I’m pretty good at coming up with ideas and beginning a new project with great enthusiasm and excitement and pushing, pushing, pushing forward . . . until I get bored. Or distracted. Or simply lose that initial spark. Or . . . something.

For a long time, I beat myself up over all those false-starts. I bought into the idea that if you start something, you should finish it. Always. And if you don’t finish something you start, that means (cue dramatic, doomsday music): FAILURE.

And not only that! It also becomes a blot on your Human Record, as if there is someone out there keeping a big ole chart of your achievements, tsking and shaking his or her head every time you let another idea for a novel drop into computer file oblivion or whenever that seemingly easy peasy Pinterest project turns into the glitter vortex of hell.

Eh, I’m over it.

The turning point came with a realization:

I’ve followed through on plenty of things in my life — things that really mattered to me, things that I committed to and never wavered from, things that I made the time for.

I have a few academic degrees and passed a couple state bar exams, for instance, which whoop-dee-do in the grand scheme of things, but for me, those were huge commitments, and I followed through. More recently, in 2011, I started a law school personal statement consultancy business, which quadrupled in clientele in just its second year, thanks mostly to the ebook I put out last August (another FINISH!). And I’ve completed countless crafty projects, namely several intricate cross-stitch samplers, which have been gifted over the years.

I don’t list these accomplishments to toot my own horn but to show myself that, hey, you know what? I can finish what I start when I really want to.

So I go back to the second paragraph of this post — that “something” that has derailed me on some past projects. Hmm….

 Could it really be so simple?

Yeah, it really can be.

When I look back on projects that have fallen by the wayside, it’s rather easy to see why they faltered — notice *they* faltered, not I faltered. At this point in my life, I am more comfortable than ever in trusting my instincts to tell me which projects deserve my time and energy and which just don’t. Bonus?

During that trial and error process, we learn so much about ourselves and our true passions.

So I’m OK with letting some things go. I have to be.

As my dear friend Diana Strinati Baur in the north of Italy so eloquently points out:

“We can’t simultaneously be glassblowers, knitters, potters, fine artists and sage advice-givers.  It’s simply not possible.”

We not only can but we *must* pick and choose and devote our energy to only those pursuits that are truly the most important to us — or as Diana writes, “figure out what’s yours” and focus.

But, hey, you’re more than welcome to think that whenever you or I or anyone else abandons what turns out to be a misguided project from the get-go that we’re quitters or failures.

My response to that echoes The Big Lebowski aka The Dude:

Now go forth and give yourself permission to choose wisely.

And finish what you start! Or don’t. That’s cool too.

I googled it to perhaps find its origin, and the first result that comes up is Pema Chodron’s book, Start Where You Are: A Guide to Compassionate Living. I have not yet read this book, but coincidentally enough, I am currently reading Chodron’s Living Beautifully: With Uncertainty and Change, which is, in a word, amazing (review forthcoming), but back to “starting where you are.”

Upon reading that Chodron’s Start Where You Are is about “embracing rather than denying the painful aspects of our lives,” I knew I would have to read it, too. One of the most important steps forward I made emotionally many years ago was coming to terms with past events that hurt me greatly; it was literally like flipping a switch. I remember it so clearly.

But that concept, as important as it is, isn’t what I have been equating with “starting where you are” in my head over the past few weeks. Instead, I was interpreting it much more literally, much more practically:

To stop making excuses for why I can’t do something, and just do it.

To start doing whatever it is I want to do –right now — from wherever it is I am.

I don’t know about you, but I have a perfectionist inside of me who defers to waiting until the “right” moment, until I have all the necessary tools or facts or information or whatever it is she believes I need to begin.

Or maybe she simply wants to wait for permission from goodness knows who.

I’ve had to fight her mightily over the years, and I’ve won many battles, but she’s relentless. She rears her perfect little (big) head any and every time I think about trying something new, doing something outside of my comfort zone, stretching my possibilities.

Will I be good enough?

Am I really ready to go down this path?

Will I *gulp* fail?

As I have clawed forward and pushed through doubts these past couple months, a handful of friends have come to me with their own insecurities about moving forward on something they’ve wanted to pursue — these all happened to involve writing, which is no surprise since I’m both a writer and a publisher, but they didn’t have to. The idea is always the same.

Start where you are. Take that first small step and then keep going. And going. And going.

As so often happens in my life, these friends came to me at exactly the right time. Exactly when I needed to hear all those words of encouragement myself — the words I should be able to tell myself, but sometimes that perfectionist gobbles them up before they can reach my own brain, or heart, or wherever.

Somehow they come so much easier when encouraging someone else to follow his or her path.

So just in case you need to hear them, here you go:

Start where you are.

Now.

Go.

Do.

And don’t let anyone, especially that perfectionist in your head, tell you that you can’t or that you’re not good enough.

You are — or at least you will be — but you’ll never get there without starting . . . where you are.

I don’t like to wish away time, but I could not be more ready for 2012 to end and for 2013 to begin.

This year has been one of my most challenging — certainly not what I had envisioned when I adopted the word UP and the image of a hot air balloon last year at this time.

While there were some amazing highs in 2012 like the wonderful expansion of Gemelli Press with the release of four new books, finally seeing Rome and meeting many online friends for the first time in person both in the Eternal City and here in Calabria, visiting with family and lifelong friends in the United States, publishing my ebook, and finding out I was pregnant, my miscarriage and D & C in May pretty much deflated my hot air balloon for much of the rest of the year.

Now, closing out 2012, I feel like I’m mostly emotionally healed, or at least getting there, but my due date around Thanksgiving had me revisiting all those thoughts and feelings again; this holiday season is proving to be another challenge. Add to that an increasingly depressed economy, particularly here in southern Italy where we’ve basically been in a depression forever, which means little work for P, and various other stumbling blocks in our lives sprinkled throughout the year, and well, 2012 has been decidedly UPhill.

But of course, P and I are still here, and we’re still going strong. We haven’t had it nearly as bad as many — the victims of numerous natural disasters come to mind first and foremost — and we continue to keep those who have had it much, much worse in our thoughts. A year like this can either break or make a couple stronger, and I feel confident we’re falling into the latter group. Though, of course, that hasn’t been easy either.

Feel down came quite naturally this year — and that is exactly how I know I chose well with UP. Seeing it there on my vision board helped whenever I needed a pick-me-UP, even if it was just the thought that “Hey, things have to go UP from here, right?”

And they have been looking UP in the latter half of the year, I think, or at least that’s how I choose to see it. Perspective and perception are so important in approaching life’s big and little challenges. I choose to look at things optimistically and with hope for the future. It’s easy to be positive when things are going well, but how do we respond when things don’t look so great?

How we react to challenges and obstacles defines us.

So bring it on, 2013, because I’m armed with my new one-word theme:

I love GROW because it encompasses many different types of growth — the continued growth of Gemelli Press and my own writing as I refocus my efforts on new projects, my relationship with P, a new direction in our Calabrian life that we hope will involve GROWing and raising more of our food and perhaps even a new business venture pertaining to that, and hey, maybe even a bambino/a if the Universe so desires.

G R O W , G R O W , G R O W !

I also like GROW because the concept is closely related to last year’s UP; as much as I would love to slam the door shut on 2012 and never open it again, I know last year’s events will continue to influence me in 2013 and beyond . . . and that’s not a bad thing.

I’m learning and growing from those experiences every day, and for that I am grateful.

I look forward to much GROWth in 2013.

Do you have a one-word theme for 2013?

Here’s a taste of my review:

The Dalai Lama’s Cat is written from the perspective of a (self-described) gorgeous Himalayan who was rescued by the Dalai Lama’s staff and who spends copious amounts of time around His Holiness and those closest to him.

As you might imagine, “Bodhi catva” is privy to many spiritually intense conversations, and not only does she recount some the most important nuggets of Buddhism, she also applies the principles to her own life as she continues to strive to live up to her title of HHC (His Holiness’s Cat). We also get a clue into the feline mind on issues such as playing the cello, “as we cats refer to that most delicate part of our grooming regimen when we attend to our nether regions.”

Click to read the rest of my review of The Dalai Lama’s Cat by David Michie, which I consider to be an absolute must-read of 2012.

Pomegranates – melegrane

As I sit on the balcony this early September evening, the tapping of the keys on my MacBook and a herd of goats off in the distance are the only sounds I hear. Nearly all of the tourists packed up their beach bags and umbrellas a week ago, giving us back our sparsely populated medieval village, oodles of parking spaces, and no lines at the two stores still operating up here.

Last Monday, I sipped my morning cappuccino at the bar, just the barista and me, during what a couple weeks prior had been “rush hour.” How lovely to have a real, unrushed conversation again with the barista.

The village loves tourists, of course, for the business and life they bring, but for quiet, private people who don’t work in the tourism industry like P and me, well, we’re just as happy to get our daily routines back come September. It’s kind of like having house guests—fun to have around for a while but then you just want your space to be all yours again.

What’s that I hear? Nothing. Glorious.

Out on the balcony, my shoulders catch a chill for the first time in months as the sun disappears behind the mountains. Before I walk the dogs to close up the chickens for the night, I will wrap a light sweater around me. A sweater!

What a strange and wonderful feeling to have covered arms again.

This Calabrian summer has been long and excruciatingly hot. Summers are always long and hot here, forest fires nearly constantly raging, but this year we had weeks and weeks and weeks of temps in the high 90s, low 100s—and no air conditioning. I felt like my mind was functioning at about 80% during my best hours; the rest of the time, I was fried.

Everything, absolutely everything, seemed slow-going. Slow-going and sweaty. Very, very sweaty.

On our walk, I catch myself smiling up at the stars as the dogs lead me to the garden. I inhale deeply, allowing the clean, crisp air to linger and tingle in my nose. I cherish each and every step. Walks are again a simple pleasure instead of a dreaded chore.

I hold on to this moment, surrounded and enveloped by peace and calm and joy.

Certain stresses and worries have been lifted away with the oppressive heat. Our campagna has survived another season of rampant flames, and our animals thrived despite the heat; a few nests of healthy chicks even hatched in the coop.

Despite feeling restless and sleepy and uncomfortable for months, I can look back on my summertime accomplishments and feel a sense of pride, having pushed through not only the heat but also more of life’s little challenges that we never stop receiving:

I self-published an ebook for law school applicants; Gemelli Press is about to publish two books, a memoir called At Least You’re in Tuscany by Jennifer Criswell and Diana Strinati Baur‘s debut novel, True Vines; my personal statement services client roster is growing; I’ve continued to put up regular posts for LegalZoom.com; and I’ve even been working on my novel. Oh, and I did stick to my promise to take weekends off. It was awesome.

Still, I’m really not sorry to see summer go. I just love the fall for that injection of new energy, a final push toward reaching any 2012 goals that haven’t yet been achieved.

That back-to-school mentality never does seem to leave us, does it?

This will be my tenth autumn in Calabria so I know perfectly well that the hot weather isn’t completely behind us; we’ll probably still have at least one last burst of unbearable days mixed in with these more manageable but still-pretty-hot-if-you’re-in-the-sun-temps. Nights, however, have turned the corner.

There’s no denying fall is on its way.

The jarring of tomatoes and eggplants and peperoncini has begun and will continue for the next couple weeks. Figs and tomatoes are drying in the sun while pomegranates ripen and prickly pears stretch their summer out as long as they can. Those adorable little furry balls holding chestnuts are starting to appear in montagna, and with just a bit more rain, we’ll be seeing porcini and other mushrooms sprouting up as well.

Soon enough, vendemmia, the grape harvest, will come and go. P and I are thinking about buying grapes or even il mosto this year to make wine for the first time; we don’t have a vineyard, but P’s father made wine for years and years, so all the equipment we need is in the cantina—and all the expertise is in P’s and his dad’s heads.

And then will come the olive harvest, my favorite time of year. Around here they say that with olives, it is “un anno sì, un anno no,” which means you have a good harvesting year, followed by a not-so-good year. Last year was very good to us, so if this proverb holds true, this season we won’t have much to pick, but we’re still hoping to get enough for a pressing. There’s just nothing like drizzling your own olive oil over toasted bread rubbed with garlic.

But all of that will come in due time.

This evening, here on the balcony, as I pull my sweater a little tighter around me and sip my chai, I’m totally in the here and now, and all I’m thinking about is whether it’s time to put the flip flops aside for a pair of ballerina flats, for the evenings at least.

When my toes get chilly, there’s no mistaking fall is coming.

Welcome back, dear friend.

That post at DianaBaur.com is about rejection, yes, but mostly it’s about redemption, and coincidentally enough, changing the path back to her. Why yes, “changing the path back to you” is the subtitle of Diana’s fabulous new ebook, Your Truth (Kindle; PDF). And that is why her post title also mentions practicing what she preaches.

I loved the first half of Diana’s post in which she talks about why it’s so important to get rid of the gurus in your life. Or, in her words:

Mentor good, guru bad.

YES!

But I loved the second half of Diana’s post even more, the part originally meant for her guru’s site. But as the Universe would have it, here it is at Bleeding Espresso.

I couldn’t be more proud to provide a home for this beautifully written and oozing-with-truth post. Diana’s ex-guru’s loss is our gain.

*

While everyone has his or her own reasons when the unsubscribe from websites and newsletters, I think at least some people who have unsubscribed from Bleeding Espresso were probably long-time readers looking for things I simply can’t offer here anymore as that’s just not where my life is right now.

And I’m OK with that.

I’m not aiming to write posts I think could go viral, lists of 5 reasons why you should (fill-in-the-magic-SEO-word), stir the pot on popular topics in the hopes of increasing traffic and site revenue, or detail the must-see sights in Italy–not that there’s anything wrong with these things, but they are just not my things for Bleeding Espresso.

pink oleander / oleandro rosa

Truth be told, I do wish I had more time to write about Calabria, food, books, and other niche topics close to my heart (and perhaps some day I will again).

Regardless, when I share something with you, I always have the same goal:

I aim to add value to your lives.

And if you’re not getting that, well yes, it’s probably time to unsubscribe.

It’s OK if we’re just not a good match here at Bleeding Espresso any more. No hard feelings! Really! I greatly appreciate all the time you’ve stuck with me, and I’m sorry to lose you–but there’s also a huge bright side for me.

I feel like over the past two years, we’ve really tightened the circle of Bleeding Espresso readers.

When I read through the comments on these more recent posts, the comments on Facebook, and the personal emails, I know there are plenty of you out there who just get it.

You get me, you get what I’m trying to do, and you get why I’m writing the things I’m writing about.

And I love having a conversation about such things with you each and every time I post. That is why I continue to write here.

And it does take the sting out of those unsubscription notices, because I know that we are really, truly communicating, sharing, and building something—gleaning advice and inspiration from each other as we each continue our individual journeys, no matter which stage we’re currently at.

So I just wanted to take a moment to thank you, loyal readers, for being so generous with your time, not only when reading posts but also when commenting and sending your thoughts via email.

Your words resonate inside of me each and every day and are very much appreciated. And this is exactly the kind of simple pleasure I wanted to write about all along.

Don’t you just love when things come full circle?

A street in Rome

Remember when you were younger and the path was so clearly laid out before you? I sure do. There was never a doubt that I would go from high school to college and then some sort of graduate or professional school. Not everyone’s path is laid out on the same trajectory, but during our younger years, most of us had few choices to deviate from the inevitable.

But then at some point, we reached a point at which the transitions became our decisions. There was no clear “Now you do A, then B, then C.” Sure, you may have people “advising” you on what to do next, whether you should take this job or that one, get married, have children. And you may feel societal pressure to do certain things as well.

But ultimately, the decisions on which transitions to make and when to make them are ours and ours only.

We must own our transitions.

Change is never easy and it’s often scary, especially once you really, really decide to go ahead and go for it, whether it’s starting a new business, tossing an unfulfilling career to the side, getting a divorce, starting an exercise regime, or whatever transition you’re making.

But it’s so important that we don’t sit around and wait for someone to tell us it’s OK to make that transition. No one can do that for us. And even if you have the “approval” of people whose opinions you value, you’re still the one who actually has to put the work into making that change.

This is what I mean by owning your transitions:

Make the decision to change something in your life, and then give it your all to make it work, accepting the consequences no matter what.

And, incidentally, giving yourself credit where credit is due.

I’m coming up on nine years in Italy next month, and I’ve been thinking a lot about my decision to move here back in 2003. My decision to say “you know, I really don’t want to be a traditional lawyer” and pursue freelance writing, which still includes legal work, instead. My decision to try to build a life within the confines of a lifestyle I knew very little about but wanted to learn and incorporate into my very soul.

The only way I could’ve made it this far was by owning my decision to make that transition and by taking control of my life path. To be honest, I’m still a little amazed I did that when I was 26.

Seems a lot crazy looking back on it, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I am so very grateful for all that these last nine years have brought me, all the good, of course, but also the struggles of beginning a freelance writing career, those early days of making absolutely niente some months and living on pasta with garlic, olive oil, and peperoncino (on good days); the challenges of surviving in a new culture with rules that I never even thought to consider, like the fact that here in rural Calabria, women and men often still sit at opposite ends of the table at group dinners and most women turn down il vino with a wrinkle of the nose; the disappointment that some family and friends just never could get on board to care about what I was feeling and experiencing.

Yup, all of it. I own it all. It’s mine all mine, and no one can ever take any of that away from me, for better or worse.

I’m now coming up on 36 in October, and I know I have still have lots of big choices and decisions before me. Recently, the 26-year-old me has come up and tapped me on the shoulder to remind me that no matter how old I get, it’s still all about owning my transitions, my choices, my decisions.

And summoning up the courage and strength I had nine years ago and have only built upon since, I know I’m ready.

I can do this.

Are you ready to own your transitions?

Margherita and friends

*inhale*

In the last post, I wrote about the the ride P and I took up into the mountains — the one that refreshed my mind, body, and soul on such a deep level that I have decided that this summer, I’m making big changes in my work schedule to allow for much more of that tempo libero (free time).

I simply need it.

I’ve been feeling rundown after a physically, emotionally, and mentally rough stretch that started when we lost our dear Pinters last December and culminated in a miscarriage I suffered last month.

I’m still in the depths of processing the up and down emotions surrounding so many events in the past six months; they’ve all been competing so ferociously for air time, and I know it’s time to listen to them.

It’s also time to really listen to my body and what it’s telling me.

I’m exhausted.

It’s time to slow down and really drink in this Calabrian summer and all it has to offer.

Now I’m not doing anything crazy like taking a sabbatical for a few months (oh how I wish I could!), but for me, the upcoming pledge is rather revolutionary.

So I’m writing it down here for the world (well, you readers) to see:

No work on the weekends this summer.

None.

And “work” includes accounting, invoicing, marketing, website upkeep, and social media, which as anyone who has ever attempted to have an online presence knows, can eat up a *lot* of time and energy. Anything work-related will just have to wait until Monday.

On Friday evenings this summer, I’ll be shutting down my work brain and doing only things I love, on a personal level, all weekend long. These may include but are not limited to:

• Trips to the campagna with P
• Long early morning walks with the dogs
• Playing with the goaties
• Sitting at the bar with my cappuccino for as long as I like
• GELATO
• Reading, for pleasure
• Writing, for pleasure
• Taking photos, photos, photos
• Scanning old family photos & archiving them
• Digging back into family genealogy after a several year lapse
• Cross-stitching
• Picnics & barbecues
• Watching television, yes including crappy reality TV!
• Catching up on movies
• Day-trips
• Nothing at all

And I reserve the right to add to this list of ideas at will, and, incidentally, to take off random afternoons or mornings whenever I like.

I know that all the work on my to-do list will be waiting for me on Monday mornings, and the world will not crumble if I don’t do just one more blog post or reach out to one more person to review our upcoming release from Gemelli Press (stay tuned for more info though!).

I also have a funny feeling that I’ll be getting more done during the week than I usually do just because I know the weekends are off-limits for “catching up.”

This may seem like a silly post to many of you, but I needed to get this out there; I feel lighter just having typed all this, so thank you for humoring me.

Now if you’ll excuse me it’s time for my afternoon iced decaf coffee to close out my Friday workday as I stream an episode of Fringe for later this evening (I’m finally in the current season, albeit early on!).

And then tomorrow, well, I don’t know yet what I’ll be doing.

Isn’t that wonderful?!

*exhale*

Do you have special plans for your summer schedule?

Wild garlic plant about to bloom

“You can’t go home again.” – Thomas Wolfe

It’s a phrase that turns around in many a long-term expat’s mind, particularly when a trip “home” is on the horizon. For most of us, going “home” is a deeply emotional experience, and no two visits back are ever the same.

This time, I was on a mission to clean out a storage shed that has held my things since I moved to Italy in 2003. Most of it was household-type stuff that I didn’t want to have to buy again had I decided to move back, but there was also a lot of personal items — photos, ticket stubs, memories of a time long, long ago from when I was a different person entirely, or at least that’s how it felt.

In a word? Exhausting. And not just physically.

Sure, you can go home again, but you’re not going to be the same.

And because you’re not the same, nothing is the same. And yet nothing has changed, and you can find yourself slipping right back into old patterns and habits and roles faster than a trip through Passport Control and Customs, and you’re left wondering whether you’re the new you or the old you or someone in between.

Sometimes I think the hardest part about being an expat are these visits “home,” when your emotions are pulled in a million different directions — to the past remembering your long-gone loved ones that somehow still exist back “home” in your mind, to the present where you’re left out of personal jokes that have arisen since you’ve left, to the future where you know it’s unlikely that you’ll be a part of your loved ones’ important moments because the distance just makes it impossible.

For all the romantic notions people have about being an expat, that emotional push-and-pull is the most severely underestimated.

And forgive the cliché, but the only way out is through.

Wild garlic in bloom

You either push forward in your expat life or you move “home,” and surely neither decision is going to feel 100% correct 100% of the time, but since when are we 100% sure of anything 100% of the time?

I know I’m not. You just move on through.

One thing I am sure of, though, is that purging parts of my past life felt so, so good. To my inner packrat’s surprise, physically letting go of so many *things* that simply aren’t part of the life I’ve chosen in southern Italy was much easier than I thought it would be — I can’t even tell you how many bags of garbage there were, although most of my *things* were either sold at yard sales or donated.

So yes, while my trip to the U.S. left me physically and emotionally drained, it has also guided me back to center — now that I’ve allowed myself some time to recover.

My recalibration after the trip “home” has been the most rewarding part of all.

Yesterday, P and I went for a long, winding ride on the scooter into the mountains for some relief from the heat. During those few hours with the sun kissing my (sunscreened!) shoulders, the cool air whipping past us, and the crisp water from a mountain spring dribbling down my chin, I started to reconnect with my life here.

At that spring, I sat quietly for a few moments, simply appreciating where I’ve come from and all the places I’ve been while simultaneously acknowledging that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Here. Right now.

I emerged from that ride with a refreshed mind, body, and spirit; I don’t ever want to forget how powerful the act of letting go can be, whether it’s letting go of things or emotions or simply of myself, allowing my mind to just be empty for a while.

So is Wolfe right?

Maybe, but all I know is that I’m so very happy I got to go “home” again — and to be home again. And that’s enough for me. Here. Right now.