Lately, I have been spending a good amount of time thinking about the difference between solitude and loneliness, and which one I am experiencing from day to day. I have to say, it fluctuates. And what makes it much more difficult is the fact that I have (once again) challenged myself to move to a new location outside of my comfort zone and my culture.
There are days when I feel so blessed, walking through Italian medieval streets lined with art and antique remnants of the past, delighting in speaking the language and frolicking without aim. And then there are other days that have me questioning what I am doing here when all of my friends, family, and everything I have known and worked for are located in the U.S.
I don’t have an answer, just a human experience.
Sometimes I both love and bask in my solitude; in my own energy and my own pursuit of life. Other days…well, I am just existing. Alone.
On the days when I feel lonely, I try to connect back with the present moment and the things that feel meaningful and good to me: a walk around my city, reading a book or writing in a coffee shop, studying the language in my favorite library near the Duomo, going to the gym to get out of my head and into my body, or (my favorite) eating a plate of pasta and drinking a glass of vino rosso that I ordered in Italian.
These small things remind me that my experience is small and fleeting, and that all humans go through fluctuating feelings. Those feelings are normal and good. They remind us of what we need and long for—and in my case, what I am longing for is a sense of belonging here.
I remember when I first moved to New York. It took me at least three years to feel like I belonged in the City. What does that look like? More importantly, what does that feel like?
For me, it felt like not questioning whether I deserved to be there. I stopped questioning if I was good enough, cool enough, dressed well enough, made enough money, etc. Somewhere along the way, I just chose to raise my self-worth, my standards, my values, and my expectations for my own life. I decided that whether or not I was, in the moment, good enough didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was going to be all those things and more. I would make sure of it.
The first few years, I stumbled through trying, mostly because I was following the script of the people who had come before me, people I knew and loved. I lived life the way they did: I followed their routines, I followed their advice, I made friends with their friends, I dressed how they dressed, I dated how they suggested—and what I found was that I was still unhappy.
This is because what I was trying to do was fit in. I had abandoned my own values, opinions, thoughts, ideas, and even wardrobe choices to be accepted. I sold myself out without ever even realizing it. I changed, not for myself, but so I could simply try to be accepted.
I have a very real memory of this hitting me—the feeling that I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t just to try to fit in. And for what? I didn’t even like the stuck-up, pompous New Yorkers who were surrounding me.
My friend was having several of her friends from across America meet us for dinner at BondSt, a little Japanese sushi spot in Greenwich Village. The girls who would be meeting us either worked in corporate business and/or fashion. They came from families that had money, and their wardrobes and glamour showcased that.
As we were sipping our $21 martinis, the girls were going around the table and debating the thing they loved the most but that had cost them the most.
One girl whimpered, “I mean, I love my BMW, but I also really love my nose job… I’m not sure which one I would choose as my favorite purchase!”
That’s the moment I knew I was in way over my head.
These were not my people by a long shot. I put zero value on cars and plastic surgery. How did I even get here?
“SOS”
I took out my phone and messaged one of my real friends in the city: “Get me OUT of HERE!”
“Come on over,” was the quick reply.
I Ubered myself over to Brooklyn, where a $2 slice of pizza, a spliff, a German Shepherd, and a low-key friend was waiting for me—much more my style.
I eventually became the authentic, non-performing version of myself in New York City once I adapted my routine to center around my values and created a core group of friends who shared those values.
I woke up early and would often meditate and journal in my apartment, then go meet a friend for coffee to either talk or read. In the early afternoon, I would go to the gym and then start my remote job directly after that. The evenings were me time, with the occasional dinner with the girls.
I often spent my days off shopping or going to brunch and then perusing the city. In the summer, I would walk to different parks in the city or read on the West Side Highway. Sometimes I would venture into Brooklyn to vintage shop or go to a little tea shop that I adored. I went to meditation or yoga classes. I took free tango and salsa classes on pier 17. I would go to literature events at the Strand or other little locally owned bookstores: There I could listen to the author speak and I even started a little collection of autographed books.
I felt like I had found a place where I belonged.
In the book “Atlas of the Heart” by Brene Brown, the author states:
There is a difference between fitting in and true belonging. Fitting in is what we try to do when we stop trying to make ourselves happy and instead settle for making the people around us happy.
True belonging is being internally happy regardless of how the people around you perceive you, and I think this is infinitely more difficult to do. I had found true belonging in New York, not just because I had found myself, but because the culture was so vast and unlimited that I also had quirky people surrounding me—people who were into things like literature and meditation. I not only found experiences that made me feel like myself, but I had found a community and people to share those experiences with. A community that made me feel safe enough to be my authentic self.
I think it’s inevitable that when you change a city, let alone a country, there will be some soul-searching during the process. What I was unprepared for was how much. I realize that even at the ripe old age of 40, I still need to figure out where I belong when changing my life so drastically. I know who I am at my age; that is not the question. But who I was always had a little bit to do with where I lived prior to this.
Four years ago, before I moved to Italy, if you had asked me the simple question, “Who are you?” my response would have been a fast, yet real, “A loud, opinionated New Yorker.”
Simple. That’s me.
The girl who wears stilettos all night long, although it is killing her, because “it’s an outfit.”
The girl who grabs her coffee and then sits in Washington Square Park to people-watch.
The girl who always takes the subway at West 4th.
The girl who watches Patti Smith from afar as she drinks her coffee and writes her books.
I was that girl.
But who am I now?
I am still the girl who goes to her local cafe in the morning, but now instead of ordering a coffee, I get a cappuccino and a pastry. I am still healthy. I still cook healthy meals and go to the gym at least three times a week. Now, I also enjoy the occasional good pasta or pizza, too.
I still wake up and meditate and write in my journal. I still go out Latin dancing a few times a year, but now at a club down by the Arno River. I read many, many books, sometimes while sitting near the Ponte Vecchio.
I guess what I am trying to say is, I am still the same person. I still do the same things, just with different scenery. I have traded in my Trader Joe’s for a Conad.
I have come to the conclusion that fitting in is much more adaptable than belonging. You see, I can fit in here. I can speak enough of the language that I can hold a basic conversation. I can order food or a coffee in perfect Italian. Even if it’s not perfect, local people respect the fact that I am trying to assimilate.
I can adapt to European standards of dressing (aka wearing real clothes to the supermarket instead of sweatpants or athletic wear). I can learn a few hand gestures and a few small sayings like “Boh,” “Dai,” or “Vabbè” and laugh with the crowd.
But is that fitting in, or belonging?
Brandi Carlisle put out a new album titled Returning to Myself, where she states in her album titled song:
Belonging, I think, requires people, or a shared experience, to be complete. I think that’s what I am starting to realize I am missing here. I am missing the people who make living somewhere fun.
And the truth is, I have many good friends back home. And with things like FaceTime, they are literally just a phone call away. Just a quick flight, and I am back into the arms of the people where I belong.
It’s just that now, I want that for myself here.
I think what makes that hard is that we live in a society today that rewards fitting in. Social media has everyone going on the same vacations, wearing the same trends, eating at the same restaurants, and now we even have “Instagram face”—a blending of our features where big lips and high cheekbones are now the standard. We are slowly becoming more and more like each other and quickly losing our authenticity in the process.
I think we are becoming a generation of performers. We perform to literally fit in. And it rips us away from sharing our beautiful, wild, and whimsical selves with the world.
Just as Brandi stated in her song, returning to our true, authentic selves is what enables us to connect so wholly to others. If we are always coming at connection from a place of performance, we are never allowing our real light to shine forth and influence those around us.
We are always taking the “safe route,” the one that lacks vulnerability and “standing out”—the thing that risks you losing support over simply daring to be different.
It can be really hard in this day and age to be brave enough to stick out. To try something new. To take the less agreeable stance. To move to a culture with a new language. To wear something others might not like. To create a new work of art.
All of these actions require vulnerability. Vulnerability to be who you are, to try something authentically you. And I think doing these things at this moment, right now, when the world is so saturated with sameness, is not only brave but necessary.
I think that’s exactly what we require. Because the more capable we all are of standing up for who we are, in all facets and shades of gray, the more we will allow others to be different but still exist.
So, for now, I am going to recognize that I have to give myself a permission slip for learning to be myself in a new area, around new people, new traditions, and a new language.
I am going to strive to be more of myself here and to reach out to those around me when I can, to share those experiences. I am going to give myself permission to mess up the language, to try to talk in Italian when I can, and try again when I need to. I plan to take a few classes, maybe meet some steady friends who want to learn next to me.
The question I have for you is: How can you dare to be more authentic, and therefore allow yourself to find a deeper sense of belonging in your own life?