Around this time last year, I was anxiously making the final preparations for my first-ever solo trip — two nights in Florence, before heading to a writer’s retreat in the Tuscan countryside for five nights with the wonderful Emma Gannon and Aweventurer.
It’s safe to say that I experienced a few moments of ‘what the AF am I doing?!’ throughout that week.
Here’s what I learnt:
I’ve still not written my novel. On the retreat, I had the idea for ‘the’ novel I would write. An epiphany of sorts. I’m still yet to write it because I don’t know where to start.
If I can navigate solo travel, I can do anything.
Before the trip, part of me imagined this plethora of incredible opportunities falling at my feet the moment I returned… that didn’t happen. But what did happen was that my connection to writing and creating deepened.
I’ve managed to keep up with my morning (sometimes evening) pages most days.
I constantly think back to the sheer peace my nervous system felt during those slow mornings on the farm, nestled amongst the rolling Tuscan hills.
I had hoped to make it to 1000 subscribers by my trip… a year later, and I’m still nowhere near that number. Perhaps it’s a sign to give up on numbers.
Before I departed, I had just begun to navigate the wild world of freelance copywriting and was trying to land my first client. One year on, I’ve gained and lost three clients. Clients I had hoped would see me through my maternity. I thought that by now, a year later, I would have established a strong freelance base and catapulted my dream of being a full-time writer into reality. Sadly not.
I thought by now I would’ve created a proper paid membership here, but for the life of me, I don’t know what I’d offer of value.
I miss roaming the streets of Florence — I can still feel the emotions and excitement I felt in those moments. The pride, sheer joy, nerves.
I’m still afraid of heights, despite climbing the 414 steps of Giotto’s Bell Tower.
I would return to Florence in a heartbeat; it’s one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever been to.
I cannot wait to one day tell my daughter about the trip that changed my life.
I think about living there several times a week. The hotel I stayed in had the most charming rooftop terrace with breathtaking views of the sunset descending between the buildings and distant hills. The sheer joy of living on a farm-to-table, sustainable farm brings both joy and sadness, knowing I’ll likely never get to live in a place such as that.
I would attend another writer’s retreat in a heartbeat if finances and logistics weren’t such pressing factors.
It’s still a dream of mine to one day host my own retreat… and perhaps Florence/Tuscany is the place to do so.
Drinking wine on the street, purchased from a small window, will never not feel magical.
I’m still proud of spending a week in Italy with only a backpack (and small handbag). Young Jenna could never!
I’m also proud of myself for chatting with strangers and getting to know new people, as someone who was chronically shy growing up.
From time to time, young Jenna still thinks of the alternate universe where she lives out Letters to Juliet (different city, I know!). Or the one where she lives in a quaint European town by the sea.
Despite motherhood being such a beautiful journey, I’m not afraid to say that I miss that version of myself who wandered the streets of Florence… the only care in the world being which quaint side street to wander down next. Which bakery to try, or where to have lunch. Aside from the nerves of wandering a new city alone, that is. But ssh.
Almost daily, I think of the stunning food we ate at the farm villa. To this day, it’s hands down some of the most beautiful, memorable food I’ve ever eaten. The act of just sitting around a long table in the sun, talking with new friends, and eating incredible food.
I felt like I was living inside my own novel — my own main character moment that I’m afraid I may never experience again.
I sometimes feel a pang of jealousy for those who can solo-travel at the drop of a hat without other responsibilities to consider.
The desire I have to take my daughter on so many city breaks is unbearable. To one day return to Florence on a girls’ trip together.
To one day return on a girls’ trip with my own Mum. City breaks together are the most magical.
Give me a glass of wine at a quaint table, a notebook and pen, and the bustling charm of city streets behind me, and I’m as content as a duck in water.
One day, I hope that my husband and I can celebrate our anniversary with a trip around Italy. Or Europe, for that matter.
I had hoped to come away from the retreat having gained a mentor. The one person who would take my writing to where it’s destined to be.
I am eternally grateful to my loved ones for believing in me and encouraging me to go. Despite their endless worries (and rightly so).
I fear there are too many cities in this world to explore, and not enough time/money/resources for me to explore them all.
I felt so in touch with a true part of myself on that trip. Like I was meant to be there on that very trip at that exact moment in time.
I was so far out of my comfort zone on that trip, it was like me standing on the moon, waving at an unfamiliar version of myself through space. Insecurities and anxiety hung in the ether. But I did it. And for that, I am immensely proud of myself. Now to get saving for the next one!
Thank you for supporting my dreams. If you do feel pulled to support me further, you can upgrade to a paid subscription or opt to buy me a coffee here. Your kindness is the fuel that keeps me writing and sharing.
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