Getting Reacquainted With Rome

Journal Entry from 6/13/19 – Rome, Italy

I woke up this morning after 5 1/2 hours of sleep in the last 36 as you would expect – begrudgingly.  It was only 5:15 a.m., but a seagull, sounding both determined and desperate in equal measure, had perched outside on the terrace.  Maybe it was from hunger, or trying to feed her young, or wanting to find her way back to the sea, but her calls were clear and haunting.  Later, she was joined by a cacophony of other birds beginning their morning rounds – some more pleasant than others.  So, I wearily joined them in their greeting of the day, a strange role reversal since Mitch was still asleep.

I have always been puzzled with Mitch’s preoccupation with Rome, having only visited once over 20 years ago, and being a Florence man myself.  Rome seemed too big, too unorganized, too unsure of how to be both ancient and modern with grace.  It seemed clunky and overly proud, gilded with a religious smugness that flew in the face of the pious religion I respected.  It was also more harsh and barren terrain than I expected for an Eternal City.  So I came back expecting to enjoy the food and wine – and especially the gelato – and trying to go in with an open mind in letting Mitch attempt unfolding his favorite city’s mysteries before me, all the while knowing I’m a Florence man and always will be.  But, seeing him be giddy and inspired would ensure that it was all time well spent.

My first surprise happened on the drive in from the airport.  There were copious amounts of oleander, both white and pink, all along the highway into the city.  It was like a carpet laid down the center median ushering us in (and when it was time, out) of this grand place.  Later, when walking through the city, it dawned on me that I was last here in November, not June, and so I saw a very different place.  The Rome of summer is vibrant with color.  Green ivy crawls up the sides of posh hotels and ancient columns.  Bright red and pink flowers can be found throughout the city decorating window boxes of third floors, hanging off of black wrought iron terraces.  Yellow flowers punctuate the walk along the ancient Forum roads.

Rome is alive in a way I didn’t remember from before, or maybe I am alive at 40 in a way I wasn’t at 19, and so I can now appreciate her.  At 19, her winding streets felt untidy, like the inner workings of a messy mind – unplanned, unkempt, not ready for company.  Now, they seem charming and adaptive as I watch the subtle dance between pedestrians and traffic, cobble stones and smooth pavement, old and new.

I now understand that Rome held secrets I wasn’t ready for at 19.  Life can’t be planned like the gridded layout of a flat Oklahoma town.  Having a rich history means sometimes tearing down or building around the old, appreciating the ruins from your life that serve as reminders of better times to inspire hope, or of darker times to keep you from repeating past mistakes.

As we looked over ruins where Julius Caesar was murdered, I wonder what my ruins are, left as they were in the past?  As we looked at modern construction built on and around the ancient, I wondered where I’ve mended and rebuilt the broken places, instead of tearing them all down.

Rome merely winked as she continued whispering her secrets into my ear.  She knew that to truly understand her was to see her through the eyes of age and experience, and that is why she is eternal.