Love Is...

...entirely subjective, the definition is up to you.

Photo by freestocks on Unsplash

In the olden days when I was young and the early cold mornings were punctuated by the sound of cars along the street, spluttering as they were literally choked into life. When John Menzies battled with WHSmith in town centres across the UK, and only three flavours of fizzy drinks were available, limeade was considered an exotic extra the milk van brought round in stacked plastic crates. I clearly remember walking into the town centre with the (more grown up) daughter of our Polish neighbours, I was twelve or thirteen and she was late teens. We were talking about boys and I had naively used the expression ‘love’ to describe liking someone at school. Correcting me, ‘Use the word fancy‘ she told me, ‘not love, that is for older more serious relationships’. I looked up to her and felt a bit foolish but it also felt like a rite of passage. To fancy someone was acceptable, to love them was an altogether different matter. I needed to know the difference.

Back then, my idea of the meaning of love was very much consigned to older people, married for years, sometimes sniping and dissatisfied but also loving and occasionally bawdy. In the midst of all of this there used to be a very popular cartoon drawing with a couple of children (?) - they could have been adults but they were naked and seemingly without genitals although they were clearly a male and female, very much in love and expressing exactly what they felt that meant - Their image was everywhere m- on trays, mugs, cards, tea towels proclaiming the artist’s (Kim Casali) very own perception of love. Love is…baking him a cake or Love is…a helping hand. I’m not sure it could ever compete in today’s world of instant and far less innocent gratification; see Married At First Sight, Love Is Blind or Naked Attraction, although to be fair they were streets ahead in terms of the last one even if I believe they’d be blushing regardless.

I personally don’t have a clue what love is, at least not romantic love, I thought I did but I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Hello Flower - Chapter 1 Be careful What You Wish For

I used to say that I knew what true love was because if he was in one room and I was in the other, I would miss him. Now, sadly, I couldn’t pick out love from a heart-shaped lineup.

For now I am swerving any sort of romantic love with the skill of a formula one driver, not that much is heading my way but even if he happened to be close, the walls are up, the shutters are down and those curtains are definitely closed and while it is something I frequently dream of, right now I have more pressing matters to deal with: I need to concentrate on my imminent move.

I am leaving Italy very soon and I feel ridiculously happy about it.

There have been a few unpleasant instances where I am reminded that my decision is absolutely the right one for me. Whether it is a doubt about my capability, or the enormity of the logistics or even having to enter into that scariest of places here - the post office (yes really) - I have been doing it with my head held high, my shoulders back and a genuinely happy smile, because I can see and feel my exit plan and that alone keeps me going.

I am breaking the curse of September / October, a notoriously tricky time of the year for me, past anniversaries have included the unexpected loss of my mum, my dad’s funeral, my own cancer and the implosion of my destructive marriage. The final straw was exactly a year ago when someone attempted to break into my house while I was in bed, leaving me with nightmarish repercussions I am still dealing with. Tough as it is to eradicate all the bad memories and move on, the sadness, grief and fear are not feelings I wish to carry with me. No matter how much I front it out saying these experiences ‘have made me who I am’, bollocks to that, I want to live differently, more peacefully, happily even, without miserably remembering every single thing I lost or wondering how my life might have turned out.

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The weather this last week has been spectacular, endless blue skies, cool breezes and sparkly seas, I have been out walking as much as I can in between packing and organising the move, using the time to whisper goodbyes to so many familiar sights. The cork trees, leaning on street corners along the back roads with messy branches, chaotic leaves but very useful scaly trunks, the old men of Anzio, they’ve seen it all. The tall and deceptively elegant Roman Pines offering limited shade in the hot sun while their pernicious roots cause untold damage as they stretch underneath the surrounding roads, pushing up the tarmac in defiance of the huge cars trying to navigate their way around these solid masses. I salute the massive agave plant growing so independently tall and fiercely wide it reminds me of Audrey from the film The little Shop of Horrors. I am pleasantly surprised to see an area overlooking the incredible coastline, previously strewn with so much rubbish it is now cleaned up with freshly cut grass and two lovely new wooden benches. It stands out because it looks cared for and maintained. The freshly constructed ice cream coloured ‘Bio’ villas popping up in fields where I used to walk Buddy all showing new promise and potential optimism for this place.

Sadly I don’t hold out much hope for that change, not when the general mindset here is to wake up each morning with the intention of screwing someone over before they screw you. Not an occurrence in every part of Italy but that expectation definitely applies here and the saddest part is everyone agrees, as if by nodding their acknowledgement of this exhausting and appalling behaviour it somehow lessens their involvement. It doesn’t, it makes them complicit and I am no longer willing to compromise my entire nervous system just because the climate is outstanding and the tomatoes taste phenomenal. I have had enough and tried for too long. I’m done.

Back to the question of what love is...

Granted I am shite at knowing who or what is good for me, at least romantically, but I do know how lucky I am, how utterly blessed I am with the friends I have. I won that lottery a million times over and they keep showing up.

Turning back up in your homeland after nine years away with no family you can rely on can be a lonely ol’ beeswax. You don’t want to ask, to become a pain, to overstay your welcome, and living out of a suitcase or sofa surfing at my age is not an option. I was looking at renting possibilities but reluctant to commit to 6 months without really knowing where I might end up living, could be a) expensive and b) a lonely mistake.

When a good friend recognises your dilemma, your needs and what you are going through without asking, well… it feels like the best virtual hug. One such friend months before I had sold told me she was ready with a solution of my own place, a ‘lodge’ on a family owned campsite because, in her words... ‘I know you need your own space’.

The safety net she has provided me with is priceless, her understanding of what I needed unreal.

I am used to doing most things alone, I had certain things sorted but needed a motivational push to achieve others, painting the studio, packing and moving boxes…stuff you know you should do but you keep staring at it and procrastination becomes a game you play with yourself. Another diamond friend headed over to help - this pocket rocket of dynamic ‘can do’, ‘will do’ energy was exactly what I needed to move me out of the ‘rabbit in headlights‘ pose I had adopted. Her timing was perfect and when she arrived she was keen to hear all about my plans:

‘‘Well,’ I told her, I’ have decided not to sell the car but instead I will drive back to the UK‘ I squeezed my hands together tightly, as if they might give away my nerves.

This was huge for me but in terms of being autonomous in the UK, at least to start with, it was necessary. Plus the psychological impact of driving away from a place which had caused me so much misery was essential. Her eyes widened and I found myself once again taking on the role of reassurance, saying ‘I will be fine, I will take it slowly’ instead, shaking her head she said ‘I know that but... when would this be exactly?‘ and a small cheeky smile formed as her eyes began to sparkle.

‘A road trip...together’

Spontaneously, spur of the moment, could we actually make this happen?

I truly believe a plan comes together when it is supposed to. Over the three days she was here everything slotted into place, logistics, removals, even the date of the exchange, her swapping workshifts with wonderful colleagues. The timings all coincided or we made them work. Even when the ferry timetable didn’t behave, we changed the route finding an alternative, avoiding Paris and the overly expensive toll roads. We kept hugging and dancing because it is going to be so cool, such a great experience and so much better with her.

When she said in all seriousness ‘I could never have let you do that alone’. I had to turn away so she didn’t see the tears.

I believe I know exactly what love is.