But, in the last one I decided differently...

In fact, I decided to go for the Oropa Sanctuary in the Alps, called “the shrine between earth and sky” where one of the most important black Madonnas is kept.

From the site:

The Oropa Sanctuary is the most important and largest Sanctuary dedicated to the Virgin Mary to be found in the Alps. It is located in a unique, natural and unspoilt setting at 1200 mt. a.m.s.l[...]

Keep in mind that I'm no believer although I truly appreciate sacred art, so unique, natural and unspoilt setting was what truly intrigued me about the Oropa Trail, specifically the Serra route.

Coming out from the woods and gazing upon the sanctuary in the far distance was simply majestic. I then approached the main building, the upper basilica, and walked through the sacred yard. After entering, looking at the ceiling, with the dome towering at 80 meters high, passing near the humongous marble columns and finally resting my eyes at the black Madonna left me struck with my mouth open.

And, I felt something.

Yes, you read that correctly, I felt something. It was not a calling, it was not my name whispered into my ears with a harp gently played and definitely wasn't another pilgrim bumping into my backpack.

What it was was a connection. A connection spanning several centuries in the past, with all the pilgrims that passed through that trail, with their burdens, in search for something more. I wrote above that I'm no believer but I need to clarify that what I don't really believe in are cults; I do believe in a force above us that could be defined as an “natural equilibrium” (mind, not Karma).

Anyway, believer or non believer, worshipping this or that god or just waiting for the natural equilibrium to kick in, we are all the same, we are all connected.

We're all wanderers in the dark, looking for a light to brigthen up our life.

And since we're all the same, we might as well be that light to each other (starting being kind, like stated in the gentle wolf and the angry wolf recent post)

In case you might be interested in watching some photos from my journey, here's a link

#Oropa #Trekking #Faith

The journey into the adult life is basically moving on uncharted areas of the map. And there, there be dragons.

Alex

I like to get my posts a title that isn't really connected to the main topic of the post itself and try to work into the post by creating a visual concept (or a metaphor), and this time won't be any different.

Let's start by thinking what a step is. No seriously, take a few minutes and imagine what's a step and what does it mean for you.

Is it just a mechanical way to get your body moving from point A to point B? Is it a oh-so-used metaphor with a profound meaning (like every change/travel/trail begins with a single step)? All of the above? Non of the above?

I don't hold the truth (pfft, imagine if I were, what an effed world we'd be living in...) but a step for me is just a single inseparable fragment of space and time combined together. You can't take the same step again in a different moment, you can't have two different steps at the same time (well, unless you'd be jumping but bear with me and count that as a single step for the sake of this post). And every step carries your weight, may it be heavy because you're carrying a lot over your shoulders, may it be light because you're not, thus taking us in having three different concepts melded into one: space, time, happiness.

Effin' cool, isn't it? It's a neat concept holding together the past (all the steps you took – aka the footprints –, how were you feeling), the present (the direction you're going, how are you) and the future (all the steps you'll take, how you will be).

If my calculations are correct, you're just looking at this phrase thinking > “Jeez Alex, just start writing about hiking and how is good for you, me, everyone”. No, I won't, but hey, baby steps, we'll get there eventually. Today will be about something completely different, today I want to share something that I've talked about with only a few (not even my family).

A step forward

If you had the chance to read Waves, tossing you up and down – and if you hadn't, no worries, you know that I'm currently dealing with depression (aka the not-so-big-D). I didn't use the “battling” because honestly, it's not that bad.

Two pair of heavy footprints in the sand

One of the main reason that caused this condition lies in something happened a few years ago, when me and my wife lost a chance to be parents by a spontaneous abortion. There's no one to blame, it just happened. Back at the time we were just out from a complicated period, during which we simply couldn't have kids, first we were too young, we were too broke, then we were in the middle of moving, then my mother in law had cancer. And when we finally could, we tried and tried to no avail.

Needless to say, it felt like a warming ray of sun before it quickly disappeared behind the cloud, forever.

It was hard at first, very hard. But then it got harder with the years passing by, mostly due to the social stigma; sometimes – most of the time to be honest – people judges you by the fact that you're a parent and not how a good of a parent you are and being without a child is synonym of something going on in the couple (cheating, fighting) plus being treated as an inferior being from couples with child.

It's scar tissue that you don't want anyone seeing, but it's there, and it reminds you that you won't be whole again, never again.

Another step forward

After an year of trying and bleeding our hearts out, we decided to give medically assisted procreation (MAP for short) a chance; fortunately is almost paid in fully in the country where we live by public sanity.

Two pairs of heavy footprints in the mud

I'm not gonna lie, it was an horrible experience, due to the nurses and doctors working in that department, treating us like cows to the slaughter, mostly because they get their annual budget over the number of babies conceived instead of people treated. If you have to work with couples not able to conceive, you should get your soft gloves on and be tactful is what I'm thinking, but apparently it's a wrong concept in that department.

Nevertheless, we tried and seemed like everything was working out, but after a few weeks, it just happened again and we felt back like when we were in the sand, but this time with even heavier footprints, like we were walking in the mud.

A step forward, again

Half an year passed from that moment, bearing less grievance than the first time, but definitely not helping us with a lighter heart. Then we finally decided to give MAP a go again, which involved a lot of medical exams, lots of tests, a lot of paperwork and once again, dealing with the tactless company of the MAP department of our city. But even if it was hard, we knew we would have cherished the result, like nothing else before.

Two pairs of heavy footprints in fresh concrete and a tire

I don't believe in fate as in “it's everything already decided”, it's pure bullshit. I believe in coincidences, I believe in being the change I want to see in the world and I don't believe in anyone upon my head maneuvering me like a puppet.

But, the day my wife was ran over by a runaway car, in a supermarket parking lot, I almost started believing in fate. I'm keeping this short and maybe I'll write about this in a future post, but long story short, she got away with only a broken foot (whew), but due to the medication and the physical rehabilitation, we had to suspend the MAP treatment, again.

Where we rested for a while, before taking a step

I think I'm going to take a brief pause here, because remembering all of what happened during the last few years is taking quite a toll on my mental health and well being. Exactly what we did when my wife finally got through her physical rehabilitation, we took a break doing treatments and thinking about another pair of baby footprints nearby ours.

Like I wrote before, it's scar tissue. And sometimes, most of the times to be honest, it itches, it hurts, and your mind has always a thought fixed on that itch, on that permanent pain, where the skin once were whole and now there's a scar. And the stigma, oh the social stigma, won't allow us to talk about this with anyone, may be family, may be friends, only a selected few. Not so long ago, a member of my family subtly suggested me to find another woman and start a life anew. This is the exact level of the stigma I was writing about.

I didn't answer to that provocation, mostly because I know that those words were born from ignorance. They don't know that we didn't grow sour over the years and the failures, we're not afraid of talking about the specific topic or meeting with other couples with child or just looking at parents playing with their kids. We're not envious, we're just hurting. We share a pain that deep that made our marriage even stronger, a pain that many of us, fortunately, don't know, but often can't/won't understand.

And if you continue scratching a scar, that will surely start bleeding again. And here we are, with lots of scars, so much – metaphoric, although sometimes not so much – blood spilled. I (and I'm using the first person because I don't want to share too much about my wife's personal stuff) decided to see a therapist to help me catch some breath and deal with the burden I was carrying on my shoulder, making my steps heavier and heavier, and I must admit, that helped me a lot. A lot.

Where the steps will lead, a mountainous trail

I don't know what the future will hold, neither I have the presumption of knowing it, but I'm quite sure of the path we decided to walk again: the MAP, but this time, with a twist, meaning we decided to contact a private center outside our city and an affiliated private center, outside our country, due to our country' strict laws about fecundation outside the mother's body with an egg donor.

Again, I will probably post about this in the future, but for now let's wrap this up and if you had the courage to read the whole post, have a musical treat. Because even if your steps get heavier, you can't afford to not move forward.

#MedicallyAssistedProcreation #Child

The journey into the adult life is basically moving on uncharted areas of the map. And there, there be dragons.

Alex

Of course I'm just kidding, as far as I know there are no notifications in Writefreely, so it's just shouting in the wind. But even shouting in the wind could be therapeutic, and given I'm often sitting upon a mountain's peak, I know it very well.

But I digress, it's still August, so maybe let's start with a catch up first.

Keeping this in theme with summer, just like the waves of the sea, the last period throw me up, and then down, just to pick me up and throw me down again and so forth.

Well, I can breath again

After TWO years since the last visit and after uh...some more (twenty seven if anyone is counting) since a mix of rugby, martial arts and a bike accident left me with a crooked nose, I finally went under surgery in May to fix my deviate septum. Aside from the two months following surgery (that I call repectively “the ouch month” and “the ew month”, I honestly couldn't remember the last time I was to able to breathe like this. The only downside is that I couldn't workout during these months. But I can breathe, that's something.

It's just a winter coat

Not being able to workout during the last months was hard, I'm not going to lie. Working out is a powerful source of mental health that we often underestimate. I may or may not have typed “no working out and no hiking makes Alex a dull boy” several times. To add insult to the injury, my treadmill (I hate running on the street of the city I'm living in with the burning hate of a thousand suns) broke down a few weeks ago. And so while I was waiting for it to be repaired I bought a rower.

This thing is essentially a medieval torture device, I'm quite sure of it, but it's making me aching happily in every part of my body, making me feel better (and well, worse, muscularly speaking).

As far as my other passion, hiking, I went back at it as soon as I could, but we had a long period full of thunderstorms and most of the time I had to cancel my plans. I have no issues at all with extreme wind, snow, rain and other stuff, but I don't want to be near the peak of a mountain when thunders come down.

Have a very low-effort meme as a treat for reading 'til this point.

The not so big D

I'm still taking antidepressants. Long story short, things happened during the last years between work and private life and my therapist suggested me using antidepressant in February, 19th.

The first few weeks were...ugh, I honestly can't say how to describe them. They were just bad, but fortunately nothing too extreme. As time went by, my body got accustomed and I'm still on these. They took quite the edge off from all the bad things that happened, but they took also the joy from the good things that happened. While I understand they were (and probably still are) needed, I'm counting down the days to when I won't be needing them.

It's a marathon, not a race, but the concept it's the same. Step after step, forward. And forward I go.

I'll probably talk about the reasons that led me to the not so big D in a future post, or I'll never complete this one this week.

#Depression #Workout #Health

The journey into the adult life is basically moving on uncharted areas of the map. And there, there be dragons.

Alex

...well you know.

Sometimes I wonder about how we, as a kind, went too far up on the self-esteem ladder. We put ourselves in the middle of the universe and everything around us is something we should put to use, and if we can't, then it's bound to be useless.

Woa, let that sink in for a moment. I'm not going down this road and make it all about us, but instead, I'll write about time. Just like we did with every other thing, time followed the same binary process: time well spent, wasted time. Given that time is linear and only moving forward, maybe the binary separation is right, maybe it's not.

Because, and again I wonder, where we draw the line between the time well spent and the wasted time? This is exclusively personal, although we may or may not be subject to different global trends. The one that makes my gears grind (cue to What really grind my gears by Peter Griffin) is generally considering time well spent the time in which we are at the center of our actions/thoughts.

The famous “me” time.

Mind this, spending “you” time is absolutely ok and to be fair, it's a good practice, so please do, it will help your mental health a great deal.

What isn't really a good practice tho, is accompanying this “me” time with the whole I'm-in-the-middle-of-the-universe concept. But, but, but, the “me” time should be about me! someone would scream in terror. And I'd answer that yes, it should be about you, but not you against everyone else. And if you got the gist of the post, that someone is an angry wolf howling about how he's at the center of his own universe and his time is sacred.

There's a certain grace in spending your “me” time being gentle towards others, may those be an animal, a plant, another person. Being a gentle wolf. Help someone else, just gave them a smile, a pat on the back. It's a simple gesture but you don't know what will do and how will change your life or the other (like, ever heard of the Butterfly effect ?).

I personally consider “me” time even using social media, because I get to talk about my interests, videogames, trekkin, chatting with amazing people and generally learning something knew every day. And my gentle wolf heart is shattered, seeing that most of the time the current trend is about weaving a digital pitchfork against others, snarling and clawing at everything, like a pack of angry wolves.

I'm no guru and I'm no smart man, but if you'd like to try something else and see how it goes, remember that

In a world where you can be anything, be kind

#ShowerThoughts #Time #BeGentle

The journey into the adult life is basically moving on uncharted areas of the map. And there, there be dragons.

Alex

Thursday

As I mentioned in the previous post, my father was a car seller, but he was also a mechanic (something about fully loving cars) and from time to time he helped his team. It was a Thursday when a tiny piece o metal slammed his hand whilst holding a car door. All that was left behind the accident was a simple and tiny cut. A silly stupid thing that many of us would cure with some spit on it.

That very night, he started having a high fever.

Friday

The G.P. made a prescription for some general antibiotics, and life continued forth. Despite the antibiotics, the fever continued to rise.

Saturday

After days of very high fever, Saturday was the day the ambulance came and took him to the hospital. I didn't go with them as I had to take my brother (who was 3 at the time) to our grandparents. I didn't visit him that day.

Sunday

Sunday came, and I went to play with a friend of mine. I've always been quite independent, even when I was a kid. I didn't visit him that day.

Monday

Another week started with a Monday and I went to school as usual: around 10 AM I was asked to get outside the class, just to find my mother hugging me – she isn't a hugging type – so I immediately understood something was wrong. They said to get all my stuff and get ready to go home and to this day, that felt like the longest trip I ever had; she told me my father went into a coma during the night and that morning he passed away due to complications and, she added, he whispered my name with his last breath or so it seems.

What I won't forgive

I'll never know if that was an apology or he was lucid dreaming of arguing with me. But this isn't the thing that I won't forgive, no.

What I'll never forgive myself is not visiting him.

Even though we weren't on best terms, not visiting him or saying goodbye destroyed me from the inside out for many years and sometimes, still do.

I've been stuck my whole adolescence in depression, all because I couldn't forgive. I couldn't forgive myself for not being there. I couldn't forgive myself for my sadness and rage, that tore down day by day the relationship with my mother. I couldn't forgive him for leaving my brother alone. I remember that period as the most intense emotional vortex, cristally clear.

But the future lies ahed

Almost 30 years have gone by since that day and pretty much like the wind, that could erode even the solidest rock, time has eroded me into who I am today. I've grown since that day, and while the unforgiving guilt is still within me, I chose many years ago to not be destroyed by it but using it instead as fuel for the furnace of my personal growth.

I'd love to go deeper about my life philosophy after all these years on Earth, but let's keep all of that for another post. About my father, what I've learnt and I live by is that

Everything deserve a moment of your time, may it be a person, an animal, a plant, an object. Every moment spent thinking that your time is too precious to waste is in fact a wasted moment.

#Past #Depression #Father #Family

The journey into the adult life is basically moving on uncharted areas of the map. And there, there be dragons.

Alex

This is the part of the journey I took with my father.

When a man really loves a woman, they usually kiss and a baby is born. Sometimes, it's all about babies born under a cauliflower or babies delivered to the families by a stork, rather than the boring bees and the flowers.

But, I guess you get the gist of it, if you're at least 13 years old.

My dad was a car seller with a thriving passion for Rally (in fact he was a pilot and president of various clubs around the area) and my mom was a teacher with a thriving passion for Rally (in fact, she was a navigator) and well, you know how things go, so I'll fast forward this bit.

It wasn't a dark and stormy night when I was born, but rather a hot and sunny early morning in June; I came to this world and both of them did their best to raise me. Their best, I won't judge. While my mother was (and still is) with her feet well planted on the earth, my father rolled from one thing to another just to avoid being a parent. I cannot talk from experience, but I guess not everyone feel that urge to be a parent. He didn't, or at least he needed time to tune himself to that urge.

Anyhoo, let's fast forward again to my childhood.

Having said – or better, written – that he did not feel that parental instinct, things were a bit complicated growing up. I clearly remember the time we spent together as the most annoying thing ever, and I'm sure he felt that same way. We didn't click and we both knew that.

While he enjoyed being with his friends and their kids (mostly because I would be engaged with the other kids, although I was a bit of an introvert), the time spent in family felt like a sorta burden for him. Not that he despised it in the open, but he was angry all the time. And with him being angry all the time, for the life of me I cannot remember a single Christmas day or a family vacation in which I didn't cry after a futile discussion.

Could I have been too needy? Was I obnoxious? Am I broken glass and he didn't want to stay with me? I guess I'll never know.

Fast forward to when my brother was born, 10 years later.

My father – well, how can I phrase this – started being a father; not for me, of course, I was already gone, damaged merchandise beyond salvation. But for my brother, well, he was.

Although envious, I also felt glad he found it in him to finally act as a father. I loved my brother and I still do, so I'm glad he didn't have to go through what I did instead. Even though I continued going through all of that during family time, he wasn't. Glass half full, I dare say.

And in a snap, I was 13. And that's when it all ended.

#Past #Depression #Father #Family

The journey into the adult life is basically moving on uncharted areas of the map. And there, there be dragons.

Alex

Hey, I'm Alex. Well, onto the next chapter we go...or not?

I'm a 40 years old kid, trying to understand how stuff works. I started long time ago, dissecting my toys and then continued to do so, just using bigger tools and more expensive toys.

I designed chemical plants, fire fighting systems and more, working as a Risk Analyst for environmental hazard, as well as designing and enhancing physical models for calculating impacts after major chemical leaks, explosions and such. Then I twisted my life and started working in IT, as an IT Architect. Once again, even bigger tools and even more expensive toys.

This is even boring to write, I imagine how boring would be to read, so let's move on.

Why I am here

As many of you may have experienced, sometimes life gets pretty hectic and chaotic, requiring you to lazo a thought in the middle of the vortex and put it on a page, black on white. This is the exact reason I'm here, trying to write stuff and talk about (mostly boring) stuff. And if you're wondering why “Here be (boring) dragons)”, the reason is quite simple: in maps all uncharted areas reported the phrase “Hic sunt dracones”, literally “Here be dragons”, to summarize that that area would have been dangerous, because unexplored. And what better way to do it than making your mind runs to a mythological creature to cause you to fear and cower in face of the unknown?

Well, living my life as an adult is pretty much all uncharted areas. I hadn't a dad for the major part of my life and I hadn't a great relationship with my mother. I'm in unexplored territories and don't know where to go. Some of you may sympathize with this statement, others may feel in the same situation. I'm no special by any means, and that's why on my map the adulting territory is marked with “Here be (boring) dragons”

If you read until here and managed to not yawn, congratulations. You may be as well in the same uncharted area.

#Introduction #FirstPost #Blog #HereBeBoringDragons

The journey into the adult life is basically moving on uncharted areas of the map. And there, there be dragons.

Alex