The Pizza

Ah, traditional margarita pizza, made with buffalo mozzarella. The secret is all in the cheese. If done right, it should be squeaky between your teeth, boiling hot, floating in a homemade sauce of tomatoes you just saw in the kitchen whole - a pizza that blooms over the plate like a giant tomato garlic flower. This has become something of a tradition every time I come to Europe. I sat before a pizza like this in Italy fifteen years ago.  My, how I was different then. The pizza, oh the pizza's still the same of course.  But as I sit in front of it, I reflect on how the woman I am now is different from the girl I was on that first trip out of the country. I hadn't yet seen the world, so how could I know my place in it? I was just starting to learn who I was, I wasn't aware of my own value and therefore didn't defend it. I didn't have the confidence I do now. I had the makings of the adventuresome gutsy gal but hadn't grown into them nor explored the limits.

The last time I enjoyed a pizza like this it was my very first time outside of the states. As I sit before this pizza I reflect what I learned on that journey, and the journeys abroad since then and how they've helped me become who I am today. Many things in London are the same fifteen years later: the tube packed at rush hour, the double decker busses, the early morning bakeries with proper croissants. I return to this city changed by life, by experience, by the journeys. I turned 18 in this city. That night, I took a cab to a bar and ordered my first legal drink, 'Sex on the Green' (the Green is a large park here, and this drink is similar to 'Sex on the Beach,' but more polite). While waiting for said drink, the man next to me at the long wooden bar struck up a conversation. He was a musician, inspired, fun. This was big for me - to talk to a complete stranger, as I was still painfully shy and introverted. My sense of humor was the same but you'd never know it because we wouldn't get far enough into a conversation for me to joke with you before I retreated into my shell. I remember being struck by the creative spark in his eyes. I'd never spoke with a professional musician before and he reminded me of an artist, naturally.

Weeks later on a train through the Alps to Switzerland, my mind returned to the conversation and how inspired that man was in his chosen profession, I realized in a variety of ways, I wanted that. Where did that spark show up for me? When I was teaching someone. So I made a list of goals. Which was, I realize now, basically my 18 year old self talking to my older version in a journal. I wrote: #1 marry an artist  #2 become a teacher  #3 seek to understand and capture beauty.

I see her clearly, that young naive girl in a train, the rose bud yet to bloom. The essence is the same, but I've learned so many tips for traveling as the solo woman like: Always walk like you know where you're going. Don't count your money in public. Italy taught me don't make eye contact with men you don't know and smile. Don't arrive after dark and try to navigate. Never tell any man where you're staying, even in casual conversation. In a crowded subway,  put your back to the wall, hold hand over bag zipper. Never take a taxi after dark that doesn't say TAXI on the side. You know, the basics.

Since learning these things, London is more comfortable. And funny thing, as I know myself better, the world is also more comfortable too. I return to the same place as that girl, digging into the same incredible pizza, enjoying the same things in life, just with new eyes.  What ever became of that timid redhead? She grew up, found herself, became a teacher, met and married an amazing kind hearted creative artist, and is still traveling, still tinkering with the camera, most inspired when capturing beauty. Perhaps on the next train ride, it's time to make a list...to my next future self. I wonder what she'll be like?