Vatican City on a Sunday in September... might as well be Christmas Eve at the best mall in town. There's ridiculous long lines, there's millions of people inspecting the merchandise... and that's where my analogy ends.
Because unlike crowded department stores, St. Peter's is worth the crowd of admirers. You come inside and your jaw drops. I've been there before, and I still drooled a bit.
But then the negatives come... it's sweaty, there's too many people, not enough space, too much noise, not enough thoughtful silence... but what a feast for the eyes!
I read online that you can go to Confession on Sundays and there are various priests with different languages available. There is a big eighth of the church roped off with a lay guard in a fancy suit. (For the record, I will marry one of you, Men who work at Vatican who aren't priests but who clearly take the parish of our Pope very seriously! RESPECT.) So handsome young Matthew/Mark/Luke/John was standing guard at this rope turning various people away who wanted to see that part of the church. Turns out, you get to go past the rope if you want to receive the Sacrament of Penance! (Or lie about it, I suppose.) I wandered around searching for the right confessional. English was WAY at the back and I had to wait a bit.
It was so wonderful because unlike the rest of St. Peter's, it was quiet. I was small. I was alone. The church soared above me, with altars and beautiful details overwhelming me at every turn. It was cool. I had to stand there and wait to be comforted in Confession at a holy place. Instead of feeling slightly scared or nervous, I felt so peaceful. I had nothing to do but be in awe and wait. I didn't have to scurry around or worry or plan. I just had to admire the contrast between me and my Creator, as exemplified in His large Roman basilica. The basilica is beyond anything I could hope to create, examine in detail or replicate. I don't feel worthless, I feel sheltered. I don't have to do any of those things. I just have to see my limited role and accept it in the way this world will work. My concerns, my worries, my anxieties... they will all disappear one day. Not because I will solve my problems but they will be taken away from me. How liberated I felt in that moment!
People keep telling me how they wish they lived in Italy too and how lucky I am. I feel ridiculous when people say that to me... because honestly, I'd love to go home. Besides some really great people I've met, I'm ready to pack my (admittedly overweight) bags and head home. I've got some good stories, mostly ones that I would hate to re-live, but I'm not feeling it. My classes are boring. I dread going because two of them feel so repetitive that I sit there as I wait for it to end. My current lifestyle is overpriced and inconvenient.
This is the part where I have to say: "I am lucky to be here. Many people would happily trade lots." But it cannot be denied that I'm not enjoying myself as I should be.
But then I realize, if I go home... what then? Everyone will think I'm a quitter. "You got to live in Italy, how could you bear to leave?" Well, living in Italy can be such a pain in the ass. Just ask someone who has tried it. Don't watch a movie and share with me your cinematic experience. "After Diane Lane pulls out the wall socket, she falls in love with Italy and respects herself as woman even though her boyfriend turned out to be married and her plumbing sucked." 1) I did pull out a wall socket. I haven't told my landlord yet. I'm scared. 2) I respect myself as a woman probably more than Diane Lane ever has. 3) Terrible plumbing is only funny when it doesn't happen to you!
Beyond my potential quitter status, there's the new concern: what will I do if I leave? Go to another European city? Go home? Go to a new American city? Live at Walgreens? Work at what? With my impressive resume and Liberal arts? Ye Gads. Maybe I'll stay here and be miserable.
In times like this, I try to think back to that moment of standing in St. Peter's. The wonder, the awe, the trust, the peace... Time will only tell what I should do. Because I sure as hell don't know.
No comments:
Post a Comment