On Wading in Rest.

(The following is an exerpt from my paper journal, since I couldn't get to an internet place while I was in Brussels.)

I've spent two hours now sitting here, on a bench in the tree-dappled sunlight, streams of French rushing around me, blending with the water of this fountain dedicated to goodness-knows-who, in this plaza honoring goodness- knows-what. The accordianist down the block is playing "Besame" for the third time since I've been sitting here. The wind is playing havoc with the Flemish flag on that building over there and my hair with equal greedy glee. And I'm at peace.

That is, in the moments I can manage to force myself to stop feeling guilty about that fact.

Technically speaking, I should probably be interning in an office somewhere right now, bringing someone their coffee... or working a summer job like a responsible student... or something. Right? Instead I've been sitting here in this square all afternoon doing literally nothing... and oh my gosh, the accordianist just switched to the Chicken Dance Song and I really wish I was lying.

Liz Gilbert, my new best friend, talks an awful lot about that in this book (if this sentence doesn't make sense to you, read the post below). The trip I'm attempting to do in two months she did in twelve, and the first four of those were in Italy, basically just to force herself to address the issue of being allowed to experience pleasure for pleasure's sake, to get over all of this thoroughly American guilt at ever having a moment's stillness. She talks about how the Italians are the masters of il bel for niente, or "the beauty of doing nothing."

You'd think, growing up in the family that I did, which so values rest and peace and taking time out, that this wouldn't really be an issue for me... but I've found myself getting stuck on this a lot over the last few days, as I'm finding less and less "valid" reasons to justify the sort of unbridled fun I'm having.

I think that in addition to learning how to make friends with my loneliness I also need to learn how to recognise and wade in rest unapoligetically.

I think I'm sort of going to walk away from this adventure with a kind of manefesto of self-discovery. That sounds like the title of a bad self-help book, but I'm kind of excited about the way these things keep popping up.

I'm not really sure how to answer this question, but I'm enjoying this moment, and I think that's a good start.