In Rome, I find myself constantly staring at me feet. The reason for this is not that I find cobblestone extremely exciting, but that I fear if I lose focus for just a second I will trip, scrape my elbows, chip a tooth, break a wrist, or even give myself a third concussion (but third time's the charm right?). So, I walk through Rome, and watching the ground in front of me, looking incredibly out of place, but let's be real for a second: my blonde hair and pale skin made me stick out long before I started walking like a little old man with his spine permanently stuck in the shape of a candy cane.
Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Each step is calculated. One cobble stone is raised higher than the others. Now there are three missing. There is a gap between two that my heel could get caught in. Raise your foot higher. Step farther than normal. Don't place your heel there.
When I eventually lift my head and look what is in front of me I find my destination. This time my destination happened to be the Santa Maria in Trastevere.
Entering into the church was like entering into a work of art. Walls were covered in art. The ceiling was beautifully painted. Marble columns, probably spolia, ran along the walls of the church. The altar was enveloped in gold and surrounded by Christian icons. The church was unlike any I had been to in my time living in the USA. It was luxurious. It was the definition of extravagance.
However, in a church filled with beautiful icons and artifacts everywhere I looked, I found myself looking at the ground. I didn't have to watch my steps in the church, I knew that. I could trust the ground not to randomly decide it no longer was content being a flat plateau, and form a mini-mountain small enough for a normal person to easily walk over, but large enough for an uncoordinated person, like myself, to dramatically face-plant hurting my body and ego. Nevertheless, my eyes were glued to the floor. Nothing made it special. It was not gold. It did not have diamonds. No jewels. No other precious metals. I have seen many more ornate floors in roman basilicas and churches. Yet, I was entranced by this one. Made of marble, and fitted with a circular tile pattern, it flowed all throughout the church. Nothing made it obviously spectacular except for my imagination of the people that have walked on the floor. Thousands of worshippers have walked, kneeled and prayed where I stood. How many lives have been lived here? How many people have prayed here? Have asked for forgiveness? Asked for a miracle? How many have felt something special, a connection to their god, on the very floor I stood on? Of course while I'm getting deep and meaningful in my head, staring at the marvelous floor, I walk straight into a marble column, pulling back to reality. This trip to Santa Maria in Trastevere taught me a lesson: it's good to reflect on the past, just know the future is equally important. In other words, it's good to look at where you're standing, but more important to look where you're going because chances are there is a giant marble pillar right in front of you.
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