Florence, and the Magic it Still Has on Me

Florence feels different this time.

After two exhilarating weeks at the Winter Olympics in Italy, I now find myself alone, trying to settle into a quieter rhythm.

My nervous system is still on overload.

I need to rein it in, I tell myself.

Sometimes I recognize that I still sabotage what I truly need through old patterns. For a moment the temptation crosses my mind to call a girlfriend and convince her to hop on a plane to join me.

Unable to sleep, I lie awake for hours. I had been in bed since six o’clock, exhausted but restless. I am still recalibrating from the excitement of the previous two weeks of at the Olympics. My husband and friends returned back to Canada and I wasn’t ready to go back. It has always been my dream to travel alone and live in Italy for a time. I decided that if not now? When?

I am beginning to understand that exhaustion from stimulation overload is very different from the fatigue that comes after physical exertion — a long run or a hard workout — even though the symptoms feel similar: body aches, shallow breathing, dry tired eyes, and a deep craving for quiet and peace.

The holy grail — something I keep chasing but rarely catch.

Eventually I sleep for about four hours, and when I wake I feel surprisingly calmer.

I am in another new to me accommodation in the heart of the Medici quarter in fabulous Florence. For four nights I am in a beautifully renovated apartment where Benvenuto Cellini was born in 1500. The custom art on the walls were commissioned for this space to honour this prominent Renaissance man. However sometimes regardless of how amazing the history or how beautiful a space is when it is unfamiliar, ordinary sounds can feel haunting when you are exhausted. Every creak or voice outside sends my mind spinning through imagined scenarios.

At one point I even google the equivalent of 911 in Italy.

It is 112, if you are curious.

Very reassuring information at two in the morning.

I remind myself to welcome the unfamiliar sounds — to accept the nuances of a place that has existed for hundreds of years before me. My body needs to hear what my mind is trying to convince it of.

Florence has always been a special city to me, and during those restless hours I worry that something might have changed — that perhaps the magic I once felt here had disappeared.

That thought alone keeps me awake longer than the noise.

I am staying in a different part of town than I expected, not far from the train station. The atmosphere feels different when you are pulling your bags along unfamiliar stone streets.

Remembering that I climbed fifty-nine stairs with my suitcase and backpack the day before – so today I choose forced rest.

An easy morning of coffee in bed, gentle stretching on the rooftop patio, and a quiet walk along the Arno River. Just enough movement to wake my body — but no shopping, no sightseeing, and no conversation if I don’t feel like it.

This is my fourth time in Florence, but this visit has a different purpose.

I promised myself I would honour what my body needs and let go of the pressure to push, endure, and experience more.

If my friend had arrived, it would have been fun and wonderful. But it would not have been what I truly needed. It would have gone against the purpose of this solo time.

I am grateful for this period of self-discovery.

I value this opportunity and want to see it through. I am grateful for this cozy bed and crisp Italian linens, and I encourage myself not to rush into the day at full speed.

Only steps from the end of my bed is a glass door leading to a rooftop patio. Pots filled with dormant winter plants sit quietly — they too are taking their pause.

I make a coffee and step outside for some vitamin D and a bird’s-eye view of Florence waking up.

Shopkeepers move slowly as they prepare for the day. Tourists marvel at what they see, their conversations full of excitement and discovery.

Their shared experiences will become stories they tell for years to come.

Standing there in my pajamas with coffee in hand, I begin studying the buildings and how they connect with one another.

The Duomo rises above the rest.

The colors, patterns, and details on the surrounding facades catch my attention. Each building has its own character, yet together they fit almost like a giant architectural game of Tetris.

It is worth pausing to study the individual details — a carving here, a pattern there, sometimes ornamentation at the top, sometimes closer to the street.

The beauty reveals itself both from the ground and from above.

I imagine the buildings were never designed with the future scale of the city in mind — never expecting that other structures might eventually hide some of the details they worked so carefully to create.

What is my takeaway here? I ask myself.

After only a few observations this morning, my answer feels simple.

Design your day like a Florentine.

Live in the moment and trust that the long-term effect will be meaningful, even if you cannot yet see it.

Take the slower approach.

Embrace the beauty and the rhythm of the day based on what your body is telling you.

So I crawl back into bed and begin writing this story to quiet my busy ADHD mind.

Last night the apartment felt unsettling. This morning I see it differently.

For the first time in my life, I questioned my confidence in traveling alone — something I had always taken for granted.

Then I remembered everything I had already accomplished the day before.

Packing up and further testing the capacity of my carry-on suitcase in Bologna. resetting the Airbnb for departure. Ordering two taxis and then an UberX after each taxi cancelled- I didn’t need the added anxiety. I needed to ensure I wasn’t late for my train. Navigating a busy train station where Track 19 was three floors down and the farthest away.

Wearing my heavy backpack and fully expanded carry-on across uneven Florentine streets.

I was welcomed by every restauranteur as I passed by to come and try their pizza. I smiled, kept walking and said Grazie, perhaps later. I was focused on finding my accommodations.

As a woman, being aware of your surroundings is second nature — even more so when traveling alone.

It suddenly makes perfect sense why I am exhausted in both mind and body.

My goal is to find restorative balance while still exploring and experiencing — and it is when I am alone that I can truly give myself the space to do that.

I want to return home rested, with the ability to listen to my body and the courage to follow through with unapologetic recalibration — both at home and while traveling.

These are tools I need in my life.

Florence has awakened something in me every time I have visited. Somehow I return as a slightly different version of myself each time.

More than thirty years ago, on my first trip to Europe with my husband, we came to Italy.

Florence had the greatest impact on me.

Our children were babies then, and my husband had earned the trip through work. I had agreed to travel for only six days — not knowing what I was missing until I arrived.

Almost immediately I wished we had stayed longer.

The children wouldn’t remember we were gone, I told myself, and there would still be time to undo any spoiling from their grandmother.

But we were young, and extending the trip simply wasn’t in our budget.

On that trip we took our first long bike ride through the Tuscan hills and the Chianti region — an experience that sparked many cycling adventures in other countries.

It was also my first real appreciation of red wine — a subject I have continued to study ever since.

And it was here, in Florence and later Rome, that I first felt the weight of history.

Walking on stone streets laid by hand centuries before machinery existed… seeing grooves worn by carriage wheels… noticing scars in stone and marble left behind by war and conflict.

It was both sobering and thrilling.

Canada suddenly felt very young by comparison.

And the food — fantastico.

Clean, simple, and made with passion.

Food as it should taste.

That trip was my true introduction to travel — the thrill of navigating new places, planning routes or abandoning them, and trusting instinct to guide the way.

I saw architectural elements I had studied in school — Doric, Ionic, and Corinthian columns — carved and standing strong, likely to remain long after I am gone.

That feels powerful to me.

More than twenty years later, with the children grown, I returned for my fiftieth birthday with a group of women.

COVID delayed the trip by two years, but we came anyway.

Eight women who barely knew one another became instant friends over Prosecco and shared experiences. The memories still make me smile.

Only a few years later I returned again with a friend who had never been to Italy before.

We both needed the magic of Florence to help us navigate some difficult chapters in our lives.

And now I am back again.

This time on my own.

It feels different yet again.

It is February. The crowds are smaller and a jacket is required, but the magic is still here.

I sense the city taking a breath before the busy season begins.

Perhaps that is my cue as well.

Take the pause.

There is no need to perform or prove anything.

Florence is magic simply by being.

And maybe I am too.

Grazie Mille,

Lisa