They say traveling changes us
Me and my mom are driving back to Lisbon, after a beautiful, very special mom-daughter love day.
We spend most of our trip home talking about family members and family stories.
As a lover of history and stories, it's inevitable to listen to my mom and think about my grandfather and the amazing stories he'd tell us about his adventures. The easiness with which he opened the atlas and pointed on the map exactly the places where he'd been. Always followed by his coined phrase: "One occasion..." that would have me glued to his voice and his fascinating stories, that made me dream and travel at the rhythm of his words.
It must run in the family, I guess. An apple doesn't fall far from the tree, they say. I guess they're right.
I come from a family of travelers and explorers. On my mother's side. And just like my grandfather, my mom is an extraordinary, passionate, and funny storyteller.
When we were planning how we would go from Lisbon to Fátima, some weeks earlier, we thought about passing by S. Martinho do Porto for lunch. But when the day came, Fátima's powerful aura kept us there for a while longer.
I guess it wasn't yet the moment to go there.
I know I'll know the answer once I'm there. And although we travelled through Portugal many times as a family, my mom swears that S. Martinho is a place we never went. Curious enough, a month and a few days after I took this trip to Fátima with mom, I was invited for a live show directly from S. Martinho do Porto. Isn't that incredible?
The universe/ life/god always know what they do. And some things that you might not understand for years on end, life always finds a way to make them clear. In the moment you're ready.
Me and mom ended up staying in Fátima until the middle of the afternoon. Bonding.
I came to learn things that I had no idea had happened. Episodes that to me, as an adventurous curious granddaughter are incredibly fascinating. To go far back in our family tree and learn more about my family (hi)story revealed to be priceless.
I remember - around my teen years - my mom telling me that one our family members was in the encyclopedia. As a very curious pre-journalist, I remember thinking how incredible and fascinating that was. I knew that a family member on my mom's side was a monsignor. But that was not the one. Another one? But who? At the time, I didn't quite understand why a cousin of my grandfather's would be in the encyclopedia. Took me an extra thirty something years to realise that apart from my grandfather being a part of portuguese history - since he helped building the bridge that connects Lisbon to the other margin of the river Tejo - his cousin was also an important figure in history. Each one with their own relevance.
My grandfather's cousin, D. Manuel Maria Ferreira da Silva S.M.P., after being an abbot in Sé do Porto, was nominated by Pope Pio XI as an auxiliar bishop of Goa-Damão and afterwards bishop of Gurza later the same year. About nine years later he was elevated to Archbishop of Cyzicus (An old city in a nowadays Turkey province). He also worked as the president of the Obras Missionárias Pontifícias, in Lisbon. It's fascinating to come to the realization that a not so distant member of my family was a special - and very active part - of the Catholic church's history since he also participated in the first 4 sessions of the 2nd Vatican Counsil.
I find myself imagining how this man's life must have been...
On that drive home with my mom, I learn so much about her as a person. As a woman. As a wife. As a daughter. As a mother. And as I hear her speak, I find myself - to my own awe - quite fascinated with the way courtship happened back in the 50's and 60's. The letters. The waiting. The responses. How beautiful.
As I hear my mom, I can't help but feeling grateful for belonging to a generation that still exchanged little notes and love letters. By snail mail.
I'm a lover and curious and embracer of progress and technology. However, it's inevitable for me to feel that the advance of technology has triggered our impatience in so many levels, forcing us to want everything for yesterday. Faster and more furiously. And there's so much beauty in waiting. Even if it brings discomfort, sometimes. But it also helps to build resilience and understanding.
We live in this urgency, when some things are not urgent at all, triggering our anxiety in unhealthy ways, disconnecting us from ourselves and from each other. In such a way that we so often shoot our own foot by being so impatient. So intolerant. So abrasive with time. We end up losing ourselves. Losing features of ourselves that are so beautiful and authentic. We start sabotaging our own heart. Our inner authenticity. We get so lost in the madness of the world, and start growing more bitter, less emotional, less romantic. When that's who we always were. When that's who we are. And we must never let life - or outside events - take that away from us. Despite whatever life throws at us.
It's beautiful to allow flowers to bloom. And despite whatever comes their way, flowers still bloom. They still open softly and slowly. Despite being surrounded by clovers, marigolds or ivy. They still bloom.
Sometimes all we need is to blend with the sense of nature breathing. And taking a beat. Taking the time. To connect with ourselves. To all things. Being created and flowing. Slowly. Naturally. Following their own course. Their own rhythm. And find a way to connect with that rhythm, to that authenticity of who we are.
On that drive home with my mom, I reconcile with myself, with my own story. With my mom. I heal. We heal. I get the fortunate chance to walk hand in hand with her. As she once walked hand in hand with me.
Sometimes it's beautiful - and magical- that things don't turn out exactly as you plan. Or how you imagine them. Because there's something more powerful, more prioritary, more important, more special, or even better waiting to be experienced. To be lived.
They say traveling changes us.
And this trip to Fátima with mom certainly did change me.
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