It doesn't feel real

In 7 weeks and three days, We're getting on a plane. That plan will leave from Chicago, stop in NYC and leave my mom and me in Milan, Italy.

Really?!

I have the email that says we bought the tickets, and every time we talk on the phone, the trip is part of conversation...but it still doesn't feel real.

For most of my teenage and adult life, I've wanted to go to Italy. It's always been high on the list. When I lived in London junior year in college, Holy Week (too crowded and expensive) and food poisoning that lead to my only night ever spent in a hospital stopped us from making it past Spain. We were OK with that and had a fantastic time in Alicante. But we never did make it to Italy. The wine, cheese, pasta, language, attitude, art...it all fascinates me.

And now I'm actually going. But it doesn't feel real. The tickets were bought without that much thought, and all the logical reasons not to go seem more convincing than those to jump on a plane and eat street pizza in Rome. Nonetheless, in seven weeks and three days, we'll get on that plane, and in seven weeks and four days, we'll wake up in Milan to a rush of the senses in a new place creating new memories, soaking it up, one sip at a time.