Wandering, Wondering, and Eating My Way Through a City That Feeds the Soul I’m currently writing this from the train between Florence and Venice, watching the Italian countryside glide past my window and reflecting on the days I just spent in a city that feels like a living work of art. Florence gave me everything I hoped for and more. I climbed towers and staircases until my legs questioned my judgment. I wandered through museum after museum, stood inches away from masterpie

Notes on cappuccino perfection, cloud-like maritozzo, artichokes that changed my life, and the best pizza I’ve ever eaten. I came to Rome expecting art, history, and beautiful streets. What I didn’t expect was to fall completely in love with artichokes. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Perhaps. But after a week in Rome, I’m not so sure any picture could ever capture the way a cappuccino tastes in the morning light, or how a simple plate of artichokes can make you

There’s a moment — a quiet, undeniable click — when you finally reach the “it’s not me, it’s you” stage of letting go. That’s the moment real freedom begins. Looking back, it’s easy to remember the fun parts, the photos where you looked adorable together, the way outsiders thought you were the perfect fit. But when you let the highlight reel fade, you can feel the truth underneath: the times you were hidden, placed last, made to feel small, or asked to shrink so someone else

There’s something that happens when a series finds you at exactly  the right moment — when it brushes up against memories you forgot were still sharp, and hopes you didn’t realize were still glowing softly under the surface. Watching Love Story  has been that for me. I was alive when John and Carolyn were dating and married, and I remember with heartbreaking clarity the night their plane went down. That tragedy left its mark on the world — but this series, their love story, r