I’m sitting in LAX this morning at 5am. I am exhausted and I probably need another cup of coffee. But underneath it all I can feel myself re-charging. I’m going home.
Every time, since the very first time I set foot in Italy, I have known I belong there. A part of me relaxes with the easy, sing-songy cadence of the language. In Italy, the eager enthusiasm and passion I feel for everyday life is reflected back to me in the people I meet.
They know Life is Beautiful too.
Italians are endlessly charming to me. They obsess over film, politics, food. They know there is nothing a shot of perfectly pulled espresso and a warm brioche can’t cure. They understand my need to cook for people, to invite them into my home, and make them part of my life. Turning strangers quickly into family.
I am American, but I am home in Italy.
I have the great opportunity to spend these next few days exploring Piemonte- a dream for any oenophile. I hope to come away with some deeper understanding of Nebbiolo, and of all the varied, nuanced, ancient soils and vineyards tucked there in the foothills of those great mountains.
I know I will come away with a deeper understanding of myself.
“I’m coming home./ I’m coming home./ Tell the world I’m coming home/ I know my kingdom awaits” (Diddy Dirty Money)
