When I wake up on a foggy morning, my thoughts go to my childhood.
I used to live in a tiny village not far from Venice, in the north of Italy, and this weather was very common there in winter.
I remember going to school with my schoolmates. We would walk in the middle of this white blanket that covered everything, unable to see what was in front and around us.
The school building would remain invisible until we were directly in front of it, so we would speculate that the school could have disappeared, maybe it just wasn’t there anymore, it had vanished in the air like a big balloon.
And then, eventually, the grey concrete building appeared through the fog, with our big disappointment.
Years later, when I was in high school, I used to take a bus every morning to go to school. When the weather was foggy, and the bus seemed to run through a milky road, my imagination would create a completely different skyline around.
I was in London, and the river flowing next to the bus was the Thames; I was in Paris, and I could see the Eiffel Tower’s silhouette; I was in Berlin, and the bus was running through huge roads heading to Alexander Platz; I was in Dublin, and I could smell the scent of the rain in St. Stephen’s Green; I was in New York, Buenos Aires, Sidney, Toronto, Seattle, and many other cities all at the same time.
I loved the fog back then because it would allow me to be wherever I wanted, living the life I was dreaming to live. It would make me forget for a little while that I was still there, in the suburbs of Nowhere, too far from my dreams.
It was a long time ago, but I still remember that feeling of freedom, and that urge to run away and live.
Then I grew up.
I went to university, moved from my hometown, and started living my life. Still, that strange feeling of not belonging anywhere wouldn’t leave. I was constantly searching for another city to live, for a place I could call home.
A few days ago, I woke up, went to the kitchen, sat down, and had breakfast with my boyfriend.
I looked outside the window and there was that blank sheet covering everything. I kept looking through the fog and said to myself: “Well, what’s hiding behind that? What do I want to see when the sun peeks out?”
And I realized, for the first time, that I didn’t want to be anywhere else but just here. I didn’t want to see anything different from the view I can see every morning.
My first thought was, “Ok, I’m old. I lost my imagination and I can’t dream anymore”.
But then I started believing that, maybe, I’m just exactly where I want to be. Maybe I found a place where I feel home. Maybe I am living the life I want to live.
Maybe. Or maybe I’m just old, or maybe both. Anyway, I haven’t felt the urgency to run away for a long time now.
And it feels so good. 😎
