Stretching

I'm in Italy, here with a friend on sabbatical who invited two of us to tag along and enjoy her free accommodations and help fill her days between her viola performances - how could I say no? Each day has been special, with huge thanks to her network of friends here, as she's used to performing and teaching abroad and has built a community of connections that not only have lovely spaces for concerts but places we can pick olives, learn about cheesemaking, explore small hilly towns, and eat salty, rosemary-topped focaccia. I am counting my blessings.

This photo is from Monday night, as we walked home from dinner in Orvieto, the hill town in Umbria where we're staying for our last few days. The streets were quiet - the town itself was sleeping, the summer tours have ebbed, and who's out on a Monday night anyway? This little alley of a street was both precious and typical - mostly filled with shops that specialize in one or two things (leather goods; knives; pottery), and like so many streets we've visited - hundreds of years old, gently curved paths that make it easy to wander, and filled with generational experts in a craft.

Walking and talking with friends this past week, I'm jotting notes about what my specialization, talents and craft is; where else I might want to travel in the world, and with whom; what "adventure" means to me; and how to more confidently stretch myself into the wonder of new places, new ideas, new things. As a human who loves being at home, surrounded by comforts, these days away have shown me that I can pick olives all day, order off of an Italian menu, banter with a shopkeeper in words & gestures, walk down a narrow staircase to underground caves, and drive the curvy roads. Each of these deserve their own Slice, but it's time to head to the Duomo and stretch myself to learn more history.