Dolce far niente, like most Italian things, is an acquired taste.
It doesn't come easy to people like me, and I'm certainly realizing just how uncommon, how difficult it is for someone like me in places like this one. Beautiful, chill, at the same time vibrant Barcelona. A month-long holiday sounds like a dream come true. It is. I always wanted to come here, and I'm adoring it. There's nothing like this city. It even, in some respects, rivals my love for London. And people who know me here will know that's really something.
While I'm here, I feel the constant need to justify myself. To earn my pleasure. I always feel that. I tried to work, thinking that would justify me taking this month in this fantastic fucking city. If the skeleton of a book comes out of it, then it wasn't all wasted. No clue how I got the idea that it was all wasted, in the first place. It came out shit. I started about three stories that felt like chores, so I dropped them.
Now, I'm writing something I envision as a short story but may turn longer. It puts less pressure on me that way. I'm tryna do the thing I talked about. Write for me. What I want to read. It comes, but only when I don't try to force it. Like most things.
When I'm not writing, I feel the need to run around town. I gotta clock in several miles before I let myself rest with some coffee and a treat. Not today. When I finish writing this, I'm gonna go sit in a coffee shop I'm starting to like and have coffee. That's the destination. No running around six miles before hand, no giving in to the voice that thinks I should do productive stuff before I'm allowed to rest.
While you're busy setting destinations in your Google Maps, the moments are passing you by. I need to stop and look at them. I think I need to tell myself it's okay to sit and look at the fucking world or just enjoy my book and have a nice coffee. I'm impossibly behind on my reading, and the voice clamors about that, too. I'm leaning into it, though, on reading more than anything else. I figure I can always read when I'm back home.
Mostly, I'm teaching myself to drop the rigidity of goals. Not all goals. Some of them are very important, but this day-to-day shit I'm trying to quit, as it doesn't seem to be serving me too well.
I used to see these clips on Instagram with things like "Life in Italy is just chilling at a cafe at 2 in the afternoon, having an Aperol Spritz". I'm sure it's not just that, but you get the point. I saw the same thing about Spain. Our lives in Spain are just chilling at some bakery and walking along the beach.
The weird thing there is that people share them thinking it's the place. It's not. You can be chilling at a street cafe with an Aperol Spritz in your hometown right now, except most of the time, we don't let ourselves. It's not a place we're chasing, it's permission to hang loose.
So hang loose :)
Don't worry, sweet baby
Don't you ever worry 'bout a thing
Put your worries on a shelf and learn to love yourself
Don't be your own worst enemy.
Congratulations @honeydue! You have completed the following achievement on the Hive blockchain And have been rewarded with New badge(s)
Your next target is to reach 280000 upvotes.
You can view your badges on your board and compare yourself to others in the Ranking
If you no longer want to receive notifications, reply to this comment with the word
STOPI think I know that feeling. When you've got a limited amount of time to enjoy something you've been looking forward to for so long, you can't help but wonder if you're enjoying it correctly, as if there is some objective measure of success in pleasure, and someone to pass judgement on your performance.
It's even worse for us writers, who feel we need to squeeze some words out of each and every situation.
Is it any wonder we love to drink?