This is a reflection from our first days in Sicily—written before the dust had settled, while the feeling was still raw.
Yesterday still feels incredible and surreal. I spent the day surrounded by ancient ruins in a place I thought I would only ever see in documentaries, National Geographic, or someone else’s photos. Somehow, I left feeling the most profound connection to my fellow human beings—even though I barely spoke more than a few broken words with the others sharing that experience at the same time.
How and why do I end up feeling more connected to the ancient people who are no longer here than I do to the people of today? It made me feel like an anachronism again, and that reinforced the sense that maybe we all feel that way until we do something about it. There is no other time I was meant to be in—this is it. There is no better time, because that wouldn’t be my time. I will always be stuck in the period I exist in; I can’t change that. But I can choose how and where I spend it.
This entire trip has been a testament to that, even if my brain still hasn’t fully caught up.
Being able to see and feel ancient tool marks in stone made me feel very small and insignificant—in the best way possible. I was able to stick my hand inside the joint of a fallen pillar and still feel stone that someone, or some group of people, spent hours painstakingly carving as perfectly as they could. They did this with tools we still can’t fully figure out, because they knew it would stand the test of time.
I imagine their goal was to make something that would last forever. But how long did they think “forever” was? Did they understand enough about the Earth to know its cycles? Experiencing Valle dei Templi makes me feel like they did—and that is the only reason I, or anyone else, is able to experience it today.
Before we even arrived, I could see the site from the road. I think that was when it truly became surreal. I wasn’t in Avalon. I wasn’t in one of the many canyons in California. I was actually in Italy—no, not just Italy, but Sicily.
As we got closer, I began to feel my smallness in it all. This wasn’t a tiny, curated oasis tucked between neighborhoods where people panic when wildlife dares to exist. This was what so many of the places I’ve experienced until now were modeled after—and I was actually going to see it.
I had no idea I would get to experience it the way I did, or that I would get to watch Brooks experience it the way he did.
From the moment we pointed the site out from the road to our final steps out, I don’t think I ever saw him not in awe.
Aside from the place itself being unbelievable, the dogs were almost just as surreal.
I should also note that I slept for sixteen hours after this day.
Some days don’t need to be understood right away—they just need to be lived, and remembered.