I'm Subject to Change

therapising myself over iced coffee in Florence

I am sat at a café in Florence that is not particularly Italian. Which is why I can be doing exactly this on my laptop. Taking a second from doing work things to let you know that I have a shooting pain in the right side of my head. But not because of Florence. Probably from the flight(s) over here. Both in their stress-inducing delays, despite my best efforts as an airport-dad-type-eldest-child, and the altitudes that send only one ear into disarray. This time it’s the left one. Florence is beautiful in a way that makes it hard to believe anyone actually lives here. And historic in a way that makes it hard to believe anyone ever gets any work done.

From my seat in a plush, yellow cinema chair in the Giunti Odeon, around midday, I dipped in and out of watching Edward Scissorhands. Not a film I’ve ever particularly loved but the colour grading is fun. I spent some of that time writing a diary entry. Mostly expressing gratitude to the A5 sheet about having the opportunity to travel, especially for work, which is something I used to consider a non-negotiable of only a dream job. But also realising, in scrawls of medium black marker, that not everywhere comes with a sense of belonging. And not everywhere owes me one. Some places are merely brief discoveries and interims. The latter is a word I’ve been writing a lot recently and the title for the current chapter of my life - if you were to ask me for one. And Florence is one of those places to me.

For context, when I visit somewhere new and leave deeming it “somewhere I could definitely live” that just means I loved it with my whole heart and probably a little soul. Maybe this is because belonging is a key component of what I consider a successful life. Though I’ve never concluded this fully before typing that sentence. It’s not a shock really when I unpack it. I moved school five or six times growing up. I’ve moved cities about the same number of times. I’m subject to change. And a subject of change. So a sense of belonging is a natural desire and a not so easy find for someone whose feet get cold and fickle every five years or so. A psychologist may interject here and say this is probably why I’m nowhere close to getting a boyfriend because such a commitment would mean committing. And also I rarely behave like I actually want one. If anyone were ever interested in me, it would be hard to let me know because I walk fast. I seem as though I have somewhere to be, even when I don’t. And here I come full circle, moving in search of a destination but never slowing down to notice one.

This is not sad. Possibly a little bit melancholy because a flair for the dramatics is important when narrating what is essentially mundane nonsense. I am just observing and relaying what a wander of a city unknown can do for overall understanding of the self. And when the travel is solo and the company is my inner monologue, personal development can be hard to ignore.

Thanks for reading.

I promise I’ll return to some niche topic writing soon.

See you soon.