Postcards From a Post-Grad

When I was nine years old, I saw a special on the History channel which chronicled the making of the Sistine Chapel. I don’t remember everything that was said but I do remember the gray-haired historian explaining how important it was for everyone to see it at one point in their lives. I remember being in a state of awe when I saw the Creation of Adam, and a feeling of excitement picturing myself seeing it in real life. That excitement quickly turned to sadness as I realized that I was most likely never going to see this remarkable thing. Most people may not know this, but a nine year old can appreciate art, even if they can’t yet grasp the entire meaning behind it, but something they can grasp entirely is being poor. For most of my life it had been just me and my mother, and though I never went hungry or without clothes, I saw how much she struggled, working two jobs to give me necessities.
Fast forward fourteen years and I found myself in Vatican City, Italy on a guided tour of the Vatican Museum. I remembered being nine and sad over something I thought I could never change. I wished I could back and tell that little girl to have hope and believe in herself because she could do anything she set her mind to. My cousin who lived in London agreed to meet me in Rome as I found that I didn’t like being in bigger cities alone and secretly I knew that I wanted to share this experience with someone. .
From the moment I entered the Vatican Museum courtyard, I felt as though my eyes could never be big enough to take in all of the beauty surrounding me. I stood in awe of sculptures like Laoccon and paintings in the Raphael rooms, but the whole time I was anxiously awaiting the Sistine Chapel.
When we finally arrived to the entrance of the Chapel, we were told no pictures and no talking. We entered the dark room and immediately looked up. I stood with my cousin among the hundred other tourists and looked up and waited for a feeling of happiness or excitement. Though I was in awe of the paintings, I didn’t feel as thrilled as I had hoped. Instead there was a feeling of weary accomplishment. I felt as though I had reached a lifetime goal only to realize that I had done it way before my lifetime was over. Now I had to come up with a new goal and I didn’t know where to begin. I stared at Michelangelo’s Last Judgment and realized that I had come a long way from being a sad nine year old girl, and I realized that I had a long way further to go