Something I wrote when I was in Italy last week.
As I wake up in the stillness and silence, 16000 km from home, I find myself yearning for the "chaos" of life that usually accompanies my mornings. It's funny, really, how the absence of routine can spark a longing for the very things that occasionally drive us to the edge of impatience or a feeling of constraint.
For the past four years, two or three times a week, I've embraced the simple yet fulfilling routine of running to school with Allegra and Lorenzo. It wasn't always a smooth journey, particularly in the initial years, which called for persuasive skills, a fair share of bribing, and an ocean of patience! I remember those first school runs vividly, when I'd end up carrying their backpacks, pushing them along and cheerleading the whole way.
Yet today, as I wake up in the unbroken silence and no school run to do, I find myself longing for those shared moments of exertion and exhilaration.
I miss helping Allegra up the hill, offering a gentle push to keep her going, her laughter cutting through the morning silence. Her contagious energy is a spark that no amount of coffee could rival. Her flushed cheeks, her eyes shimmering with the triumph of conquering the "mountain," as she calls it, fill my heart with happiness and pride.
And then, there's Lorenzo, always eager to discuss his latest sport discovery, turning our run into a lively seminar on the intricacies of basketball or the merits of sprinting. His boundless curiosity and enthusiasm for the world never cease to inspire me, his youthful wisdom a continual source of wonder.
Ah, and the sprinting on the downhill! Our laughter echoing through the empty street. A playful competition that always ends in collective victory.
It's in these moments of shared joy that I feel an emotional connection transcending the mundane and day-to-day.
Being away from home, I find myself replaying these moments like a favourite song. Of course, it includes non running moments too; like reading bedtime stories, their eyes wide with wonder, or our midweek "art night", with our creations hanging in mum's studio like Picasso's.
Now, I've come to realize that these "little things", so easy to overlook amongst the daily rush, encapsulate the joy of life for me. It's not the grand gestures or the impressive milestones, but the quiet, everyday experiences that truly infuse meaning into my life.
Sometimes, it takes being 16000 km away to appreciate the value of something as small as a shared moment.