ode a ser verde.

being back in verdant Lisboa, but also europe (in summer), is mesmerizing, enlightening, existential. i was last here ten years ago with my two best girlfriends from childhood- at a ripe, jovial 19 years old- drifting aimlessly through one sun-drenched country to the next with little planned and a burning desire to see, smell, taste, touch, and mostly, drink all the juice this continent had to offer us. we squeezed lemon into lemoncello and water into wine with what little means we had going into this excursion of a lifetime. in many ways, that euro trip taught me who i was and also taught me all who i was not (yet). i so badly wanted to be older, wiser than i was. i wanted to skip the steps in between and already be this cosmopolitan woman of my dreams and the only real thing i lived for- was the unparalleled feeling of being uncomfortable. because that meant i was really living. 

that trip showed me a lot of things. but mostly, how i could live on my own terms and seek out what was rightfully mine. it gave me immense hope for the future and at once, showed me what was missing. in many ways, i knew myself more ten years ago as a budding adult than i do now. and in other regards, i am now, finally perhaps, comfortable in my own skin. i like to think i live unapologetically in a way i never knew how to back then. some say that’s just womanhood, the art of getting older. i think it’s the fruits of trial and error. ten years ago, the facade of confidence was well in place but the naïveté, the yearning for acceptance was still feverishly strong. i knew what i wanted to know but i hadn’t the time on my side yet to actually know it. now i do. and yet, in many ways, back then a specific simplicity colored everything. i knew what i liked and what i didn’t. i met people. i saw things for what they were. i looked at strangers in the eye and had time to talk, always. I observed the winding, narrow stone streets, clothing lines and painted houses in hues so beautiful i thought everything on this continent must be art. I derived so much meaning from the mundane. i morn little me, triumphantly leading with mighty curiosity for the world around her. 

and the night life? well, that was was our maxim. and with little training but incredible gusto, we conquered our way through europe’s bar scene and danced the hell out of any disco that would have us. sure, we waltzed through museums, landmarks, basilicas. we took all the pictures. we read the signs and saw the things we were suppose to see. but at that age, there was no real context. i realize that now. at that age, the dragon we were rightfully chasing was contemporary culture- the people of real time, the here and now. we weren’t obsessed with the past nor were we planning for the future. we got jobs dancing on tables at clubs in greece for 23 euro a night, we ate day old bread the seaside baker sold us, drank shitty ouzo from locals and picked fruit from trees in Sardinia. we cooked cheap pasta and red sauce in dirty hostel kitchens and took any job offered. now i couldn’t be bothered to take complimentary vodka shots, much less stay with a hundred other strangers crammed into smelly dorm rooms for the price of a glass of wine in los angeles. but back then,  that was our nirvana. we just wanted to feel alive. and alive we were. 

looking back now i can’t help but feel like the girl back then, the one touring europe on a dime, could tell you a lot more about the way people lived and loved, than i could now. she could introduce you to twenty friends she just made on any given weekend. she could tell you what their aspirations were, where they grew up, what traumas they’d gone through, or how to make authentic portuguese pasteis de nata or shrimp paella in spain. that girl who rode motorcycles into the night with locals after way too much mezcal and sweaty dancing and who would have a good story to tell in the morning when she sauntered back home as the sun rose. she knew her way around town sans GPS and she really hated looking things up. why would you when you could just stop and ask? i’m learning a lot from her. and it’s life-giving. how do we get so stuck in our comforts? why do we do it? these are the questions that confront me now, at 29 years old.