What was your favorite part?

As I speak to people about my trip to Rome, this question has been posed to me over and over: “What was your favorite part?” Oh my. This is an impossible question to answer. This is not the fault of anyone asking the question, because how could they know how ridiculous it is? It is, however, absolutely nonsensical from my perspective. I think some people could probably return from a trip like I had and say that oh yes, my favorite part was…the food…or the architecture…or the weather…or going to the beach…or blah, blah, blah. For me, though, my favorite part was no single thing, no combination of things, and it certainly was not anything tangible. It was my experience. The way that I felt. The way I feel now, having had that experience. The fact that I am awake and self-aware enough to recognize how pivotal that experience was to my life and future. The fact that my previous levels of anxiety and worry (which at times could be considered fairly astronomical) are virtually nonexistent now. Somehow, Rome taught me more about life than I ever could have imagined.

There are so many things like this that it is nearly impossible for me not to laugh (hysterically, inside) when someone asks that question. My answer is one that I’m not very good at verbalizing…mostly because I find the doe-eyed stares that I receive in return really frustrating. Many people look at me like I’m crazy. Once again, misunderstood. So I resort to explaining it verbally to the few who understand it, and writing this for the rest of the folks. I am blaming no one else for this; it is something that is lacking in my communication abilities. It’s also the reason I feel I need to write. There are no confused doe-eyes staring at me as I write. I can say whatever I feel. Maybe my reader will make sense of it, maybe not. But I don’t have to be face to face with it. Cowardly? Maybe. But it works for me.