This morning, as I reached for my lotion bottle to soothe my chapped hands, I found myself once again in Italy. Specifically, the small grocery store on Venice’s Strada Nuova. Instead of the snow-covered streets of Wisconsin, I stood in the aisles of a tiny store, scanning the shelves of lotions and puzzling over a language I didn’t know. I heard the silky chatter of Italian, felt the hot, sticky breeze of Venetian summer, and felt the squishyness of my shoes, soaked by the acqua alta (floods) that threaten Venice’s piazzas during heavy rains. I placed my lotion bottle down on the bathroom sink and emerged back into the Wisconsin winter.

Long after returning from my sojourn in Eastern Europe, I am discovering the joys of unusual souvenirs, often items I can use in everyday life or that bring some of the senses of my travels back into my everyday American life – spices from Hungary, undergarments from the Czech Republic, music CD’s of the local crooner from Croatia. When I sprinkle a dash of sweet paprika into a dish simmering on the stove, I taste again the delightful veal paprika dish I savored in a small restaurant frequented by locals in Budapest. Turning up the spicy ballads of Croatian music legend Oliver, I can lay back on the couch, close my eyes, and remember the bliss of a mid-afternoon siesta on the shores of the Adriatic Sea. Even dressing for work reminds me of my travels – socks I purchased in a department store in the Czech Republic remind me of learning the European measurements for clothing with the help of a local Czech woman shopping with her teenage daughter.

I admit I succumbed to the allure of a few typical tourist trinkets. Everywhere you go in the world, postcards, magnets and other cheap souvenirs beckon the tourist to buy items they will probably never use again. I challenge myself and others to look beyond the ubiquitous souvenir racks and instead dive into everyday shops frequented by locals. My favorite shopping experiences were in the markets of Europe, where locals perused the fresh produce, meats and cheeses to assemble that evening’s meal. Here I sampled and bought Hungarian paprika, a hand-embroidered shirt, and a Slovenian beehive panel painted with a traditional motif by a beekeeper selling his honey.

Pharmacies and department stores are also treasure troves of meaningful, fun souvenirs – Polish chocolate, marzipan, lotions, spiced teas for making the Austrian gluhwein. I even browsed local media stores for CD’s unattainable in the United States. In Poland I found the CD of a Polish Christian group that performed at a live concert I experienced in Krakow celebrating the Feast Day of St. Francis. Listening to the rich alto of M’ New Life, I instantly step back into the euphoric crowd of hundreds of Poles crowded in Krakow’s Market Square to witness a concert even the archbishop attended.

Of course, the best souvenirs I brought back were my photos, and as I assemble my photo album, I lose myself once again in Eastern Europe. The wonder I felt at the soaring heights of St. Vitus Cathedral in Prague or the horror and grief as I walked the grounds of Auschwitz – some of my most personal emotional moments captured forever in the photos I snapped. A well-chosen souvenir serves as a doorway back in time to those unforgettable moments, just as the chore of moisturizing my hands becomes a transcendent experience as I reach for that bottle from Venice.

I am always astonished by how quickly an emotional disturbance in my life attacks my body. The correlation between emotional stress and physical symptoms continues to surprise me, even after two years of fibromyalgia. The past couple weeks have reillustrated this reality. Whether it is an argument with my husband, learning a respected teaching colleague has passed away, or that a friend has cancer, the powerful emotions quickly translate into stiff and painful muscles and joints.

Stress is the number one cause of fibromyalgia symptoms. I spend amazing amounts of my energy managing my stress by following a work, exercise, diet, and sleep routine as strictly as possible. But not all sources of stress can be hyper-managed. What do I do when a highly emotional event occurs? Life is unpredictable – loved ones die, natural disasters hit (as Haiti so recently illustrates), disagreements occur in relationships. These are significant stressors and I cannot stop life from happening. I also refuse to hide from it, to give up living in this world.

How do I manage my fibro when these unexpected events meteorite into my life? First, I have to accept I will have moments I emotionally fall apart and that such moments will translate into physical pain. Grieving, disagreements, shock – all will reappear in a physical manifestation. So I have to take care of myself. I become especially vigilant about maintaining my health routine of exercise, eating right, and getting enough sleep. I have to be realistic about what social engagements I can and cannot handle, what chores I can reasonably do and which ones can wait. The last thing I want to do is run myself so ragged while emotionally distraught that I push myself into a fibroflare.

At the same time, I don’t want to overreact and completely isolate myself. Hunkering down in my bed with only the cats for company at first sounds like a smart strategy, but then I’m isolated from my support network and the parts of my life that give it meaning. I felt my strongest this week when I was working, funneling my emotions into getting a task accomplished. Interacting with friends and co-workers also helped, as it reminded me I am not alone. Sure, dragging myself out of bed in the morning was tough – my feet have been unusually knotted up and painful, as if all my grief and anxiety decided to hold a panic party there. At the end of my day, I  may collapse exhausted on the couch, but I am comforted by being around my friends and knowing I’ve accomplished something.

It is really a tight wire balancing act. With each step, a simple gust of wind or tiny wobble of the rope might knock me off to plunge deep into the painful clutches of a fibroflare. But with concentration and careful management of where I place my feet and how I balance my weight, I can walk this tightrope.