I didn’t go to Italy for a fairytale—I went for the food, the cultural experience, and maybe a little soul-stirring along the way. What I didn’t expect was how many of the most meaningful moments would come after a literal climb. Just a woman climbing volcanoes and ancient stone steps, learning life lessons the hard and beautiful way.
We weren’t in the land of gondolas or gelato. We were exploring the local sites around Vietri—places that required effort to reach. And it turns out, if you want to find something unforgettable, you usually have to go up.
Mt. Vesuvius: Awe at the Edge of Ashes
I’ve had a lifelong fascination with natural disasters—volcanoes in particular. There’s something about that raw, unpredictable power that has always drawn me in. So when I learned we wouldn’t just be seeing Mt. Vesuvius but climbing it, I was beside myself with excitement.
Vesuvius is ancient and powerful, infamous for the day it buried Pompeii in ash and silence. And yet, standing there—years later, climbing its rugged path—I didn’t feel fear. I felt reverence. The kind that comes when you’re in the presence of something much bigger than yourself.
The path up the volcano was steep and winding, scattered with people of all ages and fitness levels. Everyone moving at their own pace. Loose gravel underfoot. The sun relentless. And yet, around every bend, the view expanded, and the anticipation deepened.
What struck me most wasn’t just the crater or the stunning view from the summit—it was the resilience growing all around it. Life has returned to these slopes. Wildflowers push through the soil. Birds nest in crevices. Communities thrive at the volcano’s base. What once destroyed has, over time, nourished something new.
And isn’t that a lesson in itself?
Sometimes, what looks like devastation is only the beginning of renewal. Sometimes, the very ground that shook us is what gives rise to something stronger, more vibrant.
So yes, the view at the top was spectacular. But what I’ll remember most is what it took to get there—and what grew back after the eruption.
Ravello: The Stairs to Stillness and Perspective
Ravello doesn’t let you coast. If you want to experience its quiet majesty, you climb. Stone stairs, winding paths, up and up—until you arrive at the Infinite Terrace at Villa Cimbrone.
The view stretches out in every direction—sea blending into sky, ancient villages dotting the hills, and the kind of horizon that puts everything in perspective. Standing there, I felt small—in the best way. Like I was just one part of something vast and beautiful, watching the world quietly unfold below me. Despite the people nearby, it was easy to tune them out. The blue of the sky melted into the blue of the sea, and for a few moments, it felt like nothing could reach me up there. Calm settled in—not because life had changed, but because I had risen above it long enough to see it differently. That’s the kind of perspective I want to carry into my daily life: the reminder to climb higher when I’m caught in the weeds, and to look beyond what’s right in front of me.
The Climb is the Classroom
There are no elevators to life’s best views. Whether it’s in leadership, relationships, or personal growth, elevation doesn’t happen by accident. It takes movement. Often hard movement.
When we climbed Mt. Vesuvius, I noticed something: people of all ages and abilities were on that trail. There were serious runners powering up and down like it was nothing. My 19-year-old son wanted to rush to the top. And then there was me—somewhere in between, finding my rhythm. At first, I felt a twinge of inadequacy. Not guilt exactly, but that quiet pressure that whispers, Shouldn’t I be keeping up?
But that faded. I reminded myself: I’m going at my pace. I’ll pause when I need to. I’ll breathe. And I’ll keep climbing.
And isn’t that life?
We’re all on our own paths, moving at different speeds, with different capacities and challenges. Comparison gets us nowhere. What matters is staying focused on the summit—the goal—and choosing to keep moving forward, no matter how fast or slow. The climb is the classroom. And every step, every pause, every breath is part of the lesson.
Keep Climbing
Italy didn’t hand me comfort. It handed me climbs—and I’m grateful.
The question I’ve come home asking myself—and maybe it’s one for you too—is this:
What view am I missing because I’m avoiding the climb?
Whatever you’re working through right now—don’t stop. The summit holds more than scenery. It holds stillness, strength, and that hard-earned kind of joy that only comes from knowing you didn’t give up halfway up the mountain.
