Looking out my apartment window, I see two Perugias. I see modern day Perugia, the one that abides by the second hand ticking on my left wrist. This is the one that listens impatiently for the echoes of tower bells clanging the newest hour, signaling for children lugging their trombones and clarinets to be let out from the music school across the parking lot, and for la pausa when the doors of my neighborhood storefronts close. But as I turn to my right, facing the building adjacent mine, I see old archways embedded in the ancient stone walls, now long unused but still lingering hopefully. The happenstance arches don’t seem to serve any purpose in modern day Perugia, as the doorways that once stood beneath them have now been moved to inhabit other more recent arches on the side of the building. But in these long-idle remainders in the stone walls, I see quiet reminders of other lives, of other histories these buildings have had. The buildings seem to be tired from so many years of holding roofs up over ungrateful heads and seeing lifetimes of ugliness and love carried out beneath their exhausted arms. They don’t seem to care that I stand here on the street, my mouth gaping open as I stare at their ancient beauty. These buildings remind me that I am only a passenger here, a temporary fixture, a blink of an eye in the grand lives of these ancient archways. I am part of this moment-by-moment, modern-day Perugia that exists in juxtaposition with these permanent stone walls, dragging centuries of history behind them. Here, away from the world I grew up in, a temporary bird of passage in a foreign place where history is so prominent, I have had to learn to be comfortable with the only thing that I brought with me from the rolling hills of southeast Minnesota: myself.

My life as a temporary Perugian carried out beneath my apartment building’s sturdy, wise roof has been a whirlwind of growth. I have always been an advocate of growth outside my immediate comfort zone, and by being a quiet, shy observer, it’s not hard for me to feel outside of my element. I, however, ignored my blushing cheeks and shy ways, and zealously ran after this goal of growth by throwing myself into situations of unfamiliarity and possible growth through leadership conferences, teen-exchanges, and a French language full-immersion camp. But it wasn’t ever enough; I was never fully out there on my own. Here in Perugia, swimming in a different culture, with a new, delectable language to absorb, and with a completely different terrain of land and history than my home, I am without immediate contact with those I love most and away from the familiarity of my native country. I have finally stepped outside of my bubble and have taken that big jump across the endless blue ocean.

Although I am out of my little pond of Minnesota, however, I have not started another life separate from my own in the U.S. or gone wild in my freedom from preconceived notions and acquaintances. No, I am undoubtedly still the same person at my core. I still love to write more than anything, the countryside moves me more than any museum of art ever could, and I still eagerly anticipate the daily phone call from my boyfriend. But in removing myself from habitual reassurances, I have finally, inversely, become more at ease within myself. Any other changes that have occurred here have all derived from this need for self-lucidity: if any part of my personality has prevented me from feeling this internal peace, I have attempted to slowly alter or change those aspects. And alternately, if I have seen some aspect of Italian culture and society that fits within this nature of mine, I have tried to adopt it, and make it my own. I try to learn from my Italian hosts, taking bits and pieces of their slow lifestyle, and fit it into my own where it seems to coincide. Throughout this semester, I have watched Italians closely, and have taken in how they seem to have retained a connection to the earth, how their food culture is so much more sophisticated and healthy than the American diet, and how family is still an always important component of their lives. This differs greatly from the mainstream American culture, but nevertheless coincides with the teachings and respect for others that I was raised with. The aspect of Italy that I connected with most while abroad was the Italian campagna. It gave me so many levels of beauty to gaze at, so many inspired words to write, and also created a fire inside me to learn more about organic farming, and other crops that are difficult to grow at home, like the plump grapevines, ironic sunflowers, and quiet olive trees.

Because of my experiences here, I have had my eyes opened to other future temporary experiences to stimulate growth, feeding my always bottomless appetite. My connection to the beautiful Italian terra madre, mother earth, has exposed me to the possibility of working on an agriturismo, which use organic farming practices to produce their own food. My time at school has brought about another possible future endeavor for me: coming back to work at my school in Perugia, or to student teach abroad elsewhere.

Since these experiences are usually temporary moments, my mind runs in overdrive, taking in all I can, stimulating every sense to make me feel alive and searching for more. My eyes are greedy for more to see, my brain hungry for more stimulation, my tongue quivering for more languages to wrap itself around. And I don’t think I would ever feel one-hundred-percent ready to leave any of these momentary lives, because I don’t think anyone is ever really done growing. So it’s better to leave while my appetite is still strong, strong enough to push me back into new places, to jump across other oceans to new lands waiting to teach me, other wise buildings to house my small little moments of an ever-searching quest for personal growth.

As my departure date from this temporary life under ancient roofs looms closer and closer, my heart pace quickens in protest. I am not ready to leave yet, one of the voices in my head shouts. This part wants to stay longer in this beautiful country and become fluent in Italian, eat more fantastic food, and see more of the patient countryside. I am addicted to this growth, and any place that inspires so much learning, so much knowledge-seeking, is one that I am loathe to leave. But the other voice reminds me that I have my plane ticket already, and a boyfriend, family, and friends that I really want to spend the holidays with. However, I have decided to reconcile these two equally important parts of me; the part that itches to be on the move, absorbing new ideas, fueling greater learning, but also the part of me that is my foundation. I could not move so freely about the world without a firm, loyal, and patient foundation to keep me grounded. I don’t think these two sides of me need to be in conflict, either: rather, I prefer a resolution that will satisfy both halves by promising to return someday, not necessarily to Italy, but some other fantastical land, some alluring country different than my American culture. I don’t think I shall ever quench this thirst, and I don’t want to. Knowledge is something I want to always be searching for more of. Growth is something always worth climbing up to the next peak for. And hopefully, in these future adventures, growth expeditions, and knowledge searches, I will have the comfort of not only myself, but my boyfriend Todd, or my sister, or best friend Megan, or any of the many loves of my life. My time here in Italy is so short, and the ticking clock of the moment-by-moment Perugia reminds me, as always, that this is only a passing thing. But it’s one of the passing four month periods of my life that I will always carry with me, like those buildings carrying the remnants of ancient doorways to other histories, happy scars of all the fleeting lives carried out beneath their watchful eyes.