Last November, on a (mostly premeditated) whim, I gave up the promise of my mom’s Thanksgiving dinner and flew to Rome for a week. Along with two friends, I joined up with the Catholic Traveler, a pilgrimage leader based in Rome, to spend ten days exploring the holy city and visiting the important sites around it and Assisi. I’d never been out of the country, and despite my aviation adventures, I had a lot of qualms about flying over the ocean. These fears had prevented me from taking an opportunity to visit the Holy Land in college, so I was determined not to make the same mistake here.
There were no traumatic travel disasters. We enjoyed fabulous food, delightful meetups, and even a private tour of the Vatican Museums — the itinerary was well-planned and gave ample time for personal exploration. Going into the trip, I’d made one promise to myself: There was nothing I needed to see so badly that, if I didn’t see it, it would ruin the experience. I was simply there to gaze in awe and thanksgiving.
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