The train station felt unfamiliar—and not just because I had never been there before. I felt like something was wrong…next thing I know, I was in a full-out sprint. My backpack bumped up and down, my duffle bag crashed into me with each step, somewhere behind me I heard the thud of Meg’s boots. My heart was pounding in my chest as I stared at the empty track where our train had just been. We had gotten off a stop early at Venezia Mestre. I looked around frantically for the words “Venezia Santa Lucia” anywhere in the station. I spotted them at a platform across the tracks so back down the stairs we went. We resurfaced at the next platform and forced ourselves through the already closing doors of the train. I was out of breath and uncontrollably shaky, afraid to set my bags down in case we needed to bolt again. We must have looked pretty distraught because a couple of men in their mid-twenties were staring at us with a concerned look. Still panting, I asked them if this train was going to Venezia Santa Lucia. “Sí, Santa Lucia” one of them confirmed. I looked over at Meg. Her eyes were huge, and I could tell by the expression on her face that mine were too. We put our bags down and both let out a nervous laugh. Suddenly, the train speakers announced something in Italian that caused everyone around us to groan and gather their things. We waited for the announcement to translate to English like it normally did, but nothing more came. I could feel my heart beat speeding up again as Meg and I picked up our bags and began shuffling out of the train with the rest of the crowd. Those two men must have felt really bad for us because they waited outside the doors and explained to us that there was a problem with the train, and we were being moved to another platform. Grateful for their kindness, we followed them down and then back up another flight of stairs to a new platform. We stood there for around five minutes until another Italian announcement was broadcasted and the crowd began to move again. One of the men laughed and told us “I promise this is not a joke, but they’ve changed our platform again.” So off we went with the crowd. Finally sitting in seats—even though we didn’t have tickets for this train—we waited for the train to take us to Venice.
This trip has been my first time traveling on my own and Europe is no easy feat. Having grown up in a small suburb, I’m not used to trains, buses, cabs and especially not water taxis. However, I’m not unaccustomed to being lost. I’ve spent so much of my short life feeling as though I were in the wrong place, surrounded by the wrong people. I know what it’s like to be unsure of yourself and it’s a hard feeling to overcome. But the thing about “getting lost” is that no one really starts out knowing where they belong. We all begin life by being lost. But, as we learn and grow, we slowly find the things that make us happy and the people we love. Middle school and high school were not places that I fit in (does anyone really?). It wasn’t until college that I realized just how different it feels to be in a place where I’m not worried about what other people think of me. The other thing I’ve realized is that a sense of belonging doesn’t necessarily have to be attached to a place. I feel like I belong at college, but I also feel like I belong when I’m with my family and friends, when I’m swimming, when I stood atop the Duomo, when wearing a particular pair of pants or shoes, and even when in the middle of a crowd.
I can’t say Venice was the sort of place I felt like I belonged…but I’m certainly glad to know the difference between lost and found. I spent hours wandering around Venice (Google Maps and Venice don’t get along very well) only to realize that this is a city that may not have belonged where it was built. Venice was originally a place of refuge. People who had fled their homes created the tightly woven streets and canals on a piece of land that was not ideal for a city. But there Venice stands, or rather, floats.
Our trip to this beautiful, water-logged city was not what I expected. The way of life is so much different from Florence and Rome—not to mention anywhere in America. The sound of cars is replaced by water lapping at the buildings. There are not cross walks, but bridges. It’s a way of life that has adapted to where it exists. It’s okay to be lost. There are many new places, people and things to find all around us.
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