Tag Archives: travel

Stop Letting Fear Stop You

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Tomorrow marks one month since I left America. This past month has flown by and I am happier than I ever have been. I haven’t always been this happy to be here though.

I spent the month leading up to us leaving crying and stressing out over everything. I was the kid growing up that refused to go to summer camp because I didn’t want to be in a place that I didn’t know. In fact, the one time I did go, I cried every single day until the counselors allowed me to call my mom. Moral of the story is I grew up being a huge homebody, but as I have grown up I discovered my love for traveling.

My love for traveling led me to being certain that I wanted to study abroad. Which then led me to finding this opportunity. I remember the day I found out I was officially accepted. I thought to myself “I’ve got this, it’s just like going away to college and I did great at that.” I kept that mindset for months because I was just excited to finally live out my dreams of studying abroad. That mindset slowly diminished as the realization of me leaving the country for two and a half months set in.

The month leading up to us leaving was incredibly tough. Suddenly, it was like I was back in elementary school begging my mom to not make me go to summer camp. I was still excited but the fear was setting in. The fear of the unknown. The fear of leaving the country for the first time. The fear of being far away from my friends and family. The fear of forgetting something. It was debilitating fear that was hitting me like a train.

Luckily, I have an incredible support system that was nothing but encouraging. My mother in particular is amazing, no wonder why I have always had the hardest time leaving her. I would call her just about everyday just to make sure I was gathering all the right paperwork, getting my credit card set up, and most of all just to have her reassure me that I was making the right decision. Even when I called her bawling my eyes out, she would calm me down and reassure me that I was going to be okay. If it wasn’t for her, I don’t know if I ever would’ve gotten on the plane.

I did get on the plane though. I faced my biggest fears and just kept walking. I am so thankful that I did.

This is from our first weekend here. You wouldn’t even know I was ever scared to come to Italy – my happiness is radiating.

Follow your dreams, no matter how scary they are.

Ciao for now & War Eagle always! -Maddie Harris

Church Bells Ring in Ariccia, and I Sip My Espresso.

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The bar (cafe) in the square across from the palace, with the church directly to the right.

The bar (cafe) in the square across from the palace, with the church directly to the right.


Sitting outside the bar across from the Palace yesterday I got to witness the aftermath of an Italian wedding. It was beautiful. Every detail, every passerby offered a smile and a wink. They couldn’t hold in their approval. Each person seemed to have a memory of a similar time in their own life. Whether they’d been married 50 years or not at all, there was a general consensus that this was good. To have a wedding, a marriage. Everyone was happy. People were coming in and out of the bar getting espressos to keep their spirits high (or maybe an Irish coffee?… something with a kick to it.) Every man that walked in was wearing a perfectly tailored Italian suit, many of them sporting Ray Bans, in typical Italian fashion. Some had children lagging behind them. A girl in a white dress, a flower girl, was holding a bouquet. She raised it over her head then blushed as an Italian woman stopped to admire her and say “Bella ragazza”. (Beautiful girl). Tall, dark Italian women wore their hair in tight buns atop their heads or loose to frame their face. Their dresses were simple but elegant, accenting their slender builds. The Italian language was the best part. Already beautiful, it came alive with the inflection, tone, and the general air that happiness brings. Old men with beards offered kisses and smiles in the customary way of greeting. An old romantic European car pulled up to the church, the bride and groom came out, her beaming, him laughing. Everyone was taking pictures. My heart was happy.
It’s times like these when I get to sit with my espresso or caffe’ americano in the morning outside the bar when I soak in the most. It’s hearing the Italian words, feeling the breeze from the Mediterranean, watching the old men live life slowly without care, seeing how the women walk with an effortless air of elegance. How they embody a high-end minimalist persona.  It’s watching the way they eat: slow, relishing every bite, and making an importance out of everything they put in their mouths. Why don’t we all take a lesson from the Italian way and go slow, cherish the things that matter, cut out the excess?
Ciao.
Caroline