“Gracie, you know what you have to do.” my mother would always tell me in the midst of my anxiety. She knew that to fight this fear I must move my body, absorb the sun, eat my favorite fruit, listen to music…. She also knew that I knew this, yet I was stubborn. I wanted to wallow in my anxiety. Travel has finally emboldened me to do all of these things my mother always insisted upon. In the “green heart of Italy”, Umbria, all of these activities come so naturally. It is what the locals do everyday. Even just eating a fresh peach from the grocery store lights up my soul. Its sweet juice wakes me up in the morning, especially when I make a mess and it drips all the way down to my bare feet. In a weird way, it makes me feel like I’m doing something right.
In my mind, I’ve always imagined Italy as a place of simplicity and freedom. Freedom to live an unhurried life. Letting only the sun dictate your plans. A place where Sunday is truly for rest. In a geographical sense, I was unsure of what to expect. I had imagined some beaches and little alleyways, but I had not imagined the endless mountains, hills, and valleys that give Umbria its unique charm. I did not expect to take a two hour hike up Monteluco, a city with a population of only 27 people. I definitely did not expect to have to ride multiple escalators up to my classroom! (The views make it worth it.) So, in some ways, I was right about Italy, but not specifically about the region of Umbria.
As someone who has grown to prioritize well-being (thank you mom) through healthy human habits, Umbria has naturally guided me in this direction. Healthy human habits meaning movement and being in touch with nature, but also the healthy human things like that aperitivo, plate of pasta, and conversation with the old italian man about his artwork. The habit of being unhurried. The habits that, it seems like, Umbria was made for.
During the light hours, we have spent our time walking where the wind takes us and being so present with that wind we can feel it tossing our hair back. The wind has freed my face of distraction and has given me the chance to experience more clearly. To clearly see the sun rays hitting the fountains filled with fresh water you can drink. To clearly feel the warm cobblestone and handmade leather purses. To clearly taste the only alcohol I think I’ve ever said I actually liked, my dear Hugo Spritz. To clearly smell the freshly bloomed lilies and the rich balsamic poured over caprese. The wind has taken us up to the Spoleto Cathedral and all the way down to the grave of Saint Francis of Assisi. You could walk down a random side street and, I can promise you, treasure would be found. Maybe you’ll find the tiniest jewelry shop you’ve ever seen, only fitting three people at a time, owned by an older Italian woman repeating “Bella! Bella!” while you try different pieces on. Maybe she just wants you to buy something, or maybe she truly thinks you look beautiful. Walking in Umbria has guided both my mind and body to joy and well-being.
When the sun begins to go down, the human nature of yearning for endless conversation and a genuine Italian gelato (specifically coconut) sets in. Our smiles rise when the restaurants play American music for, what seems like, just for us. Suddenly, we never want the night to come to an end. Can I stay in this place, with these people, forever? Umbria has brought my mind and body back to life. It has awakened me and reminded me to slow down. To both enjoy and take care. To teach me even more about life and well being than my mother has already. For humans to be able to truly learn and live, we first have to go out and do it. For me, Umbria has been the perfect place to start.
I love the thematic emphasis on well-being, the connection between our anxious selves and the things we discover abroad that help us let go just a little bit. Your use of the wind as a repeated phrase driving the movement of some paragraphs is also a nice touch. And yet, after that early peach, you let details emerge without exploring their depth. The American music plays in a restaurant–by which Guns & Roses song were you singing along with? How does that song associate with your own past? Where were you? Each mention suggests a world of possible details, and when those emerge, we might find that we need fewer of them, thematically link, and that this could be the heart of an essay. You go big here–fitting in a ton–but I think your best essay will emerge from doing more with less.