Poems about colors, reflections in windows and long shadows on stairs: Ooooh! I feel a metaphor coming!

On a house on Burano

I realize today that I'm reluctant to finish this blog. I've been home for eleven days now, and I'm still trying to find a way to summarize, to finish. When people ask me about the trip, I easily respond that it was an amazing experience. Beneath that statement, however, what I don't say to the questioners, is that I somehow feel different upon my return. And I can't quite put my finger on how, yet.

Part of it is because I went alone. It was a strange feeling for me, a 47-year-old mother of two, married for 24 years, to take a vacation without her family. And this was definitely a vacation.

I've said good-bye to my kids as they had their own experiences at school, work and home and abroad, and I frequently say good-bye to Geof as he travels extensively for work. I was taken aback to realize that my trip to Venice was the first time in my adult life that everyone else said good-bye to me, and for no other reason than that I had chosen to take a trip.

Before I left, friends and family had lots of advice for me about other places in Italy to travel to. I trusted their advice and their good intentions. After all, my only previous experience in Italy had been to drive to Pisa from Austria and spend the night. But deep down, I knew I would ignore their advice. After all, the people advising me had never seen Venice. So. I've yet to see Rome. But they've yet to see Venice. Or Slovenia. This was, I finally, realized, MY trip, free of all others' preferences and desires and expectations. And I must say that it was more wonderful than I ever expected.

Because I didn't spend my time trying to cram all of Italy into my itinerary, I feel that I know Venice on some small level, the "sorta" level. I sorta know how to get around. I sorta feel like I could advise someone else about what they should do on their visit, and how to do it. Not bad for a couple weeks. And it's not a bad thing to walk into a bar and have the waitress know how you want your spritz even though you're a visitor.

I think of my life in terms of school years, and this trip was a wonderful way to end what was a sometimes difficult year. It let me put into practice what I've started to learn about myself. For starters, that I can have a great vacation with a close friend. That after years of lazily allowing others to document my trips, I can do it myself, and really enjoy it. That I can take my own pictures, and that they look pretty good. That I can spend a little money. To quote Nora on day 5: Huth, you're allowed to buy yourself something without feeling guilty. It's your vacation.

On a more significant level, I've realized that I can make and live with my own decisions. That I know what makes me happy, and that happiness isn't that hard. That a little distance sharpens perspective even more.

And finally, that I can cram a lot of living and joy into a pretty short time. Who knew? I don't think I did.

So this trip allowed me to acknowledge what I always knew but never really took time to consider on my own, that there are other lives out there, other places to be, other ways to be.

And that's not a bad thing, to take some time to see what other possibilities exist, and then to choose to come home anyway.

I took a picture of myself reflected in the window. The Guideca is behind me.

And yet another picture I took of myself on a bridge. Wait a minute. Could these be metaphors?