10.3.22 // The Paradox of Places

Paradox.
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The paradox of places.
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I've been noticing how much of the world is ruled by paradoxes.
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It started from within me, the feelings of deep love coming with feelings of deep hatred, the feelings of lust coming with feelings of disgust, the feeling of judgment showing me exactly who I am afraid to be but need to be.
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Now that I've started to see paradoxes, it's been impossible to not see them in every aspect of life. The yin and yang, the black and white, unable to exist without the other... Not that there isn't room for other feelings and thoughts in the middle of the extremes, but these extremes are the edges of who I am, edges where I rarely ventured in the past...
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But I'm gaining comfort in those edges, instead of shying away, I'm leaning towards them even if they are a bit messier. And because I'm seeing them as appealing instead of appalling, the paradoxes in other realms of existence are popping up.
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Including the paradox of places.
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I've noticed and felt called to places so many times throughout the last few years. Like Chamonix, France feels like home for no real reason then events and people line up seamlessly in that place. I easily find flow there for no real reason or explanation.
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But now I also notice the places where I feel a LOT of friction. This sounds a little woo-woo, but there are some places in the world where I feel energetic friction. There is nothing in particular that has caused it, but I just feel off, like somehow existing in these spaces feels jarring, like I'm challenged more than I should be for basic things, like I'm somehow not myself.
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And as beautiful and romanticized as Italy is, Italy is a place I have deep energetic friction with.
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When I lived here last year, I couldn't place it, why was I feeling so much angst in a place that is supposed to be so romantic, vibrant, lovely? Italy SHOULD feel like home for me (my ancestors were here not too long ago on my mother’s mother's side). I guilt tripped myself for the time we lived in Rome and Tivoli and it wasn't until my final week there (before moving back to North America) that I realized it wasn't Italy as a country and it wasn't me alone, it was the combination of me AND Italy. We just don't mix.
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Italy is one of my paradoxical places. It is one of my edges, a place where I grow not through expansion (like my growth in Chamonix), but through contraction which is much more painful, although beautiful in its own respects.
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Now that I see it, I don't actively seek out Italy but when I'm stumbling inside her borders I no longer beat myself up when I just feel "off." I see the off and try and celebrate it, celebrate my body knowing what it is feeling, celebrate my energy for being sensitive, and my intuition for speaking up after years of silence.