A Moment In Rome

Three years ago I spent a semester abroad in Canterbury, England. It was an amazing experience in both the teachers I met and the other cultures I was fortunate enough to experience.

It was during that time that I wrote some of my most reflective pieces. Pieces that I buried inside of a travel journal given to me by my sister as a Christmas present just weeks before I had left. That journal traveled with me all over Europe. I wrote thoughts, ideas, observations and desires in that tiny, hand size book. But when I got home I boxed it up. Essentially closing the door on that time of my life as I got back into the routine of my American life. Occasionally memories would surface from Europe. A smell would cross my nose and I would be reminded of England, of friends and times spent exploring there.

I found that journal a few days ago. The cover was the same, bound in light leather with travel pictures stamped on the front, the most prominent being the Eiffel Tower. Those pictures had never fit that journal because to me they were too fake, too vacationy. But as I opened the journal and began to read I was drenched with memories.

All these wonderful experiences came flooding back to me as I sat and reminisced with that little journal. But there was one memory I didn't need the journal for. It stood out with me as clear now as when it had happened. But as I re-read the entry of "Rome at sunset" it struck me how sometimes we find things; people, places, objects. And those small encounters turn out to be so profound.

Rome was that for me. That magical wonderful city made me feel like a writer. Made my pen fly on the paper each night as I sat looking out over the city. It inspired me and drugged me with its crumbling pastries and decadent ice cream. Its narrow streets hiding beautiful fountains and cozy cafes filled with throngs of people sipping various types of coffee.

Each day there I experienced something new, something unique. From the military boys who waved up to our balcony from their barracks across the street each morning, or the breathtaking sunset I captured in words my last day there, to the tiny ice cream shop just across from the Vatican, it felt magical, otherworldly almost.

That is the only time so far that my muse has stayed with me constantly. For four days in Rome I wrote almost non-stop. By the time I left I had filled almost an entire notebook with short stories. I never tried to get them published, never thought they were really any good. Maybe they aren't but I promised myself that I would stray from my comfort zone. It's time. The journal helped remind me that I have seen my muse before.

For just a moment in Rome.

Here's to you finding your moment.