"We'll get nowhere if we've forgotten where we've been"

I spent a good portion of my first few weeks in Rome genuinely disliking this city for something that it just can't help. I resented Rome for being Rome. My immediate reaction is to now regret that week or so I spent wallowing internally. Incessant thoughts about how I should have gone to Germany, the disorder, how rude the people were, the terrible exchange rate, and the seemingly impenetrable language barrier took over my brain. This is not to say that I spent every moment being miserable, and many people at home probably had no idea, but I let loose on those closest to me. I'm not sure what would have happened without those little bandaids of encouragement and love-slaps into reality. My mother deals with my constant neuroses, my sister always knows what to say, my father breaks my heart with his sadness but makes me feel so loved, my wonderful cousin vents and squeals daily with me through all the ups and downs, Jen -despite her feelings- rises up to share her infinite wisdom, Kelli pushes me along, Lexi is prepared to offer comic relief, and even Ken has been a voice of reason and reassurance as I cried to him, ranted, and berated this fine country. But most of all, Monica has been there to share my worries, fears, and above all else- joys. We spend solid portions of every day laughing to the point of physical discomfort, whisper in the dark like little girls, know when it's time to push or just stay quiet, and when to just let me play that song for the tenth time. That type of synchronicity is rare and cherished.

I'm happy to be where I am right now. The rough spots seem a thing of the past, and it's comical now that I thought I had gotten to a "good place" when I accepted that Rome was something new and I'd be home soon enough. I never want this to end. Never again will I have this freedom, this opportunity, and this ability to embrace a certain amount of recklessness without much guilt. There are moments when I feel absolutely gripped with terror that this will end- I will leave Rome, go back home, and say goodnight to the discos. I love walking down the street and hearing a different kind of house music from each passing car, or being serenaded by a man on his Vespa. Or better yet- being serenaded by a handsome sailor with traditional Southern love songs. Art, formal or informal, is literally everywhere. This city is insane and I am drunk off of its magnificence.

The blatantly staring, and often brooding, eyes on the street and metro have stopped bothering me and become almost endearing. Something being "so painfully Italian" now makes me smile instead of roll my eyes. I love the boys in their ridiculous coats, the old women pulling their shopping bags, and our sweet market ladies. I've now spent hours having conversations with a boy that only speaks about as much English as I do Italian (aka not much) and at a certain point, and with an incredible amount of laughter, it all stops mattering. Replacing this word here, that gesture, this reenactment, this French phrase- and the message somehow gets across. We're all pretty damn similar when you get right down to it.

At first, I had huge problems with the lack of efficiency, at least in my definition, through out the city. However, I've come to realize that "we'll get to it when we get to it" attitude is just another thing that makes Italy, Italy. My obsession with order and punctuality in others has been forced into submission- and that's honestly a relief. Everything here is just slower and that's exactly what I didn't know I needed. I'm always in a rush, plotting my next move, eager to bend everything to my useless specifications, and quick to make a judgment. I've found myself having to drastically reduce my stride to "slow down" to the speed of a lean Italian boy with legs far longer than my own. He walked at ease, listening to my every word, nodding thoughtfully, and stopping frequently to explain things. It was infuriating at first- until I realized that my rush was senseless. What changes if we get to the bar five minutes later? Life was meant to be enjoyed and I need to stop treating every day like a check list. My very German desire for order and extreme efficiency has been forced to take a backseat, and for now, that's just fine.