Swiss village

Life in New York has once again cornered me into a place where I can only collect my thoughts in the middle of the night, when no one is watching, listening, or performing.

“Dance me through the panic till I’m safely gathered again.”What a line. It almost brought me to tears.

Silenced in my own narrative, my deepest truth and reality feel compromised by a system that is perhaps not designed for me. Every day, I whisper to my heart: this world is loud, filled with noise and chaos that one day will not matter, however much they shake and shatter my beliefs right now.

I couldn’t help but look back on those few quiet days in a Swiss village last summer. Mat offered me the best recipe for a corn salad. We barbecued on the terrace, walked through the woods, sometimes passing cows. Piper their adorable rescue dog would nap while we talked about everything, from the past ten years of knowing each other to whatever came to mind. He even took me to the local city hall where they were married, and we went for a swim at a public bathhouse for maybe ten euros. Simple pleasures one so treasures in life.

Dominique would fix us drinks in the evenings, and Antonia, in between painting and a few ballet steps, told us about her newly discovered love for Taylor Swift (she’s 13, and Cruel Summer is one of her favorites). For a while, I thought life had become good again.

Escaping into that reclusive life and now returning to it in memory. I feel as though I’ve found, if only briefly, the peace I’ve been longing for.