Lessons from Ancona: Does a Life Need to Be Justified?

I didn’t know it was possible to be awoken by the smell of socks, but you, in fact, can. I had just missed the final train out of the Fiumicino Leonardo da Vinci Airport in Rome by a few minutes. In my partial defense, the landing was delayed by half an hour. It didn’t help that I am also a subpar runner. At this point, my phone had died a long time ago. It was a mistake to keep my Kehlani playlist running all throughout the plane ride, even as I slept. By the time I had landed, the electronic stores were closed so I couldn’t find a converter. It was a rookie mistake.

I then walked to the nearest hotel, thinking I’d be able to find some refuge there. The concierge told me that their rates started at 250 euros per night. I didn’t stay to hear the rest of his sentence after he told me that. I just hope he wasn’t offering me a 90% discount. I might have stayed there then. I walked back to the airport, deciding that I would find a place to close my eyes for a few hours before planning my next steps.

I thankfully had my yoga mat with me. For anyone backpacking out there, yoga mats are so unbelievably convenient to have. They can serve as a backrest and a pillow, or as a sleeping mat and a stiff blanket. I walked around the airport for a while, scouting for a safe place to lie down, eventually finding a nook close to the all-night chapel. I took that to be a good sign.

I couldn’t have closed my eyes for more than an hour when I was suddenly awoken by the strongest, most pungent smell my nose had ever come across. To be fair, I wouldn’t even say that the smell was bad. I imagine if I had known this person, I might have even found this scent endearing. But as a complete stranger, I was not prepared. I eventually gave up trying to sleep around 4 AM and walked to the only cafe that was open, a gelato bar. Gelato, I would soon find, as I spent the next six hours on a bus, one extra road bump away from throwing up, is a terrible breakfast food.

That’s how my first few hours in Italy started. Disturbed sleep, a possibly endearing foot stench, and gelato for breakfast. I laughed as I told Agnese Riccardi, PhD the story over lunch the next day. I had come to Italy to live with her in Ancona, a beach town on the coast of the Adriatic Sea. I hate using people’s professions to describe them, but I have to at this moment because Agnese is an amazing marine biologist who cares so deeply about the ocean and its inhabitants. I rarely come across people who overflow with so much passion and love for the Earth that it infects everyone around them. The other detail to know about her is that when she’s not working to save the Earth from climate change, she spends the rest of her time watching Pretty Little Liars and updating me on the most important happenings to the Liars in the suburbs of Rosewood, Pennsylvania.

Over the next month, my life really slowed down from the New York pace I was moving at before. I ate some amazing food. Food has always just been a means of sustenance for me. If you gave me an option to eat a pill with the necessary nutrients every day, I would take it in a second. But carbonara with guanciale may have changed my entire perspective. I also learned the names of more cheeses than my working memory has space for. Apart from eating, I walked around the town, read books, recorded season 13 of the podcast and watched many sunsets. Wherever I went, I preached the gospel of pineapples on pizza. People didn't really like that one.

The longer I spent around Agnese, her roommate Francesca, and their friends, the more I began to pick up many idiosyncrasies from Ancona. After living nomadically for almost six years, one thing I’ve learned is that every place on the planet carries a profound wisdom that is unique and singular to that place. This wisdom will never be listed on a placard, but shows up in the daily actions of the people who live there. When you observe how people spend their time, love their family, and wash their clothes, this wisdom reveals itself. In Ancona, I found that this wisdom was deeply existential.

It started to arise when Agnese would tell me that she was meeting up with her friends every day after work. They would get together, and eat food. And as they were eating, they would talk about more food. And then after they would start drinking wine, at which point their conversations transitioned to wine. Then they would mix it up and talk about food and wine. Sometimes even wine and food. But what fascinated me most wasn’t exactly what was being said (though I did learn that I can’t drink a campari), but instead the way in which everyone listened. It didn’t feel like anyone had anywhere to be. They were simply enjoying their time with one another. The conversation wasn’t had with the intention of utility or productivity or escape, but was just centered on connection.

Sitting there in these conversations made me feel deeply uneasy. It felt as if life wasn’t meant to be lived in anticipation of tomorrow. I don’t know how to do that. I grew up in an environment where I was taught that if you slow down, for even one day, you will be left behind in the dust. Ruthlessly. Rest is only permitted so long as it increases your productivity in the long run. Otherwise resting is a waste of time. This ethos caused me to always live as if I am on trial by my family, my social community, and the invisible hand. I constantly needed to prove that living my life is in fact worthwhile. I don't know how to silence this voice. I can't even go on a walk without calling a friend or listening to a podcast.

I wanted to explore this phenomenon in this week's newsletters. My goal is to release this in three parts, this being the first. The second piece will ask whether a life can ever truly be justified through reason. It will explore the limits of reason itself: how reason can help us clarify values and make sense of our choices, but may not be able to generate the original proof for why life matters in the first place. The third piece will explore what changes once we stop trying to justify life and begin asking how to live from the assumption that life is already worth something. I want to explore what education could look like if it began from the belief that a student’s life is already worthy, and that learning is not a way to earn value, but a way to deepen one’s participation in life.

Excited!