I cringe as the boat driver throws my precious things casually to the side, chuckling as I stare at him in disbelief.
Sitting on the Alilaguna water bus going from Marco Polo airport to central Venice, my suitcase sits above me on the deck, two inches from the side of the boat, with no rails: only two inches separates my suitcase from the water below.
"Won't my suitcase fall off?!” I nod towards the choppy water. One small bump, and my suitcase would surely go over the side.
"Oh no, no, no. It is very safe.” He gives me a toothy grin and I notice he has three gold teeth.
I smile, not entirely sure if I believe him. Surely there has to be a handful of people who lose their things to the Laguna Veneta. I imagine long lost suitcases, backpacks, and strollers at the bottom of the turquoise water, sitting peacefully. I wonder how it feels to know all of your things are gone, irretrievable, as the boat chugs along. I’ve been to Italy once before, in the north. I’m familiar the carefree lifestyle, which worries me further. I clutch my purse tighter. This may be all I'm left with after this boat ride.
In the western world, especially in the US, there is such an attachment to material things.
“That shirt holds special meaning.”
“Those books were the first books I bought in college.”
“I saved up months to buy this new computer.”
What is it about material possessions that stake their claim in our hearts, where memories, feelings, emotions, and love, should be instead? Obviously, it would be awful to lose your things to the Laguna Veneta, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.
Suddenly it hits me. Why am I worrying about a stupid suitcase? I am in Venice! Cream-colored buildings with turquoise and red roofs slide past me, as if in a moving slideshow. A boat of Italians wave as we pass them. We are almost to our destination: Madonna dell'Orto. We pull up to an enormous building, crumbling and majestic. This is Venice.
Of course my suitcase is fine. I make a promise to myself to be present and stop worrying about things that don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Perhaps it’s time to adopt the saying, La Dolce Vita; “The good life.”
