Opening my heart to Florence

Our lives are made up of moments. Those flashes of images, words, and feelings that pop up seemingly out of nowhere. Sometimes we cling to them, and other times we run away from them.

Before losing my mother, I lived a more carefree life. I lived in Paris, France, and England for many years and thought little about heartache. I could rationalize a breakup or a loss. But with death, I no longer had that ability.

When I returned to Florence after my five-year hiatus in the US, I focused on my grief. I thought I could make peace with my losses and live a carefree life once again. But, that didn’t happen the way I thought it would.

Loss—of a person, a relationship, a job, or a chapter in our lives—encourages us to live with a greater sense of reverence.

I discovered that grief is a gift. It offered me the chance to feel my heartbreaks deeply, and mend my heart with love. I learned to honor my losses and thank them for their gifts. I live a different type of carefree life. Not untouched by heavy emotions, but a life in which I can welcome these emotions to arise and still choose to keep my heart open.

My life is enriched thanks to all my experiences—both positive and negative. Loss—of a person, a relationship, a job, or a chapter in our lives—encourages us to live with a greater sense of reverence.

One of my best-loved times in my life was when I was working in Paris and living in Florence. I experienced a beautiful balance between my two favorite cities. While I never thought I would ever leave Paris after living there for five years, Florence became an unexpected choice for me. One that I am so blessed to have been presented and to have chosen.

After my freelance contract ended unexpectedly, I was thrown into an arduous period of my life. This loss brought up all my other losses—one by one—and forced me to rethink my life. I didn’t plan for this sudden change, and therefore was filled with uncertainty regarding my future.

While I had been focusing on my writing projects, nudging them around like chess pieces, I hadn’t felt the impetus to publish any of them. With the end of my five-year technical writing job, my first thought was to concentrate on getting my books out into the world. Easier said than done, obviously.

Over the years, I have realized that I am an intuitive writer. My words come when I feel the impetus to write, not when the time is scheduled or pressured. Not only do I follow my inspiration to write something, but also to publish something. It’s just a feeling I have that I can’t shake.

In this time of uncertainty, only one thing inspired me: to bask in Florence’s embrace. While traveling every two weeks to Paris each month, I had already been exploring my surroundings more and grounding myself as much as possible. Upon returning to Florence full-time, I would run up to Piazzale Michelangiolo, to take in the view, allowing me to broaden my horizons mentally. I would also walk around town to let specific details capture my attention and warm my heart. And, most importantly, I would watch sunrises and sunsets. Initially, mostly sunsets as they allowed me to release my sadness so the Arno River could carry it out to sea.

During my outings, I often experienced moments of grace. Whenever I left the house feeling sad, upset, or lost, I would always return lighter and revitalized. Besides the spectacular beauty that my beloved city presented to me, she also whispered to me words of encouragement, enlightenment, and love. She brought so much serenity to my heart that I felt as if my sorrows brought me wisdom and strength. They were not to be removed as much as to be accepted and loved. She helped me mend my heart and reminded me that to heal my heart is to honor its wounds and stretch it open even more.

The first book I ended up publishing, Messages from Florence, highlights this period of my life. I hesitated to begin a new book because I had so many others in the works. Yet, the feeling to do so was too great. It was as if my beloved city wanted to be acknowledged for her internal beauty—energy, love, and wisdom—as well as her external beauty.

Florence assisted me through a challenging time and guided me to live a more balanced and fulfilling life. On my jaunts around town, she whispered messages that encouraged me to experience the beauty around me through my senses and be present with it.

“What you see is beauty; what you feel is love.”

I learned many things while communing with Florence. Now, wherever I am, I walk around the place, connect with its energy, open my heart, and connect with it. It’s my way of being in the world so I can experience it more fully and cultivate more moments to cherish.