not their behaviors, not their ideas, not their pasts or their families. I loved them and was very annoyed by them at the same time. My internal struggle was real: I was blaming myself for not liking them, I was blaming myself for caring so much about their opinions, I was blaming them for their thoughts and actions and I was blaming them for not understanding me as I felt I needed to be understood. I felt alone and abandoned, I felt unloved and unappreciated. The funny thing is that they never abandoned me, they never not loved me and they never under appreciated me whatsoever.

So, what was going on? Well, using the mirror technique, a method that states that the thing or behavior you are most annoyed or irritated by in someone else is the same thing you cannot stand in yourself, I managed to shed some light on the case. Yes, I was my biggest critic, not my mother. Yes, I was as anxious and easily irritable like my father. And yes, I did not like those aspects in myself, as I didn’t like them in my parents. Moreover, I abandoned myself, I under appreciated myself and I sure as hell didn’t love who or what I was.

Having discovered this, my journey continued. I realized that some of the things I like most in myself are because of them: I like that I am scrappy, independent and self sufficient due to my mother. Yes, her sometimes Spartan methods may not have been the best solution for my hypersensitive soul, but the end result is that I know how to read and follow some instructions, I know my way around the house and I can cook a pretty decent meal. Thinking of my dad, yes, he is annoying at times and I feel that he doesn’t completely understand my spiritual side, but he is always, I mean, always ready to help me, he is my biggest supporter. The parts that I most like about myself are those related to culture and general knowledge, books, movies, actors and music: he was my Jedi and I was the Padawan, he was the master and I was the apprentice.

When I first heard of the idea that souls choose their parents even before conception, I said to myself that the idea is a big pile of bullshit. If that were true, why don’t we all choose healthy, wealthy, open minded, outgoing, intellectual, easy going people as our parents? Well, because maybe the soul knows better than the mind. Maybe our souls know the lessons we have to learn and who has to teach them to us. Who knows how I would have turned out if I had what my mind considers the ideal parents? Maybe it all would have been just fine or maybe not. The point that I’m trying to make is that we should all start appreciating what we have and stop focusing on what we don’t have. Start seeing the good in people and situations and stop living in the made up life our minds, society, movies, books and TV shows tend to induce upon ourselves. I know the grass tends to be greener in the scenario we make in our minds, but that’s all that it is: a scenario. You have to actually live it to see if it’s good.

So, instead of living in scenarios and what-ifs, let’s be the main character in the show that is our life. Instead of dreaming of a royal flush we might get in the next round, let’s play that full house we already have. Instead of wishing for a better mother or father or partner or child, a better friend or roommate or sister or brother, let’s see the good in the close ones we already have. “Happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to turn on the light.” Let’s turn on the light, the switch is right there, it only needs one press.

So, yes, I have ideal parents because they are my parents, they are real flesh and blood human beings, not scenarios or prototypes in my head. And, as the song goes: You can’t always get what you want/ But if you try sometime you’ll find/ You get what you need.” I needed them to become what I am today. And, as days go by, I’m beginning to really like who I am and starting to be really proud of myself.

Every time I write a post, something, like a line from a movie, a song or a line someone said, had triggered an idea in me. So I start with the title and build up on that. Doesn’t matter if it’s a movie title or a verse from a song, the title always comes first. As a creature of habit, it’s very hard for me to break this cycle. Because, this time, I have no title, no inspiration, no verse or title or line. It’s just an idea I had while walking to the bus station. So, I’m gonna name this post Untitled, just because.

Maybe it’s a good metaphor for my need not to be categorized, labeled or, even more, not to label myself. Because, for the past weeks, as I’ve told you before, I’ve been labeling myself: stupid, handicapped, selfish, idiotic, useless, dependent, pointless, purposeless and hopeless.

The feedback on my last post was amazing, many friends and close ones messaged telling me how amazing and brave and strong I am and how I don’t complain and whine. I felt like an impostor. Because, in my mind, I do whine and complain and wish I did things differently, I blame myself, hate myself and discredit myself.

The book I’m reading at the moment comes just to show me how important thoughts are. And mine haven’t been good. I didn’t do my physical exercises, I looked at myself in the mirror and said bad words to myself, I woke up wishing I didn’t and I felt like there is no point in hoping or wishing or evolving. I got caught up in this whirlpool of feeling good for feeling bad, feeling special for feeling sick, feeling like a martyr for just showing up.

So, how have I worked on myself? The honest truth is that I haven’t and I have to openly admit that. I have eaten absurd amounts of sugar, I have said an absurd amount of discredits to myself and I have hated every moment over the past month. So what am I doing?

I’m slowly killing myself while waiting for a miracle from above. I’m giving all the responsibilities of healing to an external force, whether that is a divine one, a medical cure or some good thoughts from my close ones. Would you help a person who is willingly doing harm to him or herself? ‘Cause I wouldn’t.

Coming back to the idea that triggered this post, I thought to myself that our bodies do so many stuff without an explicit order from our mind: we breathe, we hear, we see, we smell, our hearts beat, our kidneys filter water, our livers detox, our stomachs digest, our skin protects us and our brains coordinate it all. And here I am feeling floopy because, for a time in my life, just one of the many functions we take for granted wants to take a break. Even more, I’ve talked with several close friends and, believe it or not, we’re going through the same frustrations, even if the causes are different.

So, maybe we’re just growing up. But growing up is not just about adding years to our portfolio, it’s also owning up to your mistakes, being responsible for your behavior, taking action and, most importantly, forgiving yourself. It’s not about hoping for a better future, it’s about making the best of the present time.

Thank you for you care and your amazing words of support, I am owning up to them and I want to prove you right. Because if I don’t give myself any chances, why would you or the Universe do so? I love you all.

Over the last week I’ve been feeling like shit. Since last Friday, I found myself crying in the shower, in the park or while watching a reel about a blind dog or a paralyzed cat on Instagram.

I wanted to write this post for some time, but it’s such a hurtful subject and the pain is so big, that I was too afraid to do it. But, maybe as fresh air and clean water heal an open wound, maybe as a scar can form only if the skin is left exposed and dry, maybe as talking about your weakness only makes you stronger, so will talking about my fears.

Since Mr. Cane appeared in my life, I have a constant fear of getting out of the house. I’m afraid of falling, of being hit by a car or a bus, of being mugged, raped or kidnapped, I’m afraid of bus stations that are too crowded or kids that are too energetic, I’m afraid of stairs, cracks in the pavement or cobblestone, I’m afraid of the rain, the snow, the wind or darkness. I’m afraid of having to go to the bathroom and not being able to make it on time, I’m afraid of standing too long in the shower and tiring my legs, I’m afraid of going out past my bedtime and I’m afraid of traveling or going to unfamiliar places.

When I first heard Miley’s song, safe to say I cried my heart out. Because, even if I wasn’t the most outgoing girl or the wild child of my group of friends, I rarely said no to anything. True, I wasn’t the biggest clubber, but a good movie at the cinema, a long walk after a day of studying, a day or two or three at a music festival, a concert, a city break or a night spent in the airport only to save some cash, for that, I was game.

In high school I was begging my parents to let me stay out more and more each time, darkness and nigh used to fascinate me. I remember a school trip from primary school when, because of a car accident on the route coming back home, our bus was stuck in traffic for a couple of hours and when we arrived home it was dark. We felt so alive and it was such an exciting idea, to be out of the house when it was dark. Now, I try to think of reasons to come back home as quickly and as early as possible.

I used to love driving my car and never said no to facing unfamiliar grounds for the thrill of the trip. I used to be brave and I used to trust my body. It never failed me: at the gym, on my walks, dancing, jumping, running, driving, my body did it all. True, I wasn’t the most athletic or the fittest, but I was active. Fuck, I miss that.

Funnily enough, now I’m reading a book about matter’s wisdom and how cells are so incredibly smart, given the right environment. Most days, I believe it and can feel it for myself. But, damn, those days when I’m not feeling it, those days make me kneel and cry for help and beg for a miracle.

Maybe a contributing factor is my new job. Even though I quite enjoy it, I’m learning a lot and feel that I can be very good at it, given time and practice, remote working is a little bit alienating. I talk with my coworkers on audio calls and we see each other at the weekly Friday meeting. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to work in comfy clothes and never have to worry that you won’t be home when a courier brings a package, but some days I miss real life interaction with people, not just through a screen. I now understand how easy it is to transform yourself in the main character from The Whale. Having everything delivered to your door, working on your laptop and basically never having to leave the perimeter of your house, the danger of becoming alienated is very close and present.

Now, for the much required dose of optimism, let’s talk about another movie, a movie that impacted me more joyfully than The Whale. The scenario is written by Diablo Cody and the main character is played by Charlize Theron. Tully depicts the story of a woman, wife and mother of two, waiting for the third child, who is a little bit overwhelmed by day to day life. After giving birth, she decides to hire a night nanny, a woman paid to look over the baby during the night and only disrupt the mother’s sleep if and when the baby is hungry.

We then see how Marlo, Charlize Theron’s character, bonds with this cool, young and hip nanny and how she reminisces her youth and her freedom. We see how helpful the nanny is: she bakes muffins, cleans the house, packs the children’s lunches for school, takes Marlo to New York for a couple of drinks and a walk down memory lane.

Then, at the end of the movie, when Marlo gets into a car accident while driving back home, we discover the truth: Tully, the so called night nanny, was just Marlo’s imagination running wild. When her husband is asked at the hospital what is Marlo’s maiden name and he says Tully, it all makes sense: Marlo’s younger version came to the rescue. Marlo baked the muffins, she made roast chicken, she packed the lunches and she cleaned the house, all while waking up several times a night to nurse the baby.

So, my wish and my hope and my prayers are that, somewhere deep inside, my cells remember how they used to be young and adventurous and confident. I picture young Maria coming in and taking me out: for a stroll, for a coffee, for a drink, for a drive or for a city break. I hope that the Maria who went solo to Berlin and Amsterdam and Pau just to see the Pyrénées, the Maria who walked twenty thousand steps a day, the Maria who drove with such confidence, danced with such goofiness and hiked with such eager is there, just waiting to help.

Now, I know, the ball is in my court. It’s fine to cry from time to time, it’s fine to be vulnerable and state your fears, but once you’ve done it, be done with it. Because a life lived in fear is no life at all. So what? I’ve fallen before and then I’ve gotten up, I’ve cried before and then I’ve laughed, I’ve died before and then I’ve kept on living, I’ve felt old and then remembered I still am young.