my new normal.

Well, after six weeks; six perfect weeks of eating, living, smiling, and loving everything in Italy, I am back in Florida.  But don't be fooled.  Today I get back on a plane and head west to my third home in Colorado, my new normal, for about two weeks.

It is kind of cool how you accumulate homes... my "home home" will always be the house I grew up in in Stuart, Florida.  My bright orange home (Go Gators) with the bougainvillea growing up over the garage, the ridiculously long dock out back, the paw prints in the Mexican tiles, and the unmistakeable collage of windows looking out over the river.  That is my home.

My second home has become the University of Florida (again.. Go Gators).  Not even my actual apartment down 13th, but the campus.  There isn't much better than those old mossy trees, the endless fans... current and alumni, and the beautiful brick buildings spread all throughout intermingling with the students, Hare Krishnas, and bicycles (probably stolen).

My third home resides in Colorado.  To be precise, Snowmass, where we have our condo along the mountain.  The place I grew up skiing/snowboarding, the state I fell in love with the outdoors at summer camp (Sanborn Western Camps), the state I plan on moving to one day.  Even though I grew up in Stuart, my heart and soul has always been in Colorado.

And last, but most certainly not least, my fourth home became Firenze for six weeks.  Besides my stints at camp, where nothing completely felt settled, and obviously the homes I mentioned above, there has never been a place I lived longer to consider a home.  You don't describe your summer camp cabin as your house... it never takes on the possessive quality.  It's always "the cabin..." never my.  That's why this summer was something special because I actually made myself comfortable and lived.

It is already strange being back.  I still greet people with "ciao," say "grazie" when I am handed something, say "scusi/scusa" when get in the way, and still reach for the euro coins in my wallet when paying for things.

I am adjusting to my new normal again... returning to my native country where people drive more normally, where men don't come up to you with creepy greetings, where there is sales tax and tips, where there are lines in stores, where I don't have to worry about pick-pocketing, where people smile at you on the streets, where there aren't 376485456 tourists taking selfies, where there aren't creepy people selling useless trinkets, where I can run in peace, where there is customer service, where my language isn't broken, and where there isn't dog poop around every corner.

But I leave the place where I learned more than one new thing every day, where I was awed by everything, where there was gelato everywhere I looked, where there is so much history, where there are live musicians at night in the piazzas, where there are beautiful bridges and architecture, where there is so much art and love, where there are leather markets and fresh fruit and vegetable markets, where there are fresh bread shops and the "secret bakery," where I can order a glass of great red wine with no questions asked, and where I lived for six perfect weeks.  One of the best six weeks of my entire life.

I left 100% satisfied.