Italy, At Last
It was a sleeping dream for a long time.
I had always wanted to travel to Italy since college Art History classes — focused on the antiquities of Ancient Rome, its art, pottery, and furniture — planted a small light in my heart. I specifically had wished to see and experience Rome, a metropolis defined by seven hills, vibrantly painted temples, and a landscape blending monumental marble government centers with massive entertainment venues like the Colosseum. It all seemed so far away yet attainable in time; and as they say, Italy finds you when it's ready.
But just as I thought space and time were opening up, aligning to finally make a visit to Italy possible, something inevitably always came up. A work trip back to the Caribbean. A friend's illness and death. Commitments in Charleston. Financial glitches. Or put more simply — it just wasn't the time.
As the train pulled away from Naples toward Rome, I settled into my window seat and let the landscape carry my thoughts. The timing of this trip felt nothing short of remarkable. I had recently turned fifty — a milestone that has a way of sharpening one's attention — and my sister-in-law and her husband had just celebrated their fiftieth anniversary. My partner Dan and his brother had both marked birthdays as well. Against all the odds of busy lives and competing schedules, we had found the space and time to do this together, to honor life's passages and make memories worth keeping. And there was room for more than celebration. There was room to set down the phone, breathe it all in, and be genuinely moved — by the sheer scale of Rome's ancient monuments, by the honest simplicity of Neapolitan food, by the way the Tuscan sun sets over Italy’s vast landscape.
Travel, for me, is an invitation to slow down and look inward. Away from the noise and rhythm of ordinary days, I find myself turning over the deeper questions — how I am spending my time, what I am chasing, what truly matters. It is easy, in the rush of daily life, to let ambition and busyness take the wheel. We make our lists, set our resolutions, scroll through the curated lives of others, and convince ourselves that we are the architects of our own perfect timing. But somewhere between Naples and Rome, I was reminded that we are not entirely in charge — and what a relief that is. God's providence is quieter than our plans and far more patient. He sees what we cannot, and He shapes a path forward that no checklist could ever map. When we release our grip, even just a little, and trust His timing over our own, life has a way of opening into something more generous and surprising than anything we could have designed ourselves.
And so that sleeping dream? It was never lost — only waiting. Italy did not arrive on my timeline or by my design, but in the fullness of something far greater. Standing in the shadow of the Colosseum, tasting a simple plate of pasta in Naples, watching Tuscan hills roll gold in the late afternoon light — I understood that every delay had been a quiet act of grace. The trip was never just about Italy. It was about arriving — fully, gratefully, and right on time.
