At 5, we search for eggs, at 22, we search for dreams

Easter has always been and always will be one of my favorite holidays. It combines the food aspect of Thanksgiving, the basket (gift aspect) of Christmas, and the childhood game of hide-and-seek. Only instead of people, we hide eggs, and instead of seeking all over the neighborhood, we seek all through out our homes. This was always my favorite part.

My brother and I would compete until there would be one or two eggs stranded in some desolate location that my mom would surely be laughing about as she hid the egg there. Despite always taking an extremely long time to find the red or blue or green colored egg, it was always my favorite egg to find---because it was the challenge.

Like Easter, I now find myself seeking on a life-time egg hunt. Only this time I'm not searching for the red and green striped egg or the polka-dotted one, I am searching for the full-time job, the man that will give me the most wonderful and loving family, and the opportunity to be on top of the world. I am searching for that TV pitch that gets accepted, that movie script that wins an Oscar, and that book agent who helps sell my novel as a number 1 best seller at Barnes and Noble.

Yes, at 5, we search for eggs, and at 22 we continue that egg-hunt, only our eggs are bigger, and withstand more cracks. Because At 5, we search for eggs, but at 22--we search for much more--much more that can't be found behind the pillow of a couch, or beneath the living room chair. Much more that can't be hidden behind the leg of a piano bench, or the head rest of a bed. Much more that can't be found in the corner of the refrigerator or stuck between love seat cushions like a remote control. No. These things can't be hidden in book shelves or cupboards of our homes, because we are no longer searching for something that we soon forget about after we find it. We now search for much, much more.

We search for dreams, and passions and opportunities that are dyed with perfection and beauty. We search for the right words and the right answers that are dyed with consonants and vowels. We search for a home, a business, a family, a life--all dyed with hard-work and faith. We search for money, once-in-a-lifetime chances--all dyed with longing and hope.

Above all, we search for happiness.

"For me, I like"

I’ve mentioned this before. I tend to move around as often as I change my shoes, and since I bought new boots just three days ago, it seems only fitting that I have moved on to Rome as of this morning.

It’s nearly been one month since I have arrived in Italy. It has nearly been one month since I have had a Dunkin Donuts coffee, since I have driven a car, and since I have had the convenience of things like Walmart, CVS, and Walgreens. It has nearly been one month since I embarked on my new adventure. It has nearly been one month since I made the best decision of my life, in getting on the plane to return to Italy--my home. The other day our teachers sat us down and said. “Let’s talk about what you will take with you as life skills from this course…How have you changed?”

I looked around the room as one of my peers began to speak. He spoke of many of the things that we discussed at our Thanksgiving Feast—how family can be anywhere, how home can be anywhere. I then raised my hand and spoke from a personal level… "Every experience is a new one.”

I may be putting myself out there a bit in this entry, but I think sometimes it’s really important that we do that, that we let people know our past, and how that has effected our present.

I told the class that I had learned that we could experience a place we have lived in, breathed in, and loved in before, in a totally and completely different way a second time around, that no two experiences are the same, and that there is always something new worth exploring in a place that you truly believed you have conquered.

I didn’t dive into too much more with the class time, but I think it’s important that we go into each new experience with an open heart and an open mind. A problem that I have had since I was a kid is that I often try too hard and become a bit overwhelming at times. My mom will tell you that when I get an idea in my head, she’ll have to shhsh me and tell me to take a minute to fixate on something else. It is something I have never been able to shake.

So when I first returned to Florence four weeks ago, I had this idea in my head that I knew Florence and everything that had to be done again and how to do everything and how to really be the queen of Florence. God, was I wrong. But I am glad I was. Because if I had experienced Florence the way I had before—if I had experienced Florence and had overwhelmingly been able to have others experience Florence in the ways that I did before, I wouldn’t have fallen head over heals with all the parts of the city that did this time, I wouldn’t have really experienced Florence, now two years later, in it’s whole. I wouldn’t have truly made the best of every moment.

As I finished up my short speel on my experiences to the class and explained how I had never taken the opportunity to go to the Bobali Gardens or Piazzale Michelangelo before, my teacher looked at me with a confused look, “What the hell did you do here before,” is what she was really asking me. And while I used the excuse that I had only been in Florence three weeks before—for orientation of a semester in Rome—I thought to myself, “My gosh, what the hell did I do here before…” And suddenly it didn’t matter, because I had just experienced one of the two best Novembers of my life without reservation, without hesitation, without regret. I had just lived in the present…I suddenly didn’t need the past to be my reason for my returning. Just being here and having new experiences was now my reason…Just living in the moment was now my reason—and it was now the perfect reason.

Ten Americans and six foreigners sit in a circle...I swear it's not a support group

“It feels like we are in a movie,” said Alessandro across the living room as he stabbed his fork into a giant piece of turkey. “We see this in the movies, but we never experience it. This is my first Thanksgiving.”

Alessandro is an Italian man that one of our classmates, in Italy, took time to make friends with over the last three weeks. He is sitting across the room from me. To my left, a woman from Israel is laughing. Next to her is an Englishman, and another Italian. Just past a light shade, that obstructs my view, is a German. If you take another look around our room, you might not only notice the foreign differences but also the age differences as well. A retired woman, born in America, who grew up in Canada, is sitting three spaces to my left while others in the room have just nearly hit 23. You might think we are sitting in a support group for diversity, but this is far from what is happening. This is our Thanksgiving—ten Americans, and five, eventually six people who have never celebrated the giant turkey in the middle of the table, the green bean casserole, or cranberry sauce (which go for 3.90 Euro each at the International Ingredient store) before.

Here we were, ten Americans, and six foreigners, doing exactly what our ancestors did when they first celebrated Thanksgiving: sharing a meal, sharing our thanks, and sharing our happiness. To continue a game of tag here: The wonderful Hannah wrote a piece about what Thanksgiving is truly about and what home is all about on her blog just a few days ago at just about the same time as a home piece I wrote (hence the game of tag we are playing via cyberworld). And this piece she wrote helped me to solidify the fact that everything she wrote is exactly true.

Thanksgiving is about the giving. As we all went around the room, sharing what we were thankful for, a common theme began to develop. “I am thankful for the fact that I am not homesick right now,” said a new good friend of mine. Another said, “I am thankful for the fact that we can all come together to do this…” and “I am thankful for L and J welcoming us into their home for this.” The women from Israel added “I am thankful for all the beautiful Italian men here,” and we all had a great laugh.

Thanksgiving is not always about being with family, but sometimes rather, about being with people who you never imagined your life with, but who have made it better in some way, shape, or form. As a few of us fell into a conversation, a good friend started to say, “I couldn’t imagine my life without you guys in it…Like it’s weirder to think of not knowing you than to think about not getting married.”

And he is right—it would be weird. It would be weird not to be sitting with all these people, taking in the moment, tearing up at the thought of how happy you are, and getting a clear picture of what thankfulness and happiness are all about. This year Thanksgiving wasn’t about how many servings you ate at dinner. It was about how many diverse people you could bring together in one room and turn into a family…a wonderful new and accepting family who may lose the ability to see one another each and every day next week: but who will always have this one memory—this one “Grazieful” memory.

In the word of the Italians: Salute!