Holiday blues

The "holiday blues" after returning from a week in Rome, Italy, are real and hit me harder than I expected. One moment, I was walking through the grand halls of the Vatican Museums, staring in awe at Michelangelo’s frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, and the next, I was back home, staring at my laptop screen, drowning in emails. The contrast

was jarring, and I found myself longing for just a little more time in the Eternal City.

The Loss of Freedom and Adventure

Rome had gifted me a kind of freedom I rarely experience in my structured daily life. Mornings were slow and unhurried, starting with an espresso prepared at home. Afternoons were spent getting lost in the cobbled streets of Rome or standing in awe of ancient ruins that whispered stories of the past, or just having my long siesta without even being bothered while waiting for a late afternoon lunch. Each moment felt spontaneous, every turn a discovery. But back home, everything fell back into the predictable rhythm of routine—alarm clocks, deadlines, responsibilities. The contrast made me feel caged, as though the adventure had ended too soon.

There was something magical about being in Rome—like I had stepped into a different world where time moved slower, worries felt lighter, and even the air smelled of history and possibility. For a week, I wasn’t thinking about work stress or personal challenges; I was simply living in the present. Returning home, however, brought all those unresolved emotions rushing back. The peacefulness of walking along the Tiber at sunset or listening to street musicians near the Pantheon only highlighted the weight of real-life pressures waiting for me.

Experiencing the True Italian Lifestyle

What made this trip even more unforgettable was spending most of my days with my Italian friends, who treated me like family. I was welcomed into their homes, where I indulged in homemade Italian food and dined at places where only locals go. Experiencing "la dolce far niente" and "la dolce vita" in a real Italian household was something I couldn’t trade for anything. It was a taste of life as it should be—savored, unhurried, and filled with warmth. Late at night, we would spin around the city in their favorite sports cars—one of the many things Italians are known for—before taking slow walks on cobblestone streets, escaping the bustling crowds of tourists. It felt like stepping into a dream, one I never wanted to wake up from.

Unmet Expectations

Before my trip, I had envisioned returning home feeling rejuvenated, inspired, and ready to tackle life with newfound energy. But instead, I felt a strange emptiness. The reality of post-holiday life didn’t match the expectations I had set for myself. Instead of feeling refreshed, I felt like something was missing, like I had left a piece of myself in Rome and didn’t quite know how to bring it back.

Missing the Connection

Traveling through Rome, I had brief but meaningful interactions with strangers—friendly shopkeepers, fellow travelers, the elderly woman who smiled at me while I struggled with my Italian. Each connection, no matter how fleeting, added warmth to my experience. Now, back home, I missed that sense of connection. The spontaneity of human interaction in a foreign place, the shared smiles, the laughter over a mispronounced word—it all felt distant, making my usual environment seem lonelier than before.

A Personal Pilgrimage to the Vatican

One of the most humbling moments of my journey was my personal pilgrimage to Vatican City. I walked through the Holy Doors for the Jubilee Year, a rare and sacred experience. Standing in the grandeur of St. Peter’s Basilica, I felt a deep sense of devotion as I prayed—for myself, my well-being, and my loved ones. It was a moment of reflection, gratitude, and surrender, reminding me of what truly matters beyond the excitement of travel.

Nostalgia

The memories linger like a soft haze over my days. The way the golden hour painted the Colosseum in hues of amber, the echo of footsteps in St. Peter’s Basilica, the taste of gelato melting too fast under the Roman sun—I replay these moments in my mind like a film I don’t want to end. Nostalgia makes the present seem dull, and I catch myself wishing I could relive those moments over and over again.

Adjusting back to real life feels like hitting the brakes too suddenly. The ease of strolling through piazzas has been replaced with rushing to meet deadlines. Instead of choosing which trattoria to dine at, I’m meal prepping for the week. It feels as though I’ve been yanked from one world and thrust into another without warning, making the return to normalcy a bit of a struggle.

Yet, as the days pass, I remind myself that Rome is now a part of me. The experience, the feelings, the memories—they aren’t gone. They live in the stories I tell, in the pictures I revisit, in the small ways the trip has changed me. And maybe, just maybe, the holiday blues aren’t just about missing the past, but about finding ways to bring a piece of that adventure into everyday life.