Returning Home Only Takes 100 Years.

Exactly 100 years ago, my great grandmother Genivra came to the United States from Italy. I remember sitting on her lap, transfixed by her gold tooth (shiny object syndrome started early for me), and not understanding most of what she said. Great grandfather Emidio arrived 15 years before that; but he died before I was born. I think it's ironic a century ago they were moving to America for a new life; a century later, I'm here in Italy for the same reason.

Last night I had another one of those perfect moments where the feeling kept washing over me that everything I did to get to this point in my life was supposed to happen. Everything felt so aligned, so right; it was overwhelming. I knew, 100% with no doubt, that this is where the universe intends for me to be. Right now. Sitting in a courtyard of an old building, sipping Prosecco, and talking with other students, faculty, staff began really driving home for me the many opportunities here I would have never dreamed about had I not extricated myself from 'the box.' We talked about internships, language exchange programs, and even the possibility to live(!) and work here. I floated (I float a lot, don't I?) home in the early evening breeze high on the prospect of opportunity - my new life, whatever that may be. I wonder what thoughts were going through my great grandparents' minds when they were on their respective boats sailing toward America.

I know they were as grateful for every opportunity presented to them in their new world as I am in mine, for however long I get to be here.