In the villa at Montestigliano where we stay, there are rooms upstairs that either wait to be or resist being restored. I’ve dreamed at night of finding new rooms in a familiar house and it’s said that that this represents discovering parts of yourself that you’ve forgotten, never known, or tried to avoid. Maybe this is why we travel: To take a minute alone, in the silence that is so different for us, to simply be, to open a door and contemplate the undiscovered rooms.
Time, which seems so heavy with promise and obligation as our trip begins, winds up, accelerates, then moves on so that at journey’s end, we contemplate re-entry and wonder how to bring that sense of discovery to the everyday.
Maybe this is why we travel.