Notes From Rome

Changing suitcases 20 minutes before you leave for the airport because things didn’t QUITE fit in the one you originally planned to take.

Life chats with strangers on planes.

Being passionately told by the Italian man on the plane that under no circumstances should I order a cappuccino after 10 am.

Sitting in front of the Colosseum and people-watching while I ate my panino (apparently, “panini” is plural!) reminded me of when I first moved to DC and would walk all over to learn the area. I’d buy a slice of pizza, usually at the USDA farmer’s market, and sit and eat it in the middle of the Mall in front of the Washington Monument and people-watch. This gave me the same feeling I had then.

There is something comforting and freeing in anonymity. The feeling that you are just a blur in someone else’s day, with no expectations, and it’s the same in return as you watch others pass by. I think we place such a big emphasis on the need to feel seen and heard—and don’t get me wrong, I’m not minimizing how important that is because I know what it feels like to need those things. But sometimes, being the blur can be peaceful. Being reminded that we are such a small part of such a bigger world is humbling but also empowering because we see individual people do some pretty badass things that make an impact every day.

Opting to sit outside the trattoria on a cool evening in Rome on the first night of traveling Europe for two months just to watch the people and hear the sounds

Watching the process of influencers to get the perfect picture at the Trevi Fountain. 

Revisiting the steps that marked the end of our week-long 85-mile hike through Italy in 2018 and remembering how resilient I was for doing it all on a sprained ankle. 

Looking back at pictures on my phone, and realizing that I spent half the day walking around and talking to several people with Nutella on my face.

Trying to eat flaky pastries neatly while watching the Italians go at it with no hesitation.

A beautiful day. 

The woman chastising her husband, “You stupid, stupid man,” because he kept taking her picture horizontally when she wanted it vertically.

Finding random churches to pop into and the feeling that it’s so hard to comprehend such beautiful things existing for so long. 

Ceilings so detailed and beautiful that they have a mirror table so you can observe them more closely without looking up.

A man on the curb picking Knockin’ on Heaven’s door on his guitar. 

The hum of walking through a market, tasting samples, and admiring the brightly colored produce.

Spotting strangers that you saw the day before.

Finding yourself alone in a little church at a dead end on top of the hill that you didn’t mean to climb.

Aperitivo at another hostel and bonding over the shared experience of being miserable in a job and the shock factor of quitting cold turkey without a plan. Swapping travel plans, stories, and recommendations. Listening to one woman’s delusional international love story and wishing you had some popcorn. A different kind of feeling of belonging and being cheered on. A room full of different accents.

Cappuccinos, pastries with Nutella, pistachio gelato, margherita pizza, and prosecco.

Huddling with strangers under a tree during a hail storm next to the Colosseum.

People watching. Lovers with touches that are personal to them. A baby learning to walk with her dad. A group of old ladies gossiping. Spotting the extreme tourists. Old men walking with their hands clasped behind their backs. A group of school kids singing some sort of school chant. 

Rome, thanks for helping me kick off this adventure and for feeling a little familiar. Feeling like I knew you helped set the tone for the days to come and gave me the confidence I needed to continue on.