Leaving Florence was always going to be hard. I never had any doubt about that. I had put far too much of myself into that place for it ever be any different.
After floating through the acclaimed canals in a gondola, indulging in long glasses of prosecco and chocolate dipped treats (like a true tourist,) it’s rumored romanticism was confirmed. I could attest to its unmatched, enchanted beauty. And for two and a half years that is exactly how the city lived in my memory. A fairytale moment. A tourist’s dream. I couldn’t imagine being any more enraptured with it than I already was.
You’ve heard the old adage about how you can spend your whole life planning but that the universe is under no obligation to take those plans into consideration… And if that’s true then I’d rather not waste the time.
A couple girlfriends and I decided to crash a vespa tour running through Tuscany. In a small bus, we rode out of our beloved city center and into the hills.
We’re trained to see the bigger picture. But every picture is made up of a million tiny details that make it into what is. They’re what make it beautiful, unique, personal. But somehow we always seem to miss them.
My lack of desire to see Bologna wasn’t based on anything concrete. It wasn’t based on anything at all, really. In actuality it wasn’t so much an aversion to the city as it was a lack of knowledge about it. And as is often the case, what you don’t know about, you don’t take much time to think about.
With the burden of responsibility, it’s easy to become a part of the rat race. The human condition allows us to fall so easily into routine that we simply shift into airplane mode and go through the motions. The main focus becomes getting from point A to point B.