Leaping

From Brooklyn To Lucca Italy

A Leap Of Faith, is defined by Psychology Today as, “having a basic belief in yourself and a fundamental trust in the vision of who, what, and where you want to be in the future. The leap of faith involves the belief that good things will happen when you choose to change your life.”

Here’s to Leaping.

I first meet my neighbors splayed across the landing in our stair well. An elderly Italian man with a full head of Targaryen white hair, opens his door and looks down on me with pity. I am in too much pain and too frazzled to translate any words into Italian. Instead I give a universal exhale, drop of the shoulders and head, then raise my palms face up to say- “What the fuck”. He grunts knowingly and shuffles down the remaining flight of stairs towards the gate where my husband is awaiting the arrival of the ambulance.

I wasn't trying to leap, but rather was attempting to make it out of the apartment in my jet-lagged haze for some food.

Disbelief strikes first. I can not fucking believe on our first day in Italy I am heading to the hospital. “Be Brave Becky. Breathe.” I chant to myself silently, but my reserves are waning.

Our travel here was arduous. Two screaming cats on an 8 hour flight from JFK to Rome followed by a 3 and a half hour car ride to our new apartment in Lucca, Italy. Much to the horror of our in flight seat mates, our one cat exploded in his carrier on both take off and landing.

Just as the aircraft was careering from the runway a horrid smell began wafting from beneath our seats, accompanied by the dreaded low guttural yowl. I knew what was happening before I even looked. To make his distaste further known he crammed his behind up against the mesh side of the carrier so that as his bowls emptied, shit seeped from the carrier to the outside of the plane floor.

Frantically I pulled at wipes and plastic bags that I had at the ready for this moment. With my heart pounding I take in the faces of those around us, mouthes dropped open in disbelief and disgust. As soon as the plane righted itself I run with the carrier into the bathroom. The flight attendants try to persuade me to turn around and use the one in the back of the plane.

“Ma’am, there is no chance. This is an emergency.” I look at her my eyes wild. She too returned my gaze with a look of inconvenience and disgust. I do not blame her. This was, I assure you, most unpleasant for everyone.

My mouth is desert dry from adrenaline. I scurry into the bathroom. I pull him from his carrier and see that the bottom lining of the carrier is unsalvageable. Even though I had put down two dog wee wee pads. The smell was so atrocious I nearly vomit into the small airplane toilette. I roll up the components of the carrier as best I can and shove them into a plastic bag- and then into the trash of the bathroom. Into the sink he goes for a final blast of water and soap to try and clean the fur that was most impacted. I look into the mirror and see a smear of cat shit on my hand and chin.

“HU UGHH” I gag.

I scrub myself nearly raw inside that little bathroom with the water turning off every 3 seconds, mocking me with its short little blasts. I imagine it saying” almost there! Just kidding, you are still covered in cat shit! “

I walk back to my seat. My husbands face is ashen. “ Are you okay?” He asks?

“What is okay?” I respond dryly. “Are we going to get through this?” I ask

“Of course babe, Breathe.” He responds.

My insides are screaming to be off the plane. To somehow transport myself to a place of comfort. The realization that I am stuck here echos off my ribs, into my chest and back again to my heart. I am no stranger to anxiety or panic attacks. I slow my breath to initiate calm. “Remember the why.” I beg myself.

We are moving to Italy. Your. Dream. Is. Actually. Happening. You get to live differently for a while. Remember, Remember.

Still, I sit wired watching the flight map. One hour down, my cat starts screaming.

I put him on my lap in his carrier. I start tapping his spine , hand feeding treats, hitting him again with the lie of all lies “Gabapentin” - My vet swore would calm him for the flight- that has not touched him. I plead with every god I have ever heard of to calm him down. Meanwhile our other little cat sleeps peacefully in her clean crate.

Hour two, the flight attendants serve dinner. Again I nearly vomit at the smell of food. I decline and ask for three drinks. Ginger ale, water, sparkling water. I down all three in the matter of minutes.

Hour three I drift into sleep with the slightest pins and needles spreading across my lap from his weight. He starts screaming again. I wake and put my hand on his head.

Some semblance of this continues for hour 4, 5, 6, 7, and finally we begin our decent into Rome. I brace myself , and put him back on the floor under the seat. Then as landing begins both cats create a chorus of meows. Loud, making damn sure everyone knows of their discomfort.

My heart pounds as we wait for the attendants to open the plane door and let us file out. My mouth is dry again. My arms shaking. The people in front of us begin to move- Mike picks up Ninos carrier and we are all hit with a wall of smell worse than at take off.

“He did it again!” Mike says with a crazed giggle.

“Fuckkkkk” I laugh hysterically. There is no sanity left.

Knowing what is ahead of me my heart beat clicks up a notch.

We race from the arrival gate in Rome, and I head straight to the family bathroom. I brace myself and lock me and Nino inside. I pull him from the carrier and again, His fur is matted with waste. After going through two packs of cat cleaning wipes and sticking him in the oversized sink, he is mostly clean.

“This is gonna have to do bud.” I say with a sigh.

Wrestling with the waste covered carrier I smush it down inside the trash bin. I offer a silent and emphatic prayer of thanks to my past self who packed an extra cat carrier. I pull the new fresh carrier from its plastic - set it up and grab some paper towels to give Nino one more wipe down before stuffing him into the new carrier. He yowls and grips his nails to the floor.

“Shhh, shh I know, I know.” I say my heart breaking a little.

I open the door and walk towards Mike- who is holding our other cat Puppy by the entrance to border control. He looks as tired as I feel.

We move quickly through passport control and head to baggage claim. I sigh with relief as I already see our bags on the belt. We head out past customs and see our taxi driver holding a sign with my name on it.

“Oh thank god” we both say in unison.

Our driver greets us with a smile that widens when he hears two cats screaming from their crates.

“I love animals” he declares. “They can be out of their crates in the van, do not worry, they can be comfortable”.

My shoulders relax for the first time in 10 hours as we step into the van. I lay out a blanket on the seat next to me and open Nino’s carrier. He immediately quiets down and goes to sleep with his head and paws on the blanket and the sun warming his fur.

I look at Mike:

“Okay, only one more step.” I say as the car drives north from Rome to Lucca.

“One more step” he repeats and closes his eyes to get some rest.

Those words echo in my memory as I lay here on the cold stone stairs. Just one more f***ing step and I would be fine. One missed step and “CRACK” everything changes. Another call to be brave and breathe.

Now, the door on the right opens- I see another white haired man speaking rapidly into his cell phone and peering at me through a crack in his door. He then slams the door and continues with his phone call. NO doubt saying- the new American Neighbor has fallen down the stairs.

Sometimes we leap and soar. Sometimes we leap and fall. It is inevitable in life to contend with falls, we all do. I try to stay positive internally, because I know the depths to which my psyche can plunge. It is not healthy nor tolerable for me to sink into the seduction of depression.

“Not now. “ I say out loud.

“This is an invitation to rest” I try to convince myself.

I run through a list of gratitudes. Grasping for all the tools in my toolkit.

You have just moved to Italy.

You have a comfortable place to rest.

You have love and support.

You have two cats you love.

You have food.

You have water.

You are strong.

I am, also, not here alone. I leapt with another being. It is part of my responsibility to consider his experience. I know he is nervous and scared. I know he will have to handle almost everything for the next six weeks while my ankle heals. This is a different kind of “handling”. EVERYTHING is new. The language, the grocery store, the systems, the medicine, the climate.

When you leap in ballet you are taught to hold your head high, chin up. You gaze across the stage into the horizon. As a young dancer- leaps, and jumps were always my favorite. My face would take on a sense of awe as I floated - legs extended, toes pointed - across the stage. You are trained to look at the horizon. The dreamy sunset in the distance I’d imagine.

"Find a point to focus on." my teacher would remind us.

As I reflect upon this process I realize it is always up to us to choose where to focus. Whether on the dance floor or in life, we can focus on the “Fall Point” or the “Soar Point”.

If I focus on the fall - the cat shit, the broken ankle, the lack of understanding the medical system etc I will emotionally tumble. If I had focused on those before our departure maybe I never would have left.

If I focus on the soar point, the awe, the potential, the beauty, the new knowings, the deeper understanding of life and culture here in Italy. I emotionally fly. Pre departure it is what got my feet off the ground and into action. It is what actualized my dream.

Mindset, in short, is essential to our experiences.

I am not suggesting we abandon the fall. The fall is the lesson. It is where our strength is birthed. I am suggesting that when considering drastic changes we remember the “Why”. The spark of inspiration- the goodness and potential that could await, the new horizon in the distance.

There are many of us who get stuck in the fall. The “What if”, scarcity driven thoughts that make the ground we stand on climb up and encase our feet. They trap us at the crossroad.

There are equally those that get stuck in the soar. Always changing, searching, and never allowing the discomfort to teach.

This experience has encouraged me to try and find the balance between the two. When I feel stuck or scared I look up and find my “why”. When I am restless and trying to outrun discomfort, I try to sit still, pat the space beside me and welcome it to sit with me. To teach me what I need to know.

In early life, I was not taught to consider the mundane realities and challenges of everyday life. I was taught to dream. I was told to Leap.

Because of this I am forever working on integrating freedom, and foundation.

I breathe, I try, and sometimes I get it wrong. But I always learn something in the process.

I am learning, feeling lost is a common experience for the new Expat. I learned quickly that the people here are kind, and try and help if they can. Those early days I had many people step in. Because of Covid I was sent to the hospital by myself. Not many people spoke English at the hospital. As I sat waiting for my X-ray results I started panicking about how I would get home. I did not even know how to call a taxi. I asked in broken Italian and the nurse tried to piece together my words. “Ahhh” she responds as I see the realization dawn on her “ Si Certo! Ti Chiamerò!” (Of course. I will call for you.)

I never considered the simple , frequent moment of answering the intercom for deliveries would render me speechless and overwhelmed. “Courrier!” They’d yell- and I would stand there dumbfounded. How the hell do I answer? Where will they leave the package? Will I have to explain I have a broken foot and can not climb down 4 flights of stairs on my own?

I also never considered the strangers that would show up to support me.

Our Landlord arrived the next day carrying a tray from the bakery. “ I think you should need something sweet today to chase away the bitter.” He explains in a down tempo tone infused with kindness and concern.

Our realtor Veronica text me a few times a week, and showed up with handmade tortellini from her mother in Bologna. The best Christmas gift of the year.

My Italian tutor came with me to the Questura, Anagrafe, and Commune to help me process my paperwork.

As I Crutch alone the slippery cobblestone streets, she operates as a tour guide pointing out all the places that are for locals, and what to be sure to order from each. She takes us for coffee, watches our cats, and brings me Pannetone for the holidays.

The women of my local cafe (coffee shop / bakery) take the time to explain the different types of pastry. I even start to become friends with one who is also a painter, around my age, kind , funny, creative and curious.

Our neighbors signal at my foot and ask Mike how I am healing.

The local woman who collects change on the corner looks at me with a kind smile “Piano, Piano, Piano, Piano Signora” Slowly , slowly, or bit by bit she encourages.

I think most have heard the saying “ Leap and the net will appear.” I used to find hope in that statement. Now I know it inflates expectations. It claims bravery is always rewarded with ease and synchronicities.

I believe that if you are open and true people will appear. The net I landed in is a collection of hands. Hands that belong to people who want to help, who see another humans hardship and walk towards it with kindness.

Sometimes we leap, we fall, we learn and we wobble. But I still vote for the leap.

Things are becoming easier with time and practice. Slowly I began to answer the bell with confidence. I learned how to call for a taxi, and each time I feel a little burst of excitement and pride as I string together the elongated vowels “Pi(ahhh)azza San Mich(KELE)ele”

The melody of the language soothes me.

So...why do we Leap? What is the value? The motivation? The benefit?

I can only answer for myself.

I leap because it brings me somewhere new.

I think we take a leap of faith when we dare to dream. Sometimes, we leap when we are bored. We leap when we feel that invisible tug saying- “there is more for you waiting out there.”

Most importantly, we leap when we take the time to listen. To ourselves and our wants.

I am remembering that when we leap we are still the same person when we land on the other side.

A few weeks before Christmas my cast was removed, and my ankle has since regained most of it’s strength. I wander through the piazzas and take long walks along the ancient walls. My pace of life is shifting. I sit now overlooking Piazza San Michele, sipping on Espresso watching Nino bask in the sun overlooking terra-cotta colored rooftops and I feel content, a kind of warm cozy content that spreads out into a genuine smile.

I feel nothing but gratitude to myself and Mike for taking this Leap of Faith. I’d do it all over again. Cat shit and all,

Rebecca is a Writer, Therapist and Painter from New York living in Lucca Italy.