It was a cold and grey morning in Rome that morning.

I went to work by car and with some effort I managed to park.

I opened the car door to get out and as soon as my foot touched the ground a voice from behind me: “Hi! How are you getting on this morning?”

He spoke English, a very special voice: deep, warm but at the same time cheerful, as though he was singing. The typical deep and powerful voice of blues singers.

I was struck by his exclamation and by the tone of his voice.

Laughing I turned around and I saw him: Big John, the sock seller.

We often see them around the city, but I had never met one like him.
As tall as a tree, the colour of polished ebony, pure white teeth, his smile seemed to stretch to infinity. Agile, muscular, like a large black cat selling socks.

I answered immediately in English, and my words coming out fast, without fear or inhibitions in the language that I have been trying to learn for years.

It’s easy to meet people who speak English in Rome, but whenever someone speaks to me, I am paralyzed thinking I’m not able to communicate.

With Big John it wasn’t like this, he was special, his English was special. He spoke slowly, he wasn’t boring, I understood him immediately.

In a few minutes I found out he had left Senegal, that a long journey had separated him from his family and his homeland. I saw his courage of leaving behind a life of poverty to seek his fortune elsewhere.

He wasn’t sad, he joked with me as he tried to persuade me to buy his socks, some men’s socks.

His eyes were proud and lively.
I glimpsed for a few seconds the colours of his homeland, I could smell his homeland, I heard the voice of his people. We were speaking and we didn’t know we were exchanging life experiences.

He asked me: “How come you speak English so good?”
“Me???” Oh Big John what a beautiful gift you have given me! I didn’t know anyone could think I spoke such good English!!

Naturally he proceded to show me all his socks and he said: “If you buy a pair of these socks your husband will be a lucky man because he’ll be wearing the most elegant socks of Rome.”

I knew I would buy them, and I knew I would pay more for them than they were worth. It didn’t matter, his cheerfulness was contagious.

It was no longer a grey winter morning with a long day of work ahead: Big John for fifteen minutes had taken me flying across the African sky, where shining sun fills you up.

In the evening I went back home with a full bag of men’s socks.

My husband asked me why so many wool socks, he didn’t believe I needed them.

Smiling to myself I said I had had a rare opportunity: a famous shop in the centre of Rome had held a special sale day for fashion socks.

For an instant I saw Big John behind my husband winking at me.

Today is Saturday, it’s my day off, today I don’t have to work. 

I can stay longer in bed, I can enjoy my soft duvet, I can arrange my pillows as I like.

Everything seems ok! Suddenly a sense of emptiness in the stomach, I’ve been feeling like this for a long time.

Today is Saturday, I have a little more time, I must know why, I must analyze this sensation.

Slowly I notice that I’m tired, of what? This I must know, and I need a deeper reflection, but one thing is certain: I’m tired.

So I think of my job, and I notice that my job isn’t easy, the responsibilities are many, but mainly it is hard for me to be a leader. 

Carrying on my shoulders the whole organization of a team, making choices right for everyone, creating the best possible working conditions, and realizing that what is the best for me, often isn’t so for the people around me. 

But I must choose, and frequently I must do it fast.

We make choices quickly, because time has two measures: it goes fast when you make choices and it goes slow when you suffer for the wrong choices. 

So, here’s what I think: I have passed the halfway point of my life, why do I work so much, why do I feel like a hamster spinning on its wheel: run, run, run, and my goal is not so clear for me. Often there is a fog on my horizon. 

This is what I felt this morning: I’m confused on Saturdays, my days off, because I don’t know how to relax, I don’t know what to do with  my time without work. 

I’ve been feeling like this for long time: I no longer use my time outside of work.

Outside the my usual routine, where life runs, I haven’t time to think, I’m alone. 

It is beautiful to write a diary, your goals are clear, you can read them, black on white and if you flip through the pages, you can see if you have achieved them.

Now I know what is mine, the most important thing: I want to take back my life. 

 

p.s. I know that all diaries have a name. Today I decided yours: Dodo, like the extinct animal. You too, my diary, are at risk of extinction: I don’t know how long I will continue to write.