So, what happened since that flirtation with mask in that store in Carrara?

Nothing, and yet a lot. A lot of learning about art, some travels to the sea to the other side of Italy, and a bout of cancer that… well, that is a long story. Let’s just say that it led me to understand why fate had taken me to Carrara, where I was treated and cured lovingly, and then brought me back here to Cetona, seeking physical recovery and emotional balm.

Throughout it all I did not write: I painted, but did not write. Color and the smell of linseed oil seemed to feel more necessary and instinctive while trying to survive and stay in the moment, right there, to not panic. Canvases of effervescent pink and sanguine clarets flushed me with serotonin and hope. So, will have much to catch up on with words, my long-lost beloved words. And perhaps another book to write, a sequel to The Girl from Borgo, if some things work out. Or even if they don’t.

Regardless, Steve Jobs (though certainly not the first to say this) was right in his speech to a graduating class at Stanford some years back: the dots connect, if you look closely enough and give the plot the time to mature. Follow the dots, and you will see that it all makes some kind of sense. That there is nothing random in the move that feels so random. It just takes a while to see it.

The other thing he was right about is that death is imminent and we can’t be reminded enough of the urgency to live fully, passionately, with single-minded commitment to what we love and those we love. So many people I knew and loved have died since I last wrote here—and it felt for a moment like I might too—so we have no time to waste.

I am looking forward to revisiting some thoughts with you on these pages soon, reflections about life, and love, place and purpose. For today, I look out on the denuded trees in this winter Tuscan landscape and recommit to get busy. Do it with me.

See you soon.

From Cetona, with love.