Reflection of an-almost-26-years-old female with an Italian passport, an American visa and an identity crisis.
I found a pigeon feather in front of my house in Washington D.C., then I found another on my way to a friend’s house and then another in front of the Yoga studio I teach at.
So many feathers in so little time. Who were they coming from and what were they telling me?
My grandmother sent them. My sweet, loving, deceased, maternal grandmother sent them to me to tell me it was time to go home. Time to deal with my reluctancy of facing this fear. Time to find time to wear one shoe at the time and feel comfortable in it. Time to reconnect with my roots, whichever they might be.
The pigeon’s totems might seem to you all as just another, dirty animal’s feather, and they are. But the pigeon is also the bird that comes and goes from home, the one often featured in movies and books as the messenger of news that flies across oceans, mountain peaks and deserts to carry an important message. Why should I then ignore the message it’s brining me? I know these feathers are here to tell me something and I must listen, NOW.
The message the pigeon is delivering to me is that I am in NEED of a home. And I don’t mean a roof over my head, but a country to grow roots in. A place to myself for me to grow old and happy and possibly have a family and a dog. I just don’t know if this home is in the States or back in Italy.
I have been lacking a home for 8 years, but it feels like 20. I occasionally go visit my family in Italy, but I no longer feel “at home.” I am just visiting like a tourist in my own house, country, my motherland, my birthplace. My warm, sunny Italy became my vacation spot when I stepped foot out of it to come live in the States at 19 hoping to catch the starts in my hand and find myself along the way.
Then is Washington D.C. “home?” Is the place I published my first article the one where I am suppose to live happily ever after? But, it feels so cold and detached to everything I am and I envisioned myself to be. It’s the capital of the U.S. and the hot spot for News Junkies like myself. But is this really where I want to have a family and I want to live forever?
No. I ONLY know this much.
So, is Boulder the home I am dreading? I have lots of friends there. I spent 5 years of my adult life in this little, hippie town. Shall I move back there and will all my fears disappear then? Would my friends cuddle me to a decision?
My heart sinks to the very thought of feeling this lost for my whole life. I can’t bare to silence the voice inside me yelling me to find a home no more.
Am I an Italian living abroad? Or am I an American (without a green card)? Have I been here too long to forget about my Italian roots? Do I even have roots anymore? Or are they simply dry?
I sometimes feel I only need more soil to feel the roots flourishing again, but then what about my path, the future I envisioned, the “person I want to be?” How can I be all this in Italy? Would I have a hard time re-adjusting to the difference in culture if I go back home or would I live in peace because I am a changed person even in Italy, the country I left because I did not feel like mine?
Is there EVEN a solution to this nationality crisis?
What I know for now is that Yoga is home. As far as I can do Yoga, I am home because I am close to everything and everyone I love. But this does not help me decide because I can do Yoga just about anywhere in the world…Italy, Washington, Boulder, Tokyo, Sidney or Mysore.
But, can I do it anywhere with the same smile?