On feeling human.

I rely on my Italian true love. In so many ways.  Often, she’s my eyes and ears. My interpreter. In Italy, particularly. Because she speaks the language. Fluently. Far more fluently than I ever will. I seek independence. From her. And I gain it. In several ways. By learning to speak and understand Italian.  And by cultivating contacts with English-speaking Italians.  That isn’t the perfect way of learning about Italy and Italians. But it works.  To a significant degree.  I make do. The best I can. At the moment.  Sometimes, wish I could be perfect. But then I think. I really know better. More important to accept life’s imperfections. The blemishes. That makes me feel  human. And that’s what I want, isn’t it? –Jim Broede