A Decade of Italy

I cannot believe I’m reflecting on a decade of my love affair with Italy, but here we are!

This reflection is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time but life and jobs and commitments seem to pop up more and more often the older I get. But that’s not to say I haven’t been continually reflecting on my life and love affair with Italy on an almost daily basis for the past 10 years — it’s not a place that’s easily shaken.

It’s a tale as old as time to say that Italy “inspired” me, but it’s true. I feel like I’m joining the chorus of Eat, Pray, Love-ers and the Under the Tuscan Sun-ers who make traveling and living in far-off lands their entire personality. But maybe those wonderlust-fuls are on to something because as hard as I might try I don’t think I could ever remove Italy from the core of who I am. And why would I want to? The land that birthed empires and sculpted Davids and produced La Dolce Vita sounds like a pretty fantastic place to be associated with. Even if it is the biggest (and sometimes obnoxious) part of your personality.

In 2012, when I was a study abroad student, I took just over 10,000 photos in about 90 days. 99% of those “images” are long, long forgotten. I was in the stage of my photography journey where I felt the need to capture every little thing, no matter how trivial. There are only perhaps a dozen images that I would still claim and of those only two or three that I am still particularly proud of. That study abroad experience was a necessary sensory overload. I pointed my camera at anything and everything. I needed that experience to lose the first-time jitters. I wasn’t seeing.

Photography at times has served as an escape for me. To be an outside observer into the lives of others. It became a particularly useful coping mechanism when I was in the throes of culture shock back when I moved to Italy in 2016 to live and work. Throughout my time living there, photography was what grounded me there. It was the experience of capturing a moment in time that helped me feel present in my life.

I was fortunate to return to Italy in October 2022. It was on this trip the confidence that comes from age coupled with professional skills honed through a pandemic of solitude created some of the work I am most proud of in my artistic endeavors. That trip allowed me to experience Florence in ways I wasn’t able to when I lived there. It was like being a tourist in your hometown. Without the obligation of work I was able to wander to my heart's content. Or sit for hours in a piazza.

The works displayed here span from the fall of 2012 to October 2022 and represent the story of not only my photographic development but also the maturing of my worldview. This ten-year journey of artistic development was born, nurtured, and matured in the cradle of the Renaissance, but I carry Italy with me everywhere I go now. It’s weaved into my very being.

It is my immense honor to participate in a benefit art show to fund a scholarship for the program I once worked for. Studying abroad changed my life — first as a college student and second as an adult. As a student, the world was opened to me and nothing felt out of reach. As an adult, students edified me, encouraged me, and impressed me with their eagerness and enthusiasm semester after semester. The 300+ students whose lives I was able to affect will forever be one of my most proud achievements. What a beautiful, full-circle moment it is to contribute works from my very own study abroad experience to help shape the lives of future students, many I will likely never know.

The three years I spent in Italy were some of the most challenging I’ve ever experienced. But they were also the most rewarding, inspirational, and dreamy years, too. Looking back on these images as I gathered them for this collection brought back so, so many memories. Some are so vivid in my mind I can also feel the early fall breeze, hear laughing from just around the villa’s corner, and smell the pasta about to be served. I hope they impart those same sensations and unlock perhaps dormant memories in you, too.

The images below are only a selection of all I’ve created over the past decade. For more exhaustive (though not yet comprehensive) collection of my Italy work, CLICK HERE

The House: 1998 - 2023

We moved into our family home 25 years ago when I was six years old. My dad planned, designed, and built it from the ground up all while working a full-time job, caring for a seriously ill wife, raising two young kids, and maintaining a hobby farm. 

It’s this place where my dad first modeled the idea that with enough ambition, drive, and self-determination any dream can become a reality. He worked so hard to build a home for his family and, in doing so, he instilled in me a sense of pride in a place that cannot be measured.

My heart is broken for him and for all that this house embodied for him.

This house was the setting of my origin story and the backdrop to so many core memories. But those memories are all I have now. The sense of loss is enormous. An unquantifiable emotional value. A lifetime of my parents’ mementos. Family heirlooms. The albums are gone. Countless photos and home videos, the last pieces of my mom left are only in my mind now. Quilts stitched by my grandmother. My childhood bedroom. The front porch. The back deck. A sense of security.

The past several days have been some of the most difficult in my life. I have overcome, by most standards, greater insurmountable pain before and I know I can do it again but right now I just want to cry and that’s okay. Losing your family home should be grieved all the same. 

I am incredibly thankful my dad and stepmom came out of this unhurt (except for a few hairs on my dad’s head). Things can be replaced, people cannot. And I am thankful for their outlook on the future. Of course, the shock comes in waves and will for quite some time I’m sure. But my dad is modeling a new type of drive — we carry on because we have to. If not, then what would the alternative be? 

I’m sure in the coming weeks after I’ve had more time to process I will write something more eloquent and reflective as my family starts a new chapter. But for right now I want to grieve what is lost and cry because it feels good to do so. I feel so much pain for my dad for all he has lost.

As I think about the future from here, I’m reminded of a quote from one of my mom’s journals that’s been a guiding light for me over the years:

“With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams — it is still a beautiful world. Strive to be happy.”

And strive I shall.

-gs

30 is...

There’s so much build-up to turning 30. For what?!

I had been psyching myself up about turning 30 for months before my actual birthday mainly because that’s what I thought I was supposed to do. Everyone was asking me “Oh! What will you do? How will you celebrate?”

I suspected many of these questions were because people wanted to have, or at least be invited to, a party. However, one thing most people don’t know about me is that I despise birthday parties. Not other people’s, only my own. So much so that I will go out of my way to not tell people when my birthday is and then run out of town for the weekend so I can be alone. And I’d also like to recognize that I know there are people who would want to help celebrate this milestone in my life with me. I considered the fact that by intentionally avoiding celebrations and attention I would block people from expressing how they share a love for me. However, for whatever reason, my heart told me I needed to spend this birthday in relative solitude. I’m not sure exactly why that was, my therapist hasn’t gotten that far yet so stay tuned for a follow-up.

Anyway, I mulled around several ideas: all involving travel and all with a guest list of zero. I eventually settled on New York City because it’s familiar and wouldn’t require pre-planning or research. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of new places I wanted to try out. But I wanted something that was stress-free logistically.

I knew months ago that I wanted to spend my day doing something that brings me endless joy and I didn’t have to think very much to figure out what that is: observing, consuming, and interacting with works of art. I wanted to disassociate from everything, to be quite honest, and get lost in the endless corridors of The Met.

“How do you feel”

“It’s the big ~ThIrTy~”

“You’re an old man now”

Do I feel different? 

Am I somehow changed?

When will I start making more money?

Does the existential crisis start now or do I need to redeem a coupon for it?

Countless people have either asked me similar questions or made similar comments to me for the past several months, even before my birthday. In fact, I’ve been asked these questions in some form for the entirety of my mid/late 20s. People seemingly expect me to produce some grand proverb, epiphany, or reflection on my life thus far. But of course, in their defense, I have done the exact same to others who reached the same milestone. Why, though, do we make such a big deal out of turning 30? 

I can’t help but think that people ask their questions because they are longing to learn more and to understand. That is, after all, why I ask others the same — it’s because I want to arm myself with their wisdom. The old adage “learn from other people’s mistakes so you don’t have to figure it out the hard way” rings true, I suppose.

But even after all the questions and inner thoughts, I’m still not sure how I’m supposed to feel. As much as people pretend they were prepared to turn thirty, the reality is that they are just better at hiding their imposter syndrome than others. The reality is that no one really knows what the heck they’re doing in life. And that’s okay. The sooner people humble themselves to the fact that they do not know something is when growth really begins.

In all honesty, I really am not sure how I feel about all this. Birthdays have never meant that much to me and I’ve always felt older than I am, probably because I had to grow up mentally and emotionally well before others my own age. I’ve been 30 for well a month now and to be quite honest, I’m actually happy to be 30. At least now I can stop obsessing over the idea of it and start living it.

I don't want to sound jaded, calloused, cold, or ambivalent about my 30th birthday. I am truly so proud of how far I have come in these 30 years. Perhaps that’s why I wanted to give the moment its due reverence by escaping to reflect alone. I never thought I would get this far in my life, but I am proud of all I have done in the process.

So, for all those of you who ask what turning 30 is like, here you go: my 30 thirty-isms. Hopefully I’ll read this in ten years and smile because of how much growth and accomplishment I have yet to experience. But more importantly, I hope I smile someday in the future because I have imparted unto you some tidbit of knowledge to make your journey a little smoother than mine was. If I can make the life of just one other person ever so slightly easier, then that will be all I needed to accomplish in this world. 

ABOUT THE PHOTOGRAPHER:

These photographs are by my dear friend Josh, who I met in during the uncertain summer of 2020. He was about to embark on his New York City adventure as I was turning the closing page on my own. He is a true friend to so many, having one of the largest hearts I’ve ever known and having the emotional capacity to continue to find beauty even in the face of true adversity. When I started ideating my “big 30th birthday” and how I wanted to memorialize this milestone in my life, the first thing that came to mind was to capture it in images. The second thing was that I wanted Josh to take them. Being in front of his lens was a true dream come true and I will cherish these images for the rest of my life, just like Josh’s friendship.

 
 

30 is knowing that it’s okay to let your friends grow in their own way, even if that means it’s away from you.


30 is finding your voice.


30 is realizing that the care you have for other people can not possibly be reciprocated. And that’s okay.

30 is realizing that the person on the other end of a stalled relationship, who you think of often, likely hasn’t thought of you in months. And that’s okay, too.

30 is prioritizing yourself and well-being.

30 is coming to terms with the fact that no one will ever understand you fully. And in the same way, you will never fully understand others.

30 is loving extra dirty martinis.

30 is embracing the fact you see the world in a wildly different way than anyone else.

30 is remembering to stretch before a run.

30 is being unabashedly proud of yourself.

30 is understanding that others will never comprehend your life, you won’t comprehend theirs, and that’s okay.

30 is moving on.

30 is nostalgia for what was, anxiety for what’s to come. But also calmness that only can be felt in the present.

30 is knowing heartbreak all too well.

30 is not waiting for other people to meet you where you are. They will catch up if they want to.

30 is a slow weekend morning routine and homemade coffee.

30 is knowing what you have to offer people. And it’s knowing when to walk away if it’s not appreciated or recognized.

30 is knowing when to be humble and allow space for others.

30 is realizing love and loss are inseparable.

30 is accepting the fact that you will be surrounded by adults who act like children. But they deserve grace all the same.

30 is asking questions and not afraid at looking stupid. There are things I know that others do not. We are all here to help one another.

30 is having a good cry about every six months.

30 is remaining curious, always learning something new.

30 is surviving the real, all-consuming kind of grief and still able to love in spite of terrible loss.

30 is knowing your worth and not compromising when people devalue you.

30 is not changing who you are as a person because it makes others feel uncomfortable or threatened.

30 is admitting to yourself that you were wrong.

30 is forgiving yourself.

30 is hopeful.

30 is …

 
 
 

being gentle with yourself.

 
 

Burn the Boats

My sweet momma’s gold pendant. Her name was Charla Ann, though she went by just Ann.

My sweet momma’s gold pendant. Her name was Charla Ann, though she went by just Ann.

I always like to have a moment of reflection on the anniversary of my mom’s death. But I’ve become more fond of the day after. I learned long ago, after much agony and pain, that while it’s important to remember July 9th, it’s just as equally important to remember July 10th. Because life moves on. We grow. We keep living. We have a path, a trajectory. Where events, both wonderful and tragic alike, lead us is fully within our control if we have enough willpower to steer the boat. It’s been 15 years and a day since my life changed forever. It’s taken a while, but I’m doing okay now. Night does, in fact, turn to day.

I can’t help but feel a bit like a failure. I’ve made the very difficult (and quite frankly, heartbreaking) decision to leave New York City for the foreseeable future. 

While I may have taken a step back, I cannot discredit the endless bounds forward I’ve made in my life. 

For many years I was severely depressed. Thinking back to that time in my life seems as if it was a lifetime ago – it’s not even a decade old. When I look at the person I am now and think back on who I used to be, it’s hard not to be proud of all that I have overcome and accomplished. Of course, I would be very remiss of me to not at least attempt to pay homage to the the people who helped me get to where I am in this moment. As I sit here and write this, faces flash before me in rapid succession. It’s impossible for me to single out just one person or event that helped shape my life into what it is today. I am hopeful, though, that the people who have helped me, sat with me, cried with me, carried me … understand just how thankful and indebted I am to you. 

If you know me well enough, and even if you don’t, you probably know that I have adopted several mantras over the years each worthy of their own essay: 

Always have a plane ticket in your back pocket. 

Festina Lente (make haste, slowly).

Ignore the rearview.

I’ve recently adopted a new one:

burn the boats. 

After sailing in open waters, you reach land. You have two options: push back out to sea and hope for more land. Or get out and start walking.

If you choose the latter option, burn the boats as a motivation to make the most of what is found, destroying the option to return from where you came. Make a commitment to forward momentum.

I feel like I’ve been treading water for the past four months. I’ve been in some sort of limbo with no clear direction on the horizon. While I do not expect the vagueness of the future to subside any time soon, what has happened is in the past. I cannot go back. And to be quite honest, there are parts of my life that I never want to return to. 

Through the mists of doubt, I feel like I’ve run aground on a new unknown. I can imagine the possibilities of what might be out there, but I am uncertain. Regardless, I only have one option. I cannot go back to where I’ve been or to the person I once was. Forward movement only. One thing is for sure, growth cannot happen while sitting still.

Burn the boats and let’s keep going.