Vive Piccolo

The News by Karin Jurick

I am spending a week in Italy. It has been a lifelong dream of mine, and every moment is as fantastic as I anticipated. The food, the fashion, the architecture, the music, the late nights and cobbled streets. I am thoroughly enjoying myself and loving every day. 

One thing I have noticed, however, is very different from life in America. Here in Italy, things are smaller. In America, we do everything big. Big house, big car, big government, loud noise, flashy fashion, big portion sizes, bright colors, expensive prices, big personalities. Everything is a constant droning of noise competing to be seen and bought. 

In Italy cars are small. People are friendly, but respectful. Dress is conservative and modest. Food is filling, but not overwhelming. Buildings are tall, but rooms are snug. Groceries are sold in smaller portions. Everything is done to a slightly more reserved standard. 

We tend to run with the assumption that bigger is always better. After just three days, however, I’m starting to think that isn’t true. In American shopping centers, we play music at top volume, to create a stronger atmosphere and hold people’s attention and entertainment. The streets in Italy are loud too, but not artificially. Noise is very human. Ambulances sirens, church bells, street musicians, greetings. That’s all. Noises that are necessary for safety, noises that serve a function to tell the time, and noises used to communicate joy. There is no sound begging for attention, no sound distracting you from reality, and no sound insisting you pay 12.99 a month to get a break from the ads. 

Food is the same. At home, food is advertised with catchy songs and neon lights, and is colored and flavored with all kinds of addictive chemical additives. Here, my Fanta tastes like carbonated orange juice. My yogurt is white instead of pink. Public water fountains are widely available, and everything I’m eating tastes fresh. The portions are smaller, but because they’re made of real ingredients with real nutrition, I don’t feel like I need to eat more. 

I’m starting to think there is value to a small life. When the things we make, produce, or enjoy are narrower, not trying to cover every base, every sense, every market, they have more depth to them. A man on the corner with an accordion cannot play as many songs as my Spotify streaming, but his music has more depth by the joy it brings, both in the smile on his face and the smile on mine. The dollar I throw in his briefcase is going to a real man whose work is clear and good, and whose smile shows what a difference that dollar makes. 

When our world is less loud and consuming, we have more of ourselves to give to other people. A simple, undistracting meal lets me absorb flavors and be present with the people who dine with me. A walk down the street does not overwhelm my senses anywhere near as much as a car ride where I am contained and distanced from the world around me. 

I want to preserve this small life when I come home. I wonder if perhaps it is not the country, but the intention that matters. I want to be present and aware of my life and the world around me. Maybe this means I stop using music as a distraction, and instead enjoy it with intentional listening. Maybe this means I stop eating ingredients I can’t pronounce and aim for a more simple diet. I do not know how to replicate a feeling perfectly, but I do know that the big life we are so used to is not the one my soul craves.