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| Disclaimer: I didn't take this photo. One day I will... |
“We do not accept FedEx envelopes
for the application, only USPS. Leave!” And with that, the middle aged Italian
woman turned on her black high heels and shut the door to the Italian
Consulate, leaving me on the doorstep with no time to explain that I only had
one day in San Francisco to apply for my student visa. I was fresh off the
plane from Costa Rica with two large suitcases, a de-activated cellphone, and
no car. The consulate is only open for two hours once a week, and the long line
of people outside leaned away from me as I took the walk of shame towards the
end of the block.
I’ve never seen an episode of
‘Survivor’, but I’m pretty sure that the way I avoided panic and pared down to
life essentials in the middle of this unforeseen crisis would totally qualify
me for the next season – I packed my camera and my laptop into my shoulder bag,
and parked my two suitcases by the building (mentally saying goodbye in case
they weren’t there when I came back). Sprinting up the almost vertical streets
of San Francisco made me realize I should have done more cardio in Nosara, and
I only paused to ask random people if I was going the right way towards a post
office, any post office. I found one about fifteen minutes away, purchased the
required envelope for my visa application and sprinted back. After standing in
line again, I presented my paperwork at the door for the second time. The
inspector said, “You only have the original acceptance letter from your
university. You need the original AND a photocopy. Leave!” Sweat trickled down my spine to the waistband
of my skirt as adrenaline carried me back to the post office. When I returned in a pool of sweat with the necessary copy, the office was only open for fifteen more minutes. The
girl at the front of the line must have been an angel holding my place and
watching my luggage because she motioned me to step in front of her and go
inside. My nemesis at the desk raised an
eyebrow as I approached (maybe because my hair still thought we were running),
and she begrudgingly stamped and filed my papers for processing.
This was the beginning of my
Italian adventure. When my visa came back only a week before I was supposed to
leave, I began to feel a little nervous and anxious about how the rest of the
story would go – my dreams had Italian women in black high heels at customs
saying, “Leave!” Close calls, and unforeseen events make for great stories, but
they seemed a little stressful without a traveling companion to help carry
them. But everyone that I have encountered here in Florence since my arrival on
Tuesday has only been welcoming, and it’s made me realize how passive it is to
sit with stress and fear. I want to stay in love with where I am in this
moment, and cultivate trust for the rest. Anne Voskamp says that trust is work
– intentional and focused. Anxiety and fear keep our lives small, and the
combination of trust and love is the remedy. “Trust is everything.”
I feel overwhelmed by how happy and
grateful and alive I feel here…and I’m secretly relieved that “Survivor:
Florence” never made it off the ground.
Love this..:) laughed out loud when I read "..maybe because my hair still thought we were running.." And, yes, trust is everything. :)
ReplyDeleteYAY!! the beginning to some really great blogging from this trip, i'm sure. you are such a great writer and I can't wait for the rest.
ReplyDeletei am glad that stuart cornered you in visconti's that wknd, if it at all had anything to do with this... :)