Greve de Chianti to be exact.
It’s a dream, realized.
But by no accident. One that’s been percolating for nearly a decade. Not out of fantasy either. Carefully considered, deliberately planned and executed.
But then a weird thing happens. The reality exceeds the dream. Even with a recent skepticism that, because it’s been in the making for so long, the expectation needed to be managed. Tempered even.
But, no.
It’s the morning before the InGamba pick up and it’s as noisy as it’s been. Faint shouts of kids playing on the soccer field below, the occasional car honk, a goat bleating. Earlier it was the rustling of the wind in the vineyard, olive orchard, and vines on the deck. And of course, the rooster crowing at sunrise. Right on brand.
The only sensible thing to do is cancel our stay in Florence next weekend and come back here.
Done.
With intention.
I’m naturally inspired by the beauty and feel the opportunity to completely feel like I’ve “Gotten back to Me”. The me I’ve known is in there, deep inside. The me I’ve worked to get to that I’ve never realized before. One of the advantages of losing 100 lbs and getting back into cycling shape is a dream trip to explore one of my favorite parts of the world from my bike.
The me who is going to reach out, be more vulnerable, and hope it helps others to do so too.
The me realizing: What’s Still Possible. See you next Saturday. Gotta go ride bikes now.
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