There was a moment in Rome I can’t get out of my head for whatever reason. It has been hardwired into my brain… a core memory if you will. On a city bike trip through the historic streets of Rome, I was riding along this back stretch of street on the way over to the Vatican City. No cars, no people, just a quiet Roman street where people live. It was around 6:00 PM, the golden hour. There was breeze in my jacket as Rome was beginning to warm-up after spring, still cold at night but warm during the day. I looked at the sun waning away from view, the light just hitting the buildings at the right place. I was standing on my pedals like when I was a kid biking around. Going so fast, probably too fast. I look behind me and normally my family would follow right after me, but in this moment they were out of view. In front of me, the two people who went on this ride with us and the guide were gone as well. The only sound I heard was of the gears of my bike changing ever so slightly like winding a toy soldier for Christmas. The bike tires glided along the cobblestone streets. For the first time since I ever knew what my memories were like, I felt free. Unchained. Like I finally transcended.

I always thought that my life would be a bit different. I worry a lot about the paths I could have taken (and maybe should have). I have mad anxiety about everything, a serial overworrier, since I was just a child. But that moment, that slight moment of freedom is what we all search for. To no longer be beholden, to be held back, to be free.

I wanted to write this down because I need to remind myself that this is what I seek. And for my therapist.