Once, I went to Italy, and my friend Corie tasked me with a number of things to do on my trip. The last thing on my list- a bonus, if you will- was “Fall in love with Italy.”

I was there for ten days, and it took me not even one to fall in love.

The light is different there. Better. Even though it was cold, there was something special about it just because it was Italy, and I was ecstatic to be there, in such an old land, walking in the same places where so many people had lived and breathed and died before me, people whose histories I had read but never really understood until I stood there, on their graves, on the sites of their churches, temples, shops, gardens, prisons, homes. I stood in the Coliseum, in the same place where the emperor sat, and in the shade of the umbrella pines. I stood where the Vestal Virgins walked. I watched the sun set over the canals of Venice and the sun rise over the Mediterranean. I climbed the Dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica and the Spanish Steps. I marveled at the Duomo and the heavy gold doors of the Baptistry. I saw the divine in the Sistine Chapel, and I walked in the shadow of Vesuvius.

And then I came home, returning, after a brief stop in Connecticut, to my adoptive city, Boston.

Boston is old- the birthplace of American freedom- but not as old as Italy. The Romans were ruling from their Senate two millennia before we even dreamed up ours. It is a city that has adapted time after time, building in and around and over what was. In that way, it is not so dissimilar from Rome. There are places in the North End where one could swear one was in Florence. Next year, I hope to spend more time in those places.

But not long after my return from Italy, something happened. Something terrible, unexpected, unpredictable. I waited, terrified, pacing up and down the halls of my dorm, until I heard from my friends who had been at the Marathon when the bombs went off. When they made it back to me, I kept them within eyesight, because if I could see them, they were safe.

The next day, I went for a walk. I walked for two hours, around Boston, alone, listening to music and my thoughts. I walked to remind myself why I loved Boston.

I walked through the Fenway Victory Gardens, planted as a reminder of the triumph, in WWII, of American will over foreign hate. Even when there was a war, people planted roots and survived.

I walked across the Muddy River, to the head of Boylston, where flowers, in memoriam, already crowded the police barricade. I walked down around the barriers, down a pretty side street that could have been the Boston of two hundred years ago, if one only removed the cars.

I walked to the Christian Science Building’s reflecting pool. If it were warmer, I would have stopped and sat, but instead I let the wind buffet me as I walked the pool’s length, pausing only to look behind me at Boston’s tallest buildings.

I walked through Northeastern, to MassArt and Wentworth.

And I marveled. In the midst of a terrible tragedy, still, the flowers bloomed. The world was pink and white and green and yellow, every blossom competing to show me how much beauty there was, and I didn’t even have to search for it. Finally, I walked home, where I was greeted with food and love and affection.

The next day, the sun came out. I basked in it. I prepared for presentations. For three days, I lived my life best I could. I listened to President Obama remind Boston: We are tough and resilient. I took pride in being part of a city that refused to let terrorism get its spirits down, a city that bonded together so tightly when threatened. I wrote BOSTON STRONG proudly wherever I could. I embodied it.

And then, late, on Thursday, April 18th, I heard of a shooting at MIT. My roommate and I turned on the radio, sat transfixed for the next four hours in front of it, eventually falling asleep to the sound of uncertainty. I turned it off at 3:30 and crawled into my own bed.

I woke up at 7 the next morning to the sound of the radio clicking back on, to find out that classes had been cancelled, that the city was on lockdown, that the bastard was out there, but no one knew where.

I spent much of the day in bed, curled around Conrad, the stuffed dog my roommate made for me at the Build-A-Bear in Quincy Market. When I wasn’t sleeping, trying to avoid what was happening because there was no help in being awake, I was checking my phone, constantly refreshing twitter. The photos of an empty Boston haunted me. That was not what cities should look like. That was not what my city should look like.

The sirens were constant. I began to be able to distinguish the type by noise pattern. That was not a skill I had wanted to develop.

My friends were all gathered in the lounge, baking and watching old Disney movies, but I didn’t want to do that. Where before I wanted to gather everyone I loved to me, now I only wanted to stay snuggled in my blankets, hiding. My friend Caroline brought me brownie cake.

A general sick sense of terror filled me all day. I had called my parents the night before, scared and frightened and needing to hear their voices, but the new day’s fear could not be dispelled by sound alone.

When they called off the Shelter-In-Place order, we turned off the radio. It had been on for twelve hours, cycling around and around, but always coming back to the same point: no one knew anything for sure.

The silence was worse.

I went for dinner, mindlessly collecting rice and chicken to take back to my dorm, when my friends walked in. We’re here for food, they said, but let’s eat in the room with the TV. They think they have him surrounded.

It took a minute for that to process in my brain. When it did, I glued myself to the television in the dining hall. When it looked like they were getting close to catching him, this man who had caused so much pain to my city, I realized I did not want to be in the dining hall when they caught him. I wanted to be in my room, or in the lounge. Safe places. Home places. I closed up my Tupperware and I ran.

The television in the lounge, too, was blaring. We waited with bated breath as reports came in of police getting closer and closer to him, of shots being exchanged, of the military approaching.

And then, finally, the word came through: We got him.

I took the shortest shower of my life, and then I went out into the streets to join my fellow Bostonians in cheering on the officers who saved our city.

We were a happy, drunken city that night; buoyant, proud. We sang God Bless America and Sweet Caroline. We chanted for the Boston Police Department and the Ambulances and hell, even the taxis.

When we eventually got herded off the streets, we went back inside and got more drunk.

The next day we watched the moving opening ceremonies at Fenway, nursed hangovers, and heard Big Papi declare: This Is Our Fucking City. We watched the Red Sox win and we cheered for that too.

Last week, I visited the memorial, now that Copley has reopened. I left flowers and tears. Today, my Boston Strong t-shirt arrived in the mail. I will never be prouder than when I wear that shirt, because I belong to a city that does not back down. We’re far too Irish and stubborn for that.

My love affair with Italy took hold of me in a day. I fell head-over-heels for it. I was sad to leave it, and I cannot wait to return, someday, back to that golden light and the beautiful antiquity of it.

My love affair with Boston took longer. It grew on me, sneaking up. Boston is not the biggest city in the U.S. It is not the most politically powerful, the sunniest, or the most exciting. New York, Washington D.C., and L.A. will give you that. The public transportation closes down at 12:30, which still confuses me. But Boston will love you.

I may not walk on streets that have been streets for three thousand years when I walk in Boston. But the streets that I walk on have been tested, and they have not been found wanting. The light may not be golden here, but the sun setting and back lighting the Pru is something special all its own. We may not have umbrella pines or cypress trees, but the Public Garden is nothing short of magical, beauty in bloom. There are not words to describe how much I love this city, in all of its flawed imperfect beauty.

Tomorrow, when I leave Boston for the summer, I would not be all that surprised if I cried, just a little. Because Boston, you’re my home.

Guest Blogger: Madison Gretzky, she is a first year English and Women’s Studies major at Simmons College, in Boston

The vague sense of uncertainty.

The indescribable pull of something bigger from deep inside of you.

The unshakeable sense of urgency.

And the courage and tenacity to follow the pull.

All of the above are signposts of the calling phase of the Soul Path journey. It’s the quiet whisper of the soul yearning for deeper connection and expression.  A stirring of the pot in your everyday life.  A pull to begin a new and unusual path is felt, and often quickly dismissed.  The pull becomes stronger more insistent. This is often followed by a vague sense of dissatisfaction, or annoyance with certain people or aspects of your life. Sometimes there is a more dramatic burst, a loss- of a job, relationship, identifying roles, a loved one followed by a dark night of the soul that spurs you into action to answering the call.

It takes courage and tenacity to answer the call. This invisible pull from your soul can’t be seen, heard, touched, or tasted in traditional ways. Sometimes trying to explain it makes you feel plain crazy not to mention isolated and alone.  But you do it anyway….if you didn’t you wouldn’t still be reading this; you wouldn’t be in my community.

I want to stand up and honor your commitment and courage. Bravo! (Really I mean it with my whole heart) this is what evolution and transformation are made of. And you are not alone, not by a long shot.

If the call is answered there are tasks and trials on this path, both internal and external that make up the Soul Path answering phase, watch for that next time.

Walking back from the beach in the blush of early evening I noticed two young boys riding scooters in front of their house. The older one was giving pointers and encouragement to the younger boy. It quickly brought me back to the time when my children were that age. In hindsight it seemed as if my focus and roles were much more clearly defined then.  As the kids got older my role as mom and my focus shifted. The clearly defined roles became blurry and   my focus less defined.

My youngest daughter, now 18, was arriving the following day for spring break. I wondered what bumps we might hit as we adjusted to sharing close quarters again. We are both growing and changing as we journey along our Soul Path.

I notice in times of change and flux like this that my ‘monkey mind’ or mental chatter kicks into high gear. The uncertainty brings fear and doubt swirling up. In the motherhood area a chant of; am I doing this mom thing right; am I supporting without suffocating; Is it really okay to do my own thing; and a myriad of other fears.

I realized that this is also true with each phase of the Soul Path be it in the work arena, relationships, finances or any other area. We have doubts, concerns, and fears that can way lay or stop us in our tracks. In the calling phase we encounter it along the lines of, what the heck is this?  What do I do with it?! And why should I listen to it.

The answering phase stirs the pot with – Am I crazy? What am I doing?  Type fears as we examine where we have been and how we want to show up going forward. The lure of ‘everything is fine just the way it is’ or ‘it’s not so bad I should just make do’ is strong. The feeling of isolation and being the only one can be strong.

Once we hit the integration phase there are moments of amazing clarity followed by the murkiness of uncertainty. The fear kicks in with – If I were doing this right it would be easier! Maybe those experts are right and my gut is wrong.  As we begin to apply new patterns and trust our own authority these doubts pop up and has us questioning our path.

The sharing phase has us dealing with the area of sharing what we know in various forms. The fears that come up are often associated with embracing both sides of ourselves.  If I am to model this shouldn’t I be perfect at it?  Am I worthy of sharing this with the world? How can I still be a student actively learning and a teacher sharing wisdom?

The mental chatter is part of our beautiful human mind. One of the critical skills in growing and expanding is to acknowledge it and realize we are not alone. Finding ways to quiet the mind as well as share with a trusted advisor or friend   what’s coming up for us helps keep things in perspective and allows the space  to move  forward.

As a frazzled  young  mother  I looked  ahead  thinking it  would  get easier as the kids  get older. Things change and new skills are needed. Because I value my connection with my children I’m willing to show up, make mistakes, fall down sometimes, get back up and try again. I feel the same way about life in general. Showing up and walking my soul path isn’t always easy or pretty but there are moments of pure inspiration and trust that help guide me on.

What helps  pull you forward? I invite you to share your  thoughts  below.

I woke to a series of 5am beeps, texts from my youngest daughter away at college in Connecticut. An excited phone call followed, she had been chosen for a highly competitive summer research program at Carnegie Mellon University. Along with the excitement was a note of relief in her voice, her summer had concrete plans.

That got me thinking. When I moved to the west coast I took on some contract work in the nursing field, while not my passion it would give me some security as I transitioned from one coast to the other and grew a new client base. While it did provide some security it took significantly more time and energy than I had anticipated making it difficult to grow my business.

The contract expires in a few weeks. The morning I got that call I was wrestling with the fear of giving up the steady dependable cash flow of the contract work and trusting that there would be enough of a cash flow in my business to support me.  As I was tumbling around on the fear trust wrestling mat my daughters’ words reminded me of the synchronicity and bounty of the law of divine compensation.

Wrestling between fear and trust isa classic struggle.  Sometimes fear pins us down and immobilizes us, other times trust gives us the wings to move forward fearlessly, and more often than not it’s a blend of both. We dance around the ring in an intricate power play of who gets to lead.

I was asked to extend the contract the next day, I trusted. I listened to my gut. I said no. I will no doubt do a few more rounds on the fear/trust wrestling mat, but for today trust wins.

I would love to hear from you  join the conversation below

This time of year it’s easy to get caught up in the ‘more is better’ cycle leaving what’s truly important by the wayside. Each year for Christmas I create a handmade a gift for those I love. It’s something that shows the person the gratitude I feel for having them in my life.

I’m not sure what this year’s gratitude gift will be but the pleasure of basking in the memories and unique essence of my friends and family is always a highlight of the season for me.

As I go through my list I become aware of how much I receive.  From my family: Cay’s un-bounding sense of adventure, Tommy’s quiet strength, Alex’s quest for wisdom, Sam’s desire to understand, Jackie’s devotion to her children, Tom’s loyalty and support . From my friends: Allison’s ability to hold the space, Sarah’s full support, Kerri’s insightful questions, and Michelle’s laughter.  Yet, I don’t often tell them how grateful I am to receive these gifts.

Why is it that we are so quick to speak up when something is wrong, yet when something is right we simply let it be?  I know many who have a daily gratitude practice yet, how often is that gratitude openly expressed? Why do wee feel the need to keep quiet about it?

What a beautiful way to create moments of joy, simple, yet highly effective.

There is a management theory that rests on the premise that if you catch employees doing something right and acknowledge it immediately, you will encourage more of the same. You find the same advice gracing the pages of many parenting books.

I believe we all inherently know this, yet we are hesitant to put ourselves in that vulnerable position. The chattering in our mind says “they’ll think I’m weird, mushy, soft, crazy, or whatever your favorite adjective”, but in our hearts, our soul longs to express this.

It really is a win-win situation; we’re honoring spirit in ourselves and the other person.

Our actions and energy impacts others. Sometimes it feels like it really doesn’t matter, when in fact it matters a great deal.

I say let’s start sharing how much we matter to one another. It’s free and it takes very little time.

I know that despite the best of intentions, things pop up and life moves forward, and it’s all too easy to forget to acknowledge those who have a positive impact on us.

So I’m asking that right now,( yes I do mean this minute) each and every person reading this, take the time to call, text, or write at least one person who has had a positive impact on your life and let them know. If you feel a bit uneasy, a little too vulnerable take a deep breath, draw the energy up though your heart chakra and trust.  You’ll be glad you did….and so will the person you reach out to.

Share your experience below…