En Route to Italia

"Once you'd resolved to go, there was nothing to it at all." - Jeannette Walls

Dio mio! With a year of the Italian language under my belt, my whole life packed away into two suitcases, and my mother's Holy Water sitting nearby, the time has officially come to take that flight over the Atlantic. January 25th has been set in my brain for months, and now here it is, screaming back at me from every calendar. During my last few hours at home, I've been double checking that I have everything, Googling whether or not they have Oreos in Europe (expand your market, Nabisco), and saying my final goodbye to my dog. Just last night I was texting my roommate Chelsey, see you in Boston, anticipating our reunion at the airport. We've got a nine hour flight ahead of us. 4, 000 miles to go.

There's not much left to do. I have asked all the stupid questions ("where will I get my eyebrows waxed?"), all the important questions ("all you sure wine is cheaper than water?"), and every question in between. I have attended my study abroad info session, listened to every safety lecture from my parents, and taken every piece of advice from my well-traveled older brother. You'd think I'd be ready. And in the physical sense, I am. But who can ever be mentally prepared to travel overseas and visit lands where foreign languages linger the air?

I figure, though, if we wait until we're ready to do things, we'd seldom do them at all. Quite often, we have to leap forward into the unknown and pray that good chances are in our favor. So farewell for now, America. I'm shedding any ethnocentric skin I have and flying across the pond. I shall return in four months, maybe a little heavier, but perhaps a little wiser. Arrivederci!

Lights out,

Britt