What I Have Written

I struggle with my writing. I feel guilty about not writing more, especially since coming to Italy. Rich, interesting experiences keep coming at me, and I have a hard time keeping up. I feel an obligation to record these experiences, process them, and have something to show for them. Writing isn't the problem; I just struggle to sit down and make myself do it. Sometimes I wonder if I even like to write at all.

Nonetheless, after a few months of being out here, I began to think that I should be a food-writer. I started thinking of ideas to pitch: “The Hidden Japanese Chefs of Piemonte”, “Talking Cheese over Bottles of Wine with Fiorenzo Giolito”, “Umbria's Undiscovered Wine Country”, “Cafe Val'Dostana: A Drink to Define a Region”, and this list goes on. New ideas for clever, topical articles came to me and stacked up in a mental queue before I had time to process them. Without as much as writing a sentence, I was staring down a new to-do list that would require hours of phone calls, researching things on the internet (which I hate to do), precise, technical editing, and of course, writing.

For at least a week, the ideas spun in my head, and I felt a sense of anxiety and impending failure for not turning these ideas into polished, 1,300 word submissions to online publications that I don't read or know about but surely need to hear from me.

I pushed through this anxious period, even did some light research on submitting freelance writing, and finally, the anxiety came to a rest. I realized that even though I could write all these articles, I didn't want to. I also realized that I would probably be writing articles that I wouldn't want to read myself.

With a new sense of peace, I went back to enjoying the crap out of my time in Italy: spending my free time working at a restaurant in town, throwing and attending dinner parties, riding my bike through storied vineyards, and in general, just soaking it all up. If I felt inspired and had the time, I wrote something in my blog, and left it at that.

But once I made plans to leave Italy, another flash of anxiety washed over me. Nearly a year and a half had gone by, time filled with the richest experiences of my life, and I've hardly written anything down. When things got busy between graduation and a pizza-internship, I went over four months without even posting to my blog. All the great meals, recipes I could have jotted down, notes on places I've visited, wines I've tasted: all this could have been recorded. I hear of cooks who travel for just a few months in Italy and come back with notebooks full of recipes and ideas. Did I blow this great opportunity by not writing it all down?

Perhaps. Without a doubt I've had some world-class experiences. Many of these experiences would be the highlight of any two-week trip to Italy, and I'll forget most of them.

Lunches better than this have gone completely unrecorded.

I am jaded and spoiled. I'll admit that. But more than anything, I'm lucky. Lucky to be out here long enough that it doesn't feel like vacation anymore. I no longer feel the need to write down everything. I can walk by ancient churches, charming old men, and quaint fruit and vegetable markets without even thinking of reaching for my camera. Life has even felt normal. Being comfortable with the language and a work environment, at times I've forgotten that I am in a foreign country. I don't beat myself up for not taking better notes. Instead, I feel thankful to be fully immersed to the point where I no longer feel like an observer.

I'll remember all the best things anyway. The richest experiences will be impossible to forget. And I bet, if I had my face in a notebook the whole time, I could have missed them.