Book Three

Sunset from Hawaii's Big Island, understanding what this next phase is all about.

If moving to Mozambique was Book One, moving to California and starting art school was Book Two, then this is Book Three. I am still based in the Bay Area but the cast of characters is significantly different, as is my perspective. I feel deeply moved to write these days, but found myself questioning whether it was right to continue blogging here, in this space that is all about homes I no longer live in, a career I no longer have, and a man I am no longer married to.

Despite all that has changed, this is still the place where I feel the most comfortable sharing, documenting, and processing my life. I remind myself there is no "wrong" in continuing to write my own story, even if the space is imbued in memories of Books One and Two. What a blessing, really, to have this record to look back upon.

Thirteen years have gone by since I started this blog on a rainy evening in Austin. I am now 36, working as an artist and translator, married to a soulful Brazilian cinematographer named Roberto. We met in San Francisco through a mutual friend, a beautiful story for another day. We live in a light-filled apartment about 10 minutes away from my mom's house. My days are spent making jewelry and painting in my studio, interpreting in hospitals and at welfare appointments, and translating technical documents. Roberto spends his time going to ESL school and working on various film and video projects. Life is good.

At some point I'll share some photos, perhaps from our wedding at City Hall, or from recent travel to Hawaii, New Mexico, and Italy/Slovenia. And I'll share stories. There are SO many stories from the last two years that I want to get out before the details dull. But for now, a small synopsis of Book Three thus far:

• I healed my heart from the end of a marriage, relationship, partnership, and friendship
• I lived with my mom for 1.5 years for the first time since I was 15
• I started working as an interpreter
• I reconnected with my roots in the Italy/Slovenia border region
• I opened myself to finding love again, and did!
• I lived in San Francisco for 6 months with Roberto in a shared apartment in the very foggy Outer Richmond neighborhood, and eventually rented a place of our own in the East Bay. 
• I realized that I want to be a mother. 
• We got pregnant!!
• We found out at 13 weeks that our baby had Turner's Syndrome and the pregnancy was not viable.
• We lost the baby at 14 weeks.
• We got married!! (Very strange to be celebrating and grieving at the same time).
• I have a new name - Ali Ambrosio!!
• My dad was diagnosed with cancer (again) and had major surgery. Thankfully he's now recovering.
• Roberto had a heart attack (he is 40 and otherwise healthy) and we discovered he has several congenital heart defects. So so so grateful he received treatment and is now seemingly okay.
• Contemplated moving to the Big Island of Hawaii (the tropics were calling big time, but we realized our destiny is elsewhere)
• Currently figuring out how to make life work in the Bay Area, with a medium-term plan to spend half our time in Italy/Slovenia.

So far Book Three has been dizzyingly intense. You can understand why I need to write again. Looking forward to sharing here frequently, I've missed blogging and missed interacting with you, my lovely readers, if any of you are still out there after all this time. :)

Leaving Home

Last week I house sat for Rico while he was in India for business. It was wonderful to spend time with the cats (he has all three of them, which makes me feel like a bad cat mom for "abandoning" my babies but it's the better situation for everyone...except possibly Rico, who still has to deal with Pria waking him up at 5:45am demanding food). Anyhow, it was a relaxing few days of sitting on the couch binge-watching Weeds, eating ice cream, and snuggling with the cats.

It was also quite strange to be back in the place that once was my house, our house. Rico and I continue to be on very good terms with each other (I am truly grateful for our drama-free split) but being back there, in what is now His house, was emotionally difficult. Everything is still so familiar. I know that house intimately, I could navigate it with my eyes closed. I know where the light switches are, how to jiggle the downstairs bathroom door so it opens without sticking, where to find the Lysol and extra toilet paper, how to turn on the tv and the stereo. It is all so comfortable, like slipping into an old skin.

Except certain things are different (and, of course, I am different...the slow metamorphosis into my identity as a single person becoming ever more noticeable). I am clearing out my stuff bit by bit. The contents of drawers emptied, paintings removed, closets vacated. I notice Rico got new drinking glasses and cutting boards. There is "man brand" lotion and soap in the bathroom. And the smell of the house is subtly changed. I can't describe it, really, but suppose what I notice is the absence of myself, of my perfume and sweat and cooking and tears.

The closest thing I have for comparison is when I returned to my mom's house in Albuquerque after spending my junior year abroad in Brazil. The house was nearly exactly the same, but not quite. Home but not home anymore. Familiar but no longer fits. That was also a big moment of transition for me because I had decided to skip my senior year of high school and go straight to college. So it was more than just a re-entry after a year of international living. It marked a major chapter change, the start of a physical move as well as a shifting identity and a breakup of sorts. Much like now.

Being in Rico's house last week led me to process through a lot of emotion surrounding our split. Which is good, because I don't want to find out five or ten years down the line that I didn't adequately feel or deal with all this stuff. But still, not easy. Not easy at all.

Mostly I feel sadness, but not in the regretful "I-wish-I-could-go-back" sort of way. No, sadness as in mourning. Sadness as in acceptance. Sadness as in realizing that two people and an ocean of love are sometimes not enough to "make it work." And a strange, quiet happiness in understanding that despite all of that I am okay. Rico is okay. We are okay.

Munich-SFO

The last time I was on this flight from Munich to San Francisco I sobbed silently at takeoff.  Not because of fear of flying, which I definitely suffer from, but because I was hit with a wave of emotion and in that instant I knew my relationship was over. No more pretending an alternate destiny was possible, no more head in the sand. I had gut-level certainty that the next step was a breakup, a chapter change, and the pain that comes when a love that once flourished must be laid to rest. I was grateful when the seat belt sign was turned off and I could go to the lavatory for a real ugly cry, with nobody around to witness my scrunched up face or hear my wailing.

That was in March, nearly four months ago. Now it is the last day of June and I am on the same Lufthansa flight headed home from spending some time in Italy at my grandmother's house. I cried again, but only because I watched an inspiring film (Joy with Jennifer Lawrence). It's amazing how much has changed in this short period, how different I feel.

Unlike the last time I was on this flight, I am not dreading coming back to California (even though I know divorce papers and the slog of moving my things from one space to the next await me). I also don’t wish I had stayed in Italy, although it was tempting to extend my trip after a successful beta experience of organizing wine and culinary tours with a childhood friend and a fabulous group of ladies as guests. It’s nice to feel a balance of saudades for the place I am leaving and the place that is my next destination.

I see myself coming into a new phase: one of being single and independent, having multiple jobs I create for myself, and with no clear primary residence. I’ll be bouncing between the Bay Area (the work-live artist space I’ve created in the basement of my mom’s house), the Italy-Slovenia border region (where my grandmother was from and her big, uninhabited property awaits its destiny), Houston (where my best friend lives), New Mexico (my dad’s place), and who knows where else in between. I envision lots of geography, lots of change, wearing lots of hats. Just how I like it.

I am trying out the elevator speech about my life as I meet people on the plane: “I am a jeweler, artist, translator, traveler, writer, and dancer.” Yes, all of those things together in one complex ball of self-employment and creativity and travel. Interdisciplinary, interconnected, international. Untitled for the time being. Following my gut. Seeing where the road takes me.