Limbo and Lemons

On life's unexpected gifts

On Monday, a friend I’ve made in Portugal arrived at my door with a bag full of lemons. Ten, to be exact. Picked from his parents’ garden in the countryside that morning. The lemons were all different sizes, some with thick, hardened rinds; others smaller, softer and easy to squeeze. Each one was perfect, a gift I hadn’t anticipated on a rainy morning.

I arrived in Porto six weeks ago, in February, with no friends and no clear idea of what I would be doing. My three month trip was booked as one big pastel de nata fuelled attempt to stay open.

The ten months leading up to the trip had been pretty hermetic. I was at home in Ramsgate, plodding back and forth each day between my flat and my office space. I was deep into writing a memoir and processing the end of a significant romantic relationship.

At the end of November, the days were getting shorter and darker. I was making fairly good progress with both assignments. Then my ex told me he was dating again and I felt myself lurch. I had been living near constantly in the past, writing about my tumour, hashing out our love story on my laptop - believing it best for me to creatively move through and not around this painful period. Suddenly it seemed he had breezed right past it, and I felt totally stupid. Felt myself flying, face first, into a wall.

It was tempting to burn everything to the ground and build myself a bunker. But, after some discussion with close friends, I opted for a few days of ugly crying instead. It did the job. I had poured over a year of work and love into the book and I was determined to finish the draft. I knew somewhere there was a light on the horizon, even if I was approaching it at a glacial pace. I just needed something to bring it closer into view.

The thought of moving to Porto for a few months sprung up inside me like a sunflower then. The idea had planted itself in me years ago, the first time I visited the city’s higgledy-piggledy cobbled streets. I wanted to endlessly ogle at its colourful tiles and sunset views from the riverside. Since then, I daydreamed about it, but barely noticed the idea taking deeper roots. By December, the pull had grown too strong to ignore. And why ignore it? I had no concrete plans for the year ahead and no reason not to go. I booked a flight for February, found someone to rent my flat and got to work finishing a draft of the book.

I boarded the plane with a finished draft and only this commitment: To pursue my interests, trust my instincts and stay open to everything.

Six weeks later, there I stood. On a rainy Monday, on my doorstep with a bag full of lemons and a new friend I’d met at a writing group. (Also a butternut squash, sweet potato and a homemade chocolate mousse?!? What a delivery. But, let’s focus on the lemons, por favor.)

I’d been feeling a little low that morning. I’m halfway into my trip and realising, not for the first time, that I have some trouble with the middle parts of things. I love to rocket launch myself into new beginnings (I did well at that in Porto). I’m even getting fairly good at navigating endings. But the middle. Oh, the middle! There are so many questions in the middle.

What am I doing? Am I doing it right? Should I go back? Is this the way forward? Does forward even exist?? AM I OKAY??

Those were the thoughts whirring round my head that morning.

Then the doorbell rang. My new friend arrived. He had a bag full of lemons just for me. I put the kettle on. We sat in the garden, watched cats playing under an orange tree, and drank tea.

And I felt better. I’m a bit lost, but it’s quite lovely.

Later on, I began to think about all the times a darker period of my life was brightened by a small gesture or a new connection. I’ve spent the last couple of days following the threads from where those gestures or connections began and marvelling at where they’ve taken me since.

In the midst of this particular middle, I’m reminded that courage to leave the familiar, and willingness to float in the strange unknown, is what has always led me to the coolest places. It has always brought the most wonderful, unexpected gifts.

And I’m starting to really like this about life. How it gives us lemons (the kind with which you may have previously been advised to make lemonade.) And then it gives us lemons!

I’d like to get good at welcoming all of life’s lemons. The challenges, the sweet new friends, the beautiful sunrises, the gifts (citrus fruits, or watercolour pens that you can use to paint a lemon that ends up looking like a sunrise even if you didn’t intend it to because, my god, you’re obsessed with lemons!)

And so, whatever sort of unexpected lemon is delivered to your door tomorrow, I hope you find some way to let it in and love it. Or just chop it up and put it in your tea. Or on pancakes. Or turn it into a pie!

With love and lemons from Porto,

Nicola

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