Buon Viaggio a Me!
Many years ago, as a young college student living in Boulder, I followed a dream. Much to the disapproval of my mother, who tends to be an anxious worrier, I decided to take a year off (now called a “gap year”) and buy a one-way ticket to Italy. Despite studying the language for two years, I was often tongue-tied and frustrated, convinced that I was incapable of learning a foreign language. Along with this, I felt a sense of restlessness, a need for some form of growth that could not happen under the current circumstances. Boulder, a demographically limited community, felt suffocating. Competitive. Filled with smart, beautiful, athletic, mostly caucasian and affluent youngsters, I felt invisible and inadequate. At the time, I believed I was heading to Italy to gain proficiency in the language. While this did happen, I was truly on a journey of a very different nature.
After saying goodby to my parents and friends, I flew to Europe and made my way to Italy. I recall finally being at the train station in Perugia, feeling utterly alone. Terrified. Perugia, a university town filled with foreigners from all over the world, was a long way from Boulder, Colorado. Eventually I made my way to the town center where I was able to find people who spoke English and helped me find a room to rent. Unbeknownst to me, the greatest solo adventure of my life was underway.
What I didn’t fully understand at the time was that I was embarking on an epic soul journey, a time of complete transformation. As with all transformations, there is a before and an after. The young 19 year old who boarded that plane with only a backpack–no cell phone, no credit card, no place to live, no one to meet her on the other side–was about to come face to face with her soul.
During this remarkable and challenging year abroad, I gained a deep sense of myself while also miraculously surviving many stupid decisions. With very few financial resources, I lived simply and carefully. When not living in Italy, I traveled with a backpack, a stove and a tent. I slept surreptitiously in barns and in the mountains of Austria during winter. I mistakenly camped in a homeless encampment in Portugal where no one bothered me but everyone knew I was there. When I tried to cross the border to enter Hungary, I was detained, lacking appropriate paperwork. When finally allowed to enter, I was so ill that I had to rely on the kindness of strangers who took me into their home to care for me. I wandered the streets of Milan until a kind couple told me to come home with them, I was not safe, they told me, then fed me pizza. I was taken in by a kind man on the island of Capri, who saw my vulnerability and gave me a beautiful room to stay in for a few days. He left me alone, never asked any questions. I accidentally burned my tent down on a remote coast in Portugal and was transported to the hospital by the kind camp host. My hands were badly burned and once bandaged, I could no longer access my wallet. It took 3 days to return to Italy by train and I had to rely on anyone who would help me to get money or my rail pass. I narrowly escaped many precarious situations and was always helped by strangers.
At that time, I was an avid runner. I ran daily and somehow became friends with a blind man who needed a running partner. I met him at the track weekly and ran by his side. We chatted in Italian as I guided him around the track, holding his half-length arms. He had no forearms or hands but he loved to run as much as I did. I ran so much that my shoes were as thin as cardboard yet I couldn’t afford to replace them. They were always strapped to my backpack, a symbol of my identity. No matter where I stayed, camped or slept, I ran miles and miles every day, stashing all my earthy possessions beneath a bush or in the woods. I learned that there was a marathon in Florence and I ran my first marathon in Italy at 20 years old. I remember being at the finish line with a blanket, no one to greet me, but satisfied. I did it.
Sixteen years later, my husband proposed to me on the steps of the Uffizi. We celebrated our engagement with a two-week trip throughout Italy, running the steps of Cinque Terre together, having our own adventures filled with both joy and miscalculations. We returned to Italy a few years laters later to hike the dolomites and watch the World Championship bike race in Verona. Italy has been a place of discovery and expansion.
How do we answer the call of our soul’s beckoning? As I reflect on these chapters of my life, I recall certain feelings and longings, the formulation of a dream that first emerges as a faint whisper. The soul invites us in many ways, through song and poetry and movement, adventure and experience, solitude and contemplation, tragedy and elation. There is never a right or wrong time to tune in, the soul is always present. Paying attention is the challenge.
My soul is currently beckoning. I long for adventure and travel. I miss having free time and exploring new cultures. I have been aware these last several years that the weight of responsibility has grown heavy. I have not had a sense of freedom for many years. Providing for my family, holding space and presence for my clients, maintaining stability. This has been my focus and it has served me well.
The call to step away and let go of all pressures has been heeded. I spontaneously booked a trip to Italy last October after an email landed in my in box announcing “cheap flights to Europe”. In typical fashion for me, I answered the call without much angst. How I would make this happen seemed less important than just making sure it happens. So, I am off to Italy on Sunday for nine days. Returning to a place that I know holds much importance in my life, I am open to the lessons awaiting me. I trust the call to go and know that there will be, once again, a before and an after.
