On being a stranger in Paradise.

As an American, I like living in different parts of the world. Because it’s different. And it makes me feel different, too.  And that gives me a good feeling.  Being different. And mixing with different people.  Sameness can be boring. And stifling. Too often in America, I find people who want everyone to think alike. To be clones of each other.  For instance, there’s even a movement afoot to require all Americans to speak English. Or to pledge undying allegiance to country. Hard to imagine anything more stupid than that. I want diversity of people and opinions. I’m in Sardinia/Italy now. Living with my Italian true love. And I’m learning Italian ways and customs.  Not speaking much Italian. Never will come close to mastering Italian.  But that’s all right. I make do. Especially because my true love speaks English. In fact, she teaches English and English literature. She’s trying to teach me Italian. But it’s a very slow process. Actually, I have to teach myself. That’s the best way.  I’m trying to teach my Italian true love something, too. That she lives in Paradise. She doesn’t yet fully recognize it.  Because she’s been a lifelong resident of Paradise. And therefore has taken life here more matter-of-factly. Rather than in appropriately special ways. I do. Because I came to Paradise as a stranger.  That’s another thing I’ve learned. Strangers often see more perceptively than the natives. –Jim Broede