Every day I wake up to a curious and dazzling summer sun destiny blinding me through the car’s glass window.
It doesn’t matter how hard I try to keep sleeping: sun, glass and car seat join to boycott my sleep, leaving me with one travelling truth: Road trip must go on.
My eyelids are still heavy but I vividly remember. The feeling of the sand softly passing through my feet, the sea salt drying on my skin and the clear waters that make me want to eat the sea. Yes, I want to eat the sea. As if it was even possible to fully join its deep and destiny changing nature.
With every car start that leads to a new destination, I cry a little bit. My soul knows it’s time to go, that time is ephemeral but I can also feel the taste of new moments to live for. The kindness of the old man that speaks dialect rolling the words with a lazy accent, the man in the salami store that tells me proudly that the walls are made of real marble —surrounded by religious figures, of course—. Landscapes made of water, rocks and bees.
A car chasing the warm summer air with the wind in the back and a long tail of stories. I can see it now, every day of dazzling sun is not more nor less than a kick start that won’t accept excuses.
I stood in front a volcano and felt peace and relief.
No matter what I do, what battles I go through, what my contradictions are, victories and defeats. The volcano is the volcano; I can only be humble and thankful.
The rock is hot but the air is cold, my feet move scared of heights, but don’t stop. Time flows following the exact pace of the wind that blows. This millenary giant in front of me, we look at each other. Can’t help to feel we are having a conversation. It’s talking to me as if I’m particularly suited for listening to what its nature wants to tell me. It’s asking me to find the exact words to describe a feeling in such detail that we could both touch it, make it as real and elusive like the smoke I’m seeing right now. It’s telling me it’s alive, that doesn’t intend to sleep, that rags are old. But not the volcano.
And again, the sunrise sun is asking me to be brave and accept my new shape of the day. Every day a little bit different but more me.
My ideas are like traffic in Napoli
Out of control, out of rules, going everywhere, passing without indicating. They respect each other in a bizarre way, but they all have broken mirrors and scratches. They make it to their destiny, later, but they make it, with their own control over the chaos.
My ideas are like cars of different colours, some are fancy or decadent, maybe looking like a sports car or a 70’s hippy van. Sometimes like trucks: big ideas, hard to drive. I can feel intimidated or doubtful. Don’t know if I’m suited for driving. In the middle of the road, I can ask myself what am I doing. But there’s only one acceptable answer: just keep going.
And then, from all the chaos, a shape emerges. Not a defined one, but a shape. Rewarding me for a long time I was seeking an answer to a very —in appearance— easy question:
Feel the need of going deeper, to untied the knots that keep me prisoner of my own fear. Reconnect and, finally, grow.
As usual, once a soul starts moving, magic makes its part leading the way.
A series of, in appearance, random events lead me back to the road I walked years ago during my childhood when my dream was to write and shoot movies while travelling. At some point along the way, I disconnected from myself, maybe growing up in a reverse way, becoming a person I was supposed to be but didn’t feel like my true self.
Truth is, I don’t know why I didn’t learn this before, but I’m learning it now. Maturity comes in different shapes and times.
The need to reveal and rebel, too.
To keep going is my only option. It’s the truth I live my life through, like the sun that comes through the car’s window. Like the time floating in the volcano. Opening my eyes to a new chapter, feeling the peaceful beat of the road. The gratefulness that feeds the soul, the calm, warm air that reminds me I’m travelling.