Misplaced

For as long as I can remember, I have felt much like the proverbial 'fish out of water' - as though I did not belong in the time or place in which I was born and lived. I can't really explain it other than to say that I have always gravitated to other things, people, and places with a depth and scope of feeling that is inherent in my soul, and yes, even in my body since I feel it through and through to my core. It haunts me and permeates every part of my life, especially as I grow older.

Most people would say that I am merely being silly, and that I am also wishing for things that were, can't happen, or that I can't have, even to the point of saying "Oh, you're just a romantic, wishing for the lives of all those heroines in all those silly books you've read." But it's so much more than that, and I'll do my best to explain it to you in the greatest way possible. Of course, if you could feel as I do within the depth of my being, you'd understand it all in the mere skip of a heartbeat, but since that can't possibly happen, we'll choose the wonder of words instead. I only hope I can portray the depth of what I feel through the beauty and power of the words written herein.

Many people don't believe in reincarnation or past lives, but as I've grown older, it's something that I've often contemplated due to the way I've always felt since my early years. That feeling was that I should have born elsewhere, and it’s a very strong one. I feel as though I presently am not where I was supposed to end up being in this life; both in regard to the location and the timing – it’s all off.

I was born sixty-three years ago in the Southern States of North America and have lived in that general location for all my years. However, if one were to believe in reincarnation, then I would have to think that it’s possible that I was previously born in Italy or England (those are the top two places I believe to be correct anyway). I truly believe that had I been born sixty-three years ago in one of those two countries, I would have felt much more settled or at home. Yes, it's a very odd thing. It’s as though there's a familiarity with those distant places that I sense and nearly breathe despite the fact that I have never been to either of the countries – or to any other in Europe either. How can something you don't know seem so familiar? It’s nearly akin to déjà vu. I'm not precisely sure what it is or how it works, but for me, these places whose soil I have never had the privilege to lay my foot upon feel all too familiar to me in a multitude of ways. And even more so, it's all felt in a sense of something very old, like an antique of sorts.

Right about now the thought process may very likely be that I’m a bit off my rocker – or odd at the very least. Both may be true, but I am able to function and move about in normal life like most people do. However, I have often wondered this: is it a type of purgatory that I didn't make it to where I was supposed to be? I am fairly certain this may be the case, but instead, I am left floundering while seeking survival amidst my surroundings. Or perhaps there’s a possibility that it has all been a challenge that I'm supposed to step up to, overcome, and achieve during this limited lifetime of mine. If so, I'm growing a bit old for the game and running out of time, speed, and patience. And I have a deep rooted fear that I may never be able to see the places and things that feel so near to my heart as well as so much more like home to me.

If I were to delve a bit deeper into the reincarnation possibility and give a guess as to what lives I may have lived in the past, I would have to say I definitely lived during the Renaissance. I have always loved this period of time and been inexplicably drawn to it from a very early age. I'm sure one will find this laughable, but I'm fairly certain that I was probably an ancient Pope's mistress in Italy during those early days, surrounded by all that artistic beauty found in Italian churches that I so adore. Yes, I would have been right at home with all of that even despite the old man and mistress aspect (some things may be worth the sacrifice!). And I even have an uncanny knowledge of Catholicism while not having been raised Catholic.

In addition to Italy, I am also immensely drawn to the 1700's and 1800's in England’s history. I have always gravitated to many British authors from those periods of time. And as a result, I was an Art History and English Literature major while in college. Unfortunately, there was no real profession designated therein with my chosen majors and degree - just an enjoyment and love of those things that had been an inherent part of my life since I was a very young child. There are other countries and cultures to which I am drawn as well, like the Mexican and Native American cultures, but I don't feel as strongly about those places and people as I do in regard to Italy and England.

My earliest recollections (even at 3 years of age) were loving stories by British authors like Beatrix Potter ("The Tale of Peter Rabbit"), Charles Dickens ("A Christmas Carol"), Frances Hogdson Burnett (The Secret Garden and A Little Princess), and even abridged versions of Shakespeare's greatest plays. To this day, as cliché as it may sound, I adore Romeo and Juliet. Actually, I adore all things penned by Shakespeare but most especially his tragedies. My first complete reading of one of his original plays was at the age of 10, and I am quite proud to say that the old English wording and style of writing never bothered or confused me. Instead, it seemed to flow with a rhythm of understanding and normality.

OK, so I know the confusion may lie within 'what's so strange about any of this?" Many people love and have similar thoughts and feelings about such things and stories from an early age. While this is certainly true, my gravitation and feelings go a bit further to wander down a different pathway and toward new heights. As I grew older, the love of British Literature expanded to include many more authors such as Jane Austen, the Brontë sisters, Chaucer, Lord Byron, Oscar Wilde, Sir Walter Scott, Thomas Hardy, Milton, Dodie Smith, etc. But the thing that is most interesting to me is that whenever I read any stories by these assorted authors, there's an inherent sense of understanding in all that's therein upon their inscribed pages, as if I've seen it and lived it once upon a time, very long ago. The visualization of the moors, the stately and dark manors, the uptight and rigid personalities, the dirty streets of London, the beauty of the countryside, the architecture, and much more resides within me in a way that is nearly unexplainable. Yes, it could all very well be attributed to the wonderful and descriptive writing styles by said authors, but I truly do feel there’s a profundity found and upheld in a different capacity for me.

While I may have begun my life by loving stories by British authors at a very young age, there is the more complex issue of Italy to which I am so drawn. Initially, I began a love affair with the artist Michelangelo and nearly all things Italian when I was less than eight years of age. It was specifically Michelangelo's piece, the Pietà, that drew me in, hook, line, and sinker. To me, then and now, it was and is the most phenomenal, amazing piece of art I've ever seen – or at least, that I've ever seen in a book or on paper. I have never been fortunate enough to actually view this man’s artwork in person, but that remains my ultimate dream or bucket list wish. I was so obsessed with Michelangelo from an early age that my mother gave me a book about his work when I was only ten years old; “To Cindy, because you love beauty,” the inscription read. Since that time, that fascination has developed into a full-fledged obsession and expanded to include all of Italy and all things Italian. I may not have been born in Italy, I may not live there, but it feels like it, too, is my country in some odd fashion, and I am quite sure that when I do have the opportunity to visit it, I may never wish to leave its beauty and fascination. Now please don’t jump to conclusions in regard to my feelings for the United States where I was indeed born and raised merely because I’ve stated this about Italy. I do love America, too, and am very proud of it despite not feeling as though as I was supposed to end up on this North American continent. America is a beautiful, phenomenal country, and we, as Americans, are more than fortunate in so many ways. Play me "The Star Spangled Banner" and many other inspirational pieces dedicated to this amazing country, and you will, without a doubt, find me crying.

Still, I have always gravitated to Italy, but more so, primarily to the Renaissance Period and all the art that resulted from that wondrous, creative period. But my true fascination expands to include all aspects of Italy: its food, its wine, its architecture, its people, its jewelry, its culture, but most specifically, all of its art and beautiful music from composers like Giacomo Puccini. You will easily find me listening to Italian music (both contemporary and operatic) in my car, at home, and at work. It’s true, people think I’m odd, but mostly because I actually enjoy opera. This has been going on since my high school and college years, but at that point, it was primarily Spanish and Portuguese music to which I listened. Ah, this was but a mere prelude to the love for the Italian music. My roommates and floor mates definitely thought it was bizarre that I listened to such music at a time when the Bee Gees, Jimmy Buffett, and Bruce Springsteen were all the rage. But it's always been something my soul craved and with which it found sustenance, and the need for such has never left me. It's as if when I listen to such pieces, I feel as though I understand them as much as I feel them, even though in actuality, I do not always (my Spanish, at best, is rusty and limps over to include only a bit of Italian). Still, that feeling invades my being when I see the art or hear the music, and always so if it’s derived from Italy.

Yes, despite what one may think or that one might not agree that I've experienced a type of social shock, I feel that I have since I was very young child, and have also, in truth, always been a 'fish out of water'. I have an old soul that gravitates to older people, places, and things; it's those people and things with which I am the most comfortable. And it's also true that especially while gazing at a star-filled sky at night, I have never felt quite at home where I am despite the fact that I do love the South where I live (I grew up in the beautiful historical city of Charleston, SC – who wouldn’t love the beautiful Lowcountry city that offers so much?). And I love my family and many more things which surround me, so I am not ungrateful for what I have. But still, it doesn't alter the scope, the breath, and the depth of what I've always felt: things have never, ever felt completely right for me, and I truly and inexplicably feel misplaced. And the familiarity with and the inherent knowledge (some may call it a longing, but I call it an inherent knowledge) of places I have never been and things I have never seen shall always reverberate deep within the core of my being until my dying breath.