written by Charlotte Cicero for SPEL Journalism
Ciao, my name is Charlotte Cicero. I’m a junior at the University of Missouri, and I had the privilege of studying abroad at FUA this past spring semester. For the past 15 weeks, I’ve been writing for the website you’re currently reading, and for Blending Magazine.
When I wrote my first blog post in January, I threw a corny title on what was pretty much a journal entry. For this final piece, without a corny title and with more structure and a little more wisdom, I want to reflect on some parts of that original post. So here we go.
“I’ve lived in Florence for a little over two weeks now. The adjustment has not been easy, and I think I’m still shocked that I’m finally living this dream that has just felt like some faraway plan for many, many years.”
Now I’ve lived in Florence for nearly four months. I’m not ‘shocked’ anymore, but instead in a constant state of wonder, curiosity, and awe of how much beauty I’ve witnessed in such a short time.
“This transition to Florence feels nothing like my transition to college. I’m still trying to decide if that’s a good thing, and I’m hoping it is. This transition feels almost unreal like I am still in the process of, well, processing.”
It turned out to be a great thing – change is supposed to feel like change. I’ve learned that new and different things create new and different comfort zones. At first, I felt behind my friends, like I was late to have the moment of “I’m really doing it! I’m finding myself in my twenties in Europe!” moment. But instead, I got to experience a buildup of little moments that over time made me realize that I was in my twenties, I was in Europe, and I was on the journey of finding myself.
“I walk the same streets every day. I can get to the store, the city center, and all my classes without Google Maps. I feel lucky that these streets feel so safe and familiar, but sadly, not like home. Not yet, at least.”
I still walk most of the same streets. But now I play around with different routes, knowing that if I make it to the city center, I’ll always find my way back.
The streets feel safe, and familiar, and they finally feel like home. I walk down my street and wave to Matteo and Alessio, who work at the Virgin Rock Pub. I wave at the owners of Cucina di Ghianda, the restaurant next to our apartment. I high-fived Muhammad, who owns the convenience store next door. They all say “Ciao, Charlotte!”. I don’t know them all that well, but seeing them every day reminds me of the quiet power of human connection and community.
“There’s something special about talking to the same employee at the coffee shop on your street every morning, sipping your espresso (that you’re still getting used to) as you muster up the courage to practice the new word you learned on Duolingo the previous night.”
That person became Sergio at Santa Croce Champagneria, right across from FUA. I introduced myself to Sergio before my first day of FUA orientation, poorly attempting to speak Italian and unaware that he’d remember my name. I’d get my homework done there and spend every in-class break grabbing another espresso (which I’m very used to by now). No comment on my Duolingo streak.
“I think what we all need to remember is to stop moving for a second. Breathe. Look at the Duomo and just breathe. Look at the dark green window panes on the top floor of every street and breathe. Before going out with your friends on ‘Space Wednesday,’ breathe. Staying present is the only way to appreciate what a gift this moment is, right? Because we don’t even have any idea just how good this is all going to get.”
Note to January Charlotte: this paragraph needed workshopping, but I’ll forgive it. Deep breaths are in fact important! I paused to breathe in moments I knew were becoming memories. Like the time I was in Orvieto, having a coffee and journaling, and the man I’d shared a train row with walked by. I wrote in my journal: “A sweet elderly man in a yellow raincoat just walked by with his little dog.” I smiled at him, but he didn’t see me. Every time I think of that memory, I tear up. Not because it was emotional, but because it was ordinary.
“I’ll see you at the end of the semester.”
Well, it’s the end of the semester. I’ve seen so many beautiful places, things, and works of art. I’ve seen life shift and stretch and swell with beauty, and met so many beautiful people.
I can’t wait to reread this in six months, just like I’m rereading that first blog post now, knowing I had no idea how good it was all going to get.
So, here’s my last reflection: Keep walking new streets, even if you’re scared to get lost. Keep saying “Ciao” to strangers, even if you’re not sure they’ll remember you. Someday, you’ll look back and realize it was never ordinary at all.
I’ll see you. Don’t stop traveling and live your life curiously. And never stop letting the world surprise you.
