It’s been over a month now since I’ve been living in Lake Como.
Before I left home, I thought that when I arrived, I would know how long I’d be here for. I thought I’d receive some type of indication from my intuition letting me know that I’d have one month, two months, three months, or even just two weeks to live out my Italian dream.
Yet I never received even a hint of a clue from my intuition. I knew early on that I was going to be here much longer than two weeks, but there was no indication of how many weeks thereafter I would be awarded. Nonetheless, I have learned to be okay with my intuition never speaking up. I suppose it has a good reason for staying silent, and for the sole sake of trust, I will honor that.
~
If you’re any bit familiar with the series of events that have unfolded within the last month, you know (perhaps it’s the only reason you’re here) that I have been spending a large portion of my time with my downstairs neighbor. I’m not exactly sure how I should address him, so you’ll hear me use a bunch of different phrases throughout this post. All I’m doing is trying to see which one sounds best. Bear with me :)
The man I’ve been spending a lot of my time with is not just “a man” (although I am “the American” to ALL of his friends 🙄). He is a lot more than that. Simply put, he is the most thoughtful person I have ever met in my entire life.
I have repeatedly thought, ”He is so incredibly thoughtful. It blows me away,” over the last five or so weeks. That word, “thoughtful”, encapsulates him so well.
However, it’s not the “big” things he does that “blow me away”. It’s the little things he does that have shown me his true colors.
Like how we hiked to “Chicken Cross” (literally a large cross with a chicken on top of it), and as we made our way down the overgrown trail, he held back the limbs of the trees in front of me so they wouldn’t scratch me.
The way he proudly told a group of people that I wrote a book, and even though I don’t speak ~any~ Italian, I understood what he said— more importantly, how he said it.
The way he asks me every day, “Are you happy?” because, “Although I might not understand everything you say, I will understand when you answer this question.”
~
“Tell me something,” is a game we often play.
“What age did you have your first kiss?”
“How many countries have you been to?”
“What’s your biggest fear?”
“I want to know Taylor, not just the American who’s living upstairs from me.”
“Ask me anything. I’ll try my best to answer.”
One night we were lying in bed and a tough conversation arose. I talked about some of the most difficult times I’ve been through, and although the language barrier prevented me from fully explaining those situations and time periods in my life, he could tell that my demeanor changed as soon as I started talking about them.
After letting me speak and listening to my story, he stroked back my hair, and the first thing he said was, “But still, your favorite color is yellow.”
My reaction was immediate and visceral. There was no stopping the floodgates at that particular point in time. Tears rolled down my cheeks, and he pulled me into his chest as I tried to explain to him that my tears weren’t sad tears. They were a response to how kind-hearted, optimistic, and beautiful his soul must be for him to listen to all the worst moments of my life and only see the good.
He could have said anything— anything at all— yet he choose to see the best parts of me in the midst of the ugly.
It goes without saying that his favorite color is yellow, too.
~
It was in the conversation I sparked about how his lack of knowledge in English (even though I know he’s trying so hard to learn more) is precisely the reason why I am stunted in my emotional connection to him. I tried my best to explain that all the physicality and laughs in the world still wouldn’t help the progression of our relationship. I need intellectual stimulation to feel romantically close to someone, and I would never undermine the way in which he shows me affection, but I can’t help the way I’m wired.
I would rather someone understand my mind and I understand theirs than be involved intimately, any day of the week. You can give anyone your body without needing to know anything about them, but in my eyes, giving someone your mind is more intimate and sacred than any type of physical involvement.
It was how his eyes glossed over and he bit the side of his lip after listening to my confession about how I felt. When I asked what was wrong, he said, “I’m just now realizing how much it must affect you to not have intellectual conversation with me. I’m so sorry. I want that, too.”
How when he said, “Will you just give me time?” and I thought, “I can’t fathom how I longed for the men in my past to spare just a few considerate words, when now, someone is willing to learn an entirely new language to have access to every English word— for me.”
~
It’s the way in which I told him about one of the first poetry books I ever read, and although he had never read poetry before, he looked up the book I mentioned and read everything that was available to him online. He, from what I gathered, loved the collection, but more importantly, he felt it.
One night he brought me to a local restaurant where we ate a local dish made with fish from the lake. We were having a rather deep conversation about our feelings for one another, and I highlighted that the ending of his last, very recent relationship, made me skeptical of how he felt about me.
“But how do you know you’re not just trying to fill a void that she created?” is what I precisely asked.
After a while of back and forth conversation, he picked up his phone, scrolled through it for a few seconds, and then slid his phone across the table to me.
A little puzzled, I looked down and saw a poem from the poetry book I told him about. His screen read:
“the moment i met her
my soul begged of me
to make her mine”
I looked up at his eyes as he uttered, “That’s how I know.”
~
I could name a million more instances of his soft affection, his thoughtfulness, and his kind-hearted spirit. He has an unmatched ability to intuitively read my body language, my mannerisms, and my tone of voice before I even realize I’ve subconsciously conveyed a particular message or vibe. He seems to know me in a way that feels like he’s known me for years and years, when in actuality, it’s only been a month.
Except, I know that I was destined to meet him. I have gone practically my whole life praying for his gentle nature and softness— to feel loved and taken care of in a way that surpasses the level of love and care I can give myself. After so many years of being your own sole caretaker and falling in love with yourself, you don’t accept less than what you’d do for you. If you can give yourself everything you’d want a partner to give you, you don’t accept less.
So, you wait for the highest form of respect and affection. You tell yourself over and over and over again that it just takes one man to show you what no one in the past did, to reinstall your hope for fulfilling love. I always held onto hope that there would be softness waiting for me, and I know now that what I prayed for for all those years is possible.
I also want to add that my mom and I were on the phone a few days ago, and she started tearing up when she told me, “I have never said this to you, but I have prayed for you to find happiness with a man. I was so worried for so long that one of my smartest babies would settle for loveless love, even though no one deserves love more than you do. I am so happy he’s shown you how you should be treated, and I am so proud of who you are.”
I wanted to tell you about that conversation because I know that it wasn’t just my own prayers that brought his softness into my life. It was the inner workings of people like my mom, as well, who silently wished for what they may never talk about. Those wishes and that love is, in my eyes, the strongest of prayers. The most selfless of acts. The reason it found me.
Lastly, I suppose I should mention (so women my age understand that I am not seeing a boy but rather a man) that my sweet Italian man is quite a few years older than I. At first, I was intimidated by the age gap and rather apprehensive about what people would think, but I think it’s apparent that I’m an old soul. Finding a man my age who I am mentally matched with is not an easy task, and I have said for quite some time now that I wouldn’t mind dating someone older. Besides, it’s honestly pretty relieving to be seeing someone who knows how to treat a woman and isn’t interested in playing mind-numbing games.
At the end of the day, happiness is what’s most important. Regardless of age, looks, skin color, religion, culture, the list goes on— put your happiness before anything else.
People will talk. People will judge. The world is rather ruthless.
But happiness is simple. If it brings you joy, hold onto it.
P.S. I believe you💛
ALWAYS DATE THE DOWNSTAIRS NEIGHBOR