Pleasures and terrors of domestic comfort

I remember reading an article in the New Yorker about ten years ago about these Chinese dissidents who had been sponsored to come live in the U.S. The dissidents spoke about the shock of leaving what they knew to live someplace where they felt rootless, “too light” and “too free.” One man couldn’t handle “freedom” and killed himself. Another woman described feeling like a helium balloon floating, floating, floating into the sky with nothing to keep her grounded or balanced. I thought that was a beautiful way to put it and I really related to that feeling because I had felt that way many a time over the years and I found it to be both a scary and an exciting anything-is-possible feeling. I, of course, have roots but I had always been raised to “do what you want” and “live your own life.”

From the time I was 18, I really had absolutely no obligations to anybody but myself. My mom wanted it that way because she had grown up with a nervous, overprotective mother who “wouldn’t even let us off the porch.” Not wanting to be that kind of mother, she encouraged me to “see the world” and “do absolutely everything before you settle down.” I don’t think she ever imagined I’d take that advice to heart, leave the porch, hop over the fence, head down the road and never come back. But that’s what I did. Any time there was a major life decision to make, I’d ask my mom her opinion and she’d say “Michelle, it’s your life. You choose what you want and if you are happy, I’ll be happy.” That was fine by me.

Then I met Cristiano. While his family is not necessarily that full-on Italian famiglia that you see screaming at the dinner table in Fellini films (OK, not always anyway), he does have a certain amount of obligation to them. Love and obligation here are intertwined and the words “it’s your life” are almost always followed by a “but.” As in “It’s your life but I do have an opinion on what you do…” I remember one of the biggest problems Cristiano had with me when I first moved here was that he felt I was “spoiled.” Me spoiled? The person who had moved here with only the shirt on her back and more than $15,000 in student loan debt? Yes, he felt I was spoiled because I was “too free.” He felt that years of living without any obligation to anybody but myself had made me selfish and unable to commit to anybody. When asked how long I was staying in Italy, I’d say “Three months, maybe six. I don’t know.” Nobody had ever tried to pin me down before and I wasn’t about to start reporting in on my plans. I didn’t share my french fries (I LOVE french fries) and the first time Cristiano reached over to take one off my plate, he almost got forked in the hand. If there were two of something, I’d take the good one for myself and give him the bad one (I know! I’m mortified!) while he’d do just the opposite, always taking the bad one for himself. I complained every time we had to eat Sunday lunch at his family’s because while I found them to be lovely people, I hated having an “appointment” every week and felt that if I stayed with Cristiano, my Sundays would be planned for the rest of my life. I found it suffocating.

It took me years, but I finally began to see his family as the little team they are with each person contributing to the good of the unit and to the individual members. If one person stumbles, there is always somebody there to help him or her up. I’m amazed at how seamless it all is. Yes, you are obligated to the others (if any of the six family members living within a block of our house has a computer problem, for example, we get the call at all hours day and night and saying “no” is not an option) but you also always have someone to help you out in times of need. And we all need help. As proud as I am and as much as I hate to admit it, I too need help sometimes.

Strangely, in the last few years my own mother has been making comments, such as "The Italy thing has been a nice little adventure for you. It's still an adventure, right?" When I come home now, the person who never wanted to influence any of my decisions leaves strategically placed journalism and engineering (our respective fields) help wanted ads on the bed where we'll be sleeping and asks Cristiano things, such as "Can you see yourself living in the U.S.?" The subtext? I think you can figure it out.

I meant to write about the fact that we are taking his aunt, uncle and little cousin to Cattolica this weekend so they can spend a week together at the beach. Then we will go back to pick them up next weekend. His uncle is sick. We do not know how long he will live and for all we know this is the last family vacation they will ever take. I think the only comfort they have lately is knowing we are all here.

I didn’t mean to get off on that tangent but sometimes you just have to go with it. Only I could make a post about a Saturday at the beach that heavy.

P.S. The title comes from an art show that was at the MOMA in New York many years ago. I can't take credit for it.