Europe Explained (Naples, Italy)

Good is temporary. 

At least that’s what I tell myself.

Bad will eventually return.

I came to Italy with a runny nose, and then my nostrils later dried up, and whatever viral strain that was permeating in my ecosystem left. 

Tonight we’re in Naples, a seaside town that is home to 1 million residents. 

Fresh off the train, angst appears to be everywhere. 

Street vendors tirelessly clamor for the attention of the local denizens, none of whom appear overly interested in buying second-rate shoes, sunglasses, or purses. 

It’s Sunday, God’s day, and the sidewalks are a mess.

One step the wrong way and your foot could land on someone’s ankle.

We turn off onto a side street, the hotel only a few meters away, but the roads are jammed with parked cars and brown stuff resides on the adjacent walkways.

“Hectic,” I yell toward G.

We arrived at the hotel too early, but fortunately they have a restaurant. 

“I’ll have a Coke,” I tell Giuseppe, the waiter, who is not my deceased great-grandfather.  

Living Giuseppe never brings me my soda, and dead Giuseppe doesn’t roll around in his grave.

What will I miss about this place beautiful place called Italy?

The food, duh. 

Spaghetti, pizza, bread, panna cotta, lemonade. 

It’s all marvelous. 

I don’t want to go back to chicken and rice, but I will. 

The next day, the views are immaculate.

But the conversation is better. 

G and I confide in each another once again. 

The trip has been a full-course meal consisting of political discourse, ideological debate, and of course, gossiping.

It’s one of the last days on the trip, so I let my guard down, become vulnerable, tell him things I don’t want to tell anyone. 

Not that everyone should know.

We all have our secrets, and that’s okay, but sometimes you just have to let someone know where you’re at, otherwise the world can feel isolating and cruel. 

“It wouldn’t be a trip if we didn’t talk about these things,” G says, validating some of my concerns and giving me some hope for the future. 

Not that my life is particularly tragic, but negativity always seems to creep back int the fray, unapologetic about making its presence known. 

I want to be like negativity in that sense. 

More bold. 

More willing to take risks. 

In some ways, I already am emboldened, but I could do better. 

I could take on more responsibility, ask more of myself, become more of a net positive for society. 

But I get scared, fearful that if I’m not locked in 24/7 all that is good will slip away from me. 

Case in point:

Haven’t had a drink in 3 years. 

Not because I ever had an issue with alcohol, but eventually the Grey Goose didn’t land like it once did, and if I couldn’t escape and feel something different, then there was no point in poisoning myself. 

Moreover, any time I had a sip of GG, guilt would soon follow, shame over feeling like I was letting others and myself down. 

So over the last few years I dug deeper, discovered that I don’t want to not fulfill my potential, even though I don’t know what my peak looks like. 

My dream would be to die a geriatric, in my sleep, and blissfully drift off to wherever one goes after they leave this earth. 

But I also realize that I don’t get to choose when or how I leave this world, so I’ve learned to try to accept that, and not keep wishing for this perfect narrative to unfold. 

All in.

Unafraid to lose.

Unwilling to let my worldview be dictated by others.

That being said, I still can be risk-averse. It took 30 years to build a financial foundation, and I don’t want go back to zero, stressing over paying bills and feeling inadequate.

Definitely don’t want to lose. 

Would rather not lose than win.

The opinions of others?

Whew, that’s a tough one.

I’d love if everyone liked me, but that’s not realistic, so a continuation of being authentic is the only appropriate route. 

Now, it’s the last night in Naples, then we head back to Venice before hopping on a plane and heading home, this bros trip soon to belong to our memories, then susceptible to the distortions of the brain, which will input its own interpretation of these last couple weeks. 

That’s fine.

It’s the way it was supposed to go, otherwise it probably wouldn’t have happened.

At least, that’s what I’ve always learned. 

If the answers aren’t here today, they may come tomorrow, or they may not. 

But one day they will arrive, likely accompanied by peace. QS