I'm really, really glad I felt compelled to sit at the base of an obelisk in the piazza last night as the sun was setting and sketch the interaction between the basilica and buildings on a side street [Had I a scanner, I'd show you what I mean].
I had been running around Termini station and Via Cavour, trying to find a place to make copies of my passport. In the meantime, I found myself a bottle of 2007 Chianti for 3eu and a mozzarella ball for dinner, which were safely tucked away in my bag. On the way back to enjoy my loot, the piazza caught my eye (not such a difficult feat, as it covers an entire block). But more importantly, as I looked up at the basilica, what popped in my head was there are no rules for you in Italy. Meaning, you can do whatever you like, and no one will know any different. So heck, I had my sketchbook! Why not go draw the basilica?
I sat down at the base of the obelisk in the piazza, and grabbed my sketchbook. Fading light from the sunset was casting a very slightly pink shroud over the square, and particularly on the western edge of the basilica. Buildings across the street, nondescript besides their heavy black shutters and harsh angles, reflected the light, and groups ate dinner at the base of them under awnings in black and white. It was perfect, one of those moments when you actually can feel the things you're seeing (forgive the lack of good working here, but you probably know what that is like).
And then, as I was packing up my sketchbook, the young man sitting near me, who had been reading a book (in English, I noticed), turned to me and said (something like) "mi scusi, para inglese?"
For a second, I just laughed, then answered 'yes, of course I do'. The entire day, I had tried to ask for things/directions in Italian, and I would be answered in English, or I would start saying something in Italian, and I would be cut off entirely in English. I thought I must have accidentally written "English only, please" on my face or something. And here I was, being asked if I spoke English. Awesome.
I'm not exactly sure how it happened, but we ended up talking for two hours at the base of the monument, as the sun set completely and the glow changed from pink to yellow-orange from streetlights around us. People strolled across the piazza with gelato, and then with beer; some got rowdy, buses roared by, traffic lights became a noticeable presence. And still we talked, and talked, and talked. About anything and everything, life and meaning and what it means to have goals and love, how little of our lives can really be planned. At one point we exchanged how we got to be at that specific spot in the world at that particular time... who we were, what we did, where we came from... it turns out he was American, and part of an installation sculpture in Venice for a week, because he was a runner...
I think the greatest part of this was the fact that our conversation was honest, no-holds-barred, why and how and where in the world. There was no expectation that we would meet ever again, necessarily... we went here, there and everywhere. So we both talked from our deep places and dreamed things. I learned quite a lot in those two hours that I'll never forget, about ambition, life plans, fear, knowledge, talent, and using what you know to better everyone around you. I learned more about myself by talking to him. That was an incredible gift.
Sometimes, just sometimes, chance things turn into absolutely wonderful things. And sometimes you have to just pry open the shutters of your mind and heart, and trust a stranger with it for a little while. You never know what you'll learn.
And Brian, if you read this, keep dancing.
No comments:
Post a Comment