13,153, that is a low approximation of the number of miles I traveled on this trip. Almost 3,000 of those were just inside of Italy (the other 10 were obviously hopping that big ole pond)That number does not include walking tours, trips to the grocery store, walks to class, to visit friends, “giro” (the aimless wander) and a variety of other activities on foot. That is just getting to and from various destinations. And that is the way I want to think of each mile, as a gift.
Italy has given me many gifts, many of them flashbulb memories, and moments I will cherish forever. Some of the gifts are lessons though, lessons that I think everyone would benefit from learning.
The ability to taste life. Italians have this wonderful food culture that I just love. Meals are a time to relax, enjoy, and taste the wonderfulness on your plate. This focus on slowing down to savor has permeated my Italian experience. It’s not about eating to be full or fed, it’s tasting the food going into your mouth. What an incredible gift we have to have food in front of us at all. I have been so blessed in my life, and I want to experience each of them to the very fullest. Each thing has its own flavor and feeling, something that makes it unique. There is something to be said for this slower pace, the appreciation of the beauty, something that I feel I have missed for a long time.
Simplicity. Once again a thought process that starts out centered on food. When I came, I expected Italian cooking to be elaborate, complex and of course totally delicious. I was slightly shocked to find out how simple much of it was. In our cooking classes with Marc, he often talked about how an entire recipe was designed to bring out one specific flavor, or enhance a particular ingredient. But to my surprise, Italian cooking was often quite simple a few staple ingredients, and then your star flavor. I have found so many simple pleasures here: the taste of a cup of coffee, the view from my bedroom window, the smell of fresh pasta, music in the streets, Christmas lights….
Patience. Italy has taught me patience by way of example. First off, there are the Italian lines, in post office, and at coffee counters. To the outside observer (and often to participants) there is no discernable line. Basically, you have to trust that the person you are waiting for has kept decent track of who arrived first. When I first got here, this system made me quite anxious, and if I had experienced it in the US I probably would have been quite irritated. But when I did finally get to the “front” I can’t express enough how much I appreciated people who were patient with me while trying to speak Italian. There were many days where I really had no idea what I was trying to ask for… or if I did, when I tried to speak nothing really came out right, words would blur together, my pronunciation was terrible… and sometimes (especially early on) I spoke Spanish instead, unintentionally, but it was what came first naturally. Although there were a few people that waved their hands at me in frustration, many of them would wait for me to figure something out, and help me. That is something that I want to work on in my own life. Waiting and listening to people, so that I can try to help them. Also, noticing that person that is obviously a bit lost, and offering them some help the best I can. Because I have been that person, the one who is ever so lost and confused… And there have been people around to help me out.
The Family Meal. I feel like so many Americans get caught up in the craziness of their daily lives, their hectic 24-7 schedules that the importance of the family meal has been lost. There are some organizations that are trying to bring Americans back to the table. My family growing up tried to eat dinner together every night, but as my brother and I grew up, it got harder to get everyone around the table, for just one meal a week because were all so busy.
There are also things from my own life that I would like to share with Italy.
One thing is smiles in the street. It is one cultural difference that took me a long time to get used to, and three and a half months later, it still gets to me on occasion. There is something really wonderful about getting smiled at by a random passerby. Sometimes it is just what you need to get through the next chunk of the day. To me, it is a nice interaction between members of the planet acknowledging that they share the same space. A pleasant acknowledgement of shared existence. The world emphasizes the importance of the first impression, and for an American coming in, the first impression of Italians makes them seem cold, distant and unfriendly. If you pay attention, you learn that this isn’t the case, but it can be hard to push past that initial barrier.
Another gift I would give the Italians is a word for home. I didn’t ever hear a word used that offered the same warmth as implied with the English home. It was incredibly interesting to me because of the strong emphasis on the nuclear family in Italy, there would not be a word to differentiate that commonly used. Not only do the Italians have strong familial ties, but they also have an intense pride for their cities and regions. The word paese, which means country can be used for cities as well. But this has a different connotation to me than hometown. There is a powerful connection, straight to the heart that goes with those words. I don’t doubt that the feelings are there, just like they are here, but I just wish there were words to describe them. Like the way that the Eskimos had so many words for snow, and the Egyptians for sand, when something is so omnipresent in a culture, there should be words to describe it.
There are some creature comforts that I have missed while I have been here, but nothing that is truly vital to my survival (as proved by the fact that I am still living), and they aren’t necessarily applicable to the country as whole. Yet another reminder that I can live more simply.
Honestly, I am not sure what gifts I would give to Italians, because one thing that I have been reminded of on this trip is that we are all people, no matter what part of the world we live in. We want the same things, to be happy, to be loved, and to get the most out of life. That means something a little different to every person. I think I might also give them a little bit of optimism. Many of the Italians I have gotten to know seem to be very happy people, yet there is this sort of cloud of pessimism, “the weight of history” that they carry around. America’s short history has its dark moments as well, but we either forget them, or remember the triumph that followed. I think that remembering that you can make it through is much better than forgetting any part of history. Their history has made them much stronger (even if only in spirit) than many other nations, and I think that sense of pride is something that would be good for the Italian people.
So now where does that really leave me? I don’t actually know. It leaves me craving to see more of the world, exist in it more deeply than I do now. I want to explore, take flight without ever losing my roots. (Perhaps a trip to the Netherlands to explore my roots more deeply) It leaves me incredibly and profoundly grateful for a life that God has given which is more beautiful than I could have imagined. Grateful for nearly four months of my life where I could watch the sunset over the Sibylline Mountains from my bedroom window. The chance to have the taste of a new language on my tongue. It leaves me a little wiser (I think), and knowing a bit more about myself, what my real needs are, and some things about who I really am. It leaves me counting my blessings. And the best gift of all, was the family and friends I have come home to, as if I had never left. Plus, I have a new set of friends that I made while I was away. I have a lot of things I am working towards, but I look forward to accepting each day as a new adventure, even the days in Alma.
Adventure is out there.
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