When my marriage ended, I felt so alone – like the only person in the world who had failed so miserably. I couldn’t say the words out loud, let alone bring myself to tell my family and friends. I pulled away from the people that I needed the most at that time out of fear of judgement and my own crushing shame. British stoicism was the way I was raised and its familiar loneliness is where I retreated to.
My ex-husband and I had met when I was 18 and we worked together for almost 10 years on super yachts and in luxury lodges. When you’ve shared so much of your life with someone, you start to build parts of yourself around them. So much so that when they’re gone, you’re left wondering who you are without them. The movie, ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind’ with Kate Winslet & Jim Carrey, asks whether you would erase the memory of someone you loved if you could. I’ve asked myself this very question many times in recent years. If I could forget, would I want to? But truthfully, I know that I would never change it. I wouldn’t be where I am if I did.
All the small, sometimes reckless, decisions that we made together have led me to where I am now.
Some 13 years ago, we’d had some rare time off when we were docked on the coast of Italy. After several bottles of wine and at 2am, we impulsively decided to splurge on a nice hotel in the nearby vineyards. We arrived the next day, bleary-eyed and obviously terribly hungover. The raised eyebrow at check in made me wonder if they could see what time the reservation was made. Or perhaps it was our casual attire of shorts and flip flops and the old fiat 500 rental car that was far removed from their usual linen suit Mercedes driving guests.
And so, as it often seems to be in my life, sometimes the wine soaked plans are the best ones. We fell in love with the place and went back several times. We struck up a relationship with the owners, a British couple whose decision to trade the rat race for a life of adventure among the vines left a lasting impression on me .
All these years later, when I asked myself where I wanted to be, northern Italy kept coming back to me.
I looked at properties for about a year. My estate agent was incredibly patient, showing me these lovely cottages in villages and beautiful homes on the edge of towns. But never satisfied, I kept telling him that I wanted somewhere more remote, more removed. And so, he (very) reluctantly took me to these off grid shacks at the end of 2km dirt road tracks with only wolves for neighbours. All the time wondering what the hell had driven a 30 something year old solo woman to look for solace in this far removed place.
I wondered the same myself.
My sense of defeat had led me to want to withdraw from the society that I had somehow failed. The society that I had never wanted to be a part of in the first place. I wanted to hide away from all the imagined judgment caused by the very real pain of grief that comes with the end of any relationship.
The run down ruins at the end of those isolated lanes, that I insisted on viewing, felt familiar and understanding to me at that time.
Thankfully though, whatever had drawn me to the area in the first place clearly overpowered my instinct to retreat. And the house that I ended up settling on was a mere 15 minutes from the hotel that I had stayed at in my 20s with my ex-husband all those years ago.
The old stone building was still at the end of a dirt road and hidden away by trees and vines but, it was within walking distance of a sleepy village. Secluded enough, whilst still being somewhat accessible to the outside world – It felt like home.
Perhaps my estate agent’s disbelief had had an effect on my decision. Or maybe my sister had managed to talk some sense into me. Or perhaps it was just the age old cliche of just giving it time. Time for my raw emotions to settle.
Whatever the reason, I ended up where I am now.
During most of my first year at my house, I spent my time between the local pizzeria, the hardware store and hacking back the weeds in the garden, without meeting anyone. But towards the end of that first year, I had a chance encounter with an American woman in the village. The kind of meeting that could so easily have never happened. It turned out that she and her husband had moved there 2 years ago. And not only were they not the only foreigners in the area, they weren’t even the only ones in the village.
My new friend introduced me to this incredible hidden community of like minded people that I had no idea existed within a few kms of me. And suddenly, I realised how much I needed this group of people. That moment of serendipity has led me to some wonderful and somewhat unlikely friendships and each time I meet up with this misfit group of comrades, my sense of belonging to the area strengthens. As does my realisation of how important it is to have a connection with the people around you. Their stories and kindness have reminded me that no matter how independent we think that we are, we aren’t built to do life alone. Communities are the people that you can call on when you need a plumber, a gardener, a lawyer, or, most importantly, just a glass of wine and a chat.
Life is all about our interpersonal relationships – parental, friendship, romantic, work – even the day to day interactions you have with strangers. Your entire life is made up of a series of interactions. You don’t exist in isolation. Yet it’s so easy to forget that when we are so caught up in the tunnel vision of our own worlds.
When I moved to the middle of nowhere in Italy, I’m not sure exactly what I was expecting to find. Some solitude I suppose, some hope maybe, and perhaps a few truffle hunting pigs. What I didn’t expect was how the very thing that I was running from – people, community – would quietly find its way back to me.
