At sixty I sold my business in the UK, parted on the best terms I could from my family, and moved to Italy, alone. There was no plan, just a knowing that there was more to life than the one I’d lived, and it was calling me. Over the following twelve years I moved on three times, from Italy to France, every few years feeling the need for another fresh start. Those who knew me found it hard to understand, and sometimes so did I!
Five years of living alongside Italians broke through my British reserve, challenging me to wear my heart on my sleeve – less thinking, more feeling. In France I gradually withdrew, living ever closer to nature and more distant from the world. This isolation began a slow and random unraveling of who I thought I was, and revealed a lifetime spent burying who I was born to be. We tell ourselves such stories…
Finally I felt a deeper, richer understanding of myself and of life, and a compelling sense of purpose that had long been concealed. Part of that purpose is to write. It always was, I just never allowed it to happen. But now I’ve let go of all those identities we carefully craft over the years, I can see, feel and express with greater clarity, and my reflections on life are what I have to share.
Beyond this, I’ve had the time and space to watch the world on my computer, as if from the outside, whilst coming ever closer to nature in my own day to day, and seeing the gap between the two increasing. How at odds we have become with the Earth, what demands we make, and how little deep happiness they bring. And there is a vision growing in me, a way of life full of love and belonging, living in harmony with the Earth and each other. I know this is my next step, into who I was born to be, when the moment arrives. Bring it on.