italian takeaways
Throughout these few weeks on my own in Europe, I’ve learned quite a few things about myself, about Italy, and about life in general. I guess you’re bound to do that when you spend time outside of your comfort zone, as long as you’re paying attention.
Admittedly, I’m not always good at either of those things…the comfort zone thing and the paying attention thing. And admittedly, although I journaled and wrote down as much as I could in an attempt to combat my terrible memory, I needed time to process what I actually walked away with.
But I made it a point to soak in what I could over there — beyond just carbs, sugar, and alcohol, of course — and I now feel better prepared to answer that dreaded question that forces me to think critically and self-reflect: “what are your takeaways?” Some seem worthwhile and others seem silly, but they’re takeaways nonetheless.
So, since like six of you asked, here are some thoughts / musings / reflections / learnings / nuggets / takeaways / (I’m officially out of synonyms) that I’ve picked up along the way in Firenze.
My tight-knit program group constantly joked that I was “the bossy one”. This drove me nuts because it’s a role I felt I’d been forced into — I realized quickly that if I didn’t pick the places and set the times and make the plans, no one else would. So I assumed the position, which made me the bossy one. Moral of the story…I guess I can be kind of bossy? But I can also be more of a leader than I thought.
God truly has my back, in every situation, and this time in Italy — filled with his small mercies and his constant looking out for me when I did something stupid — has made crystal clear how much he continually provides his protection, peace, and presence.
Ingredients matter. Eating local matters. Slow food matters. Everything about food - from the quality to the production to the way it’s consumed - is better in Italy. The milk, the cheese, the eggs, the butter, the flour, the olive oil, the vegetables, the meat — everything. Even the best stuff in America seems like crap in comparison, and it makes us feel like crap in return.
There are some things I’m apparently immune to in Europe: hangovers, fatigue, and fomo. I drank wine almost every day (many days, a little too much) and got less sleep than I’ve gotten in years, but I felt like a million bucks the entire month. Never tired, never dragging, never hurting. And while America-me would typically be bummed about missing out on everything my friends were up to while I was gone, I found myself feeling truly present throughout this whole experience. I’m convinced all of this has a lot to do with the point above.
Even at 33, I can still make new friends.
An Italian chef might give you a recipe if you ask, but “they will always put one thing wrong”.
Mozzarella cheese tastes even better at room temp. Also, that bagged shredded mozzarella cheese we get at the store is not mozzarella cheese.
It’s embarrassingly hard for me to keep my clothes on a clothesline.
In Italy, “a little bit” actually means a lot.
As Patsy says, “the sea is good for your soul”.
I loved having to walk everywhere. I walked an average of 8 to 10 miles a day, and it not only saved me from the copious amounts of carbs I consumed, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. Even when I complained about it and even in the unbearable heat, I was grateful for all the walking and I think I need more of it in my life.
I’ve developed a complex that every Italian I meet thinks I’m an annoying American. No matter how much I love their country, they don’t seem to love me being here. This was a tough one to swallow, but it also just makes me want to go back even more and attempt to win them over.
