I steady the wheel as I indulge in a true American breakfast: a Pop-Tart and a lukewarm Diet Coke. Searching for a parking spot, I hold to my stance that Baylor will not get any more of my finances in the form of a parking decal. It’s really not necessary if you role the dice and land on free parking. Parallel parking is a game where I'm often the loser. I cannot estimate the actual distance between my bumper and another car's rear but I have no choice if I want to park this giant. I grab my bag and head on foot to work.

I would be embarrassed in other circumstances, but my college logo, yesterday’s jeans and tennis shoes has to do for now. I’m a college counselor heading to her last week of meetings and I could not be happier. I love my students. I think about them after hours and wonder if they are indeed reading those chapters we talked about conquering or if they saw the tutor that penciled them in last minute. Their stories give me purpose and a mission. Tangible evidence is is hard to qualify, but I know planting seeds takes patience.

A Korean student from Seoul that is returning after a nine school month stay, told me she would miss Texas because it’s slower. Waco is a sanctuary compared to her home city. I can imagine it is but the reference point was lost. I long for Italian time.

I fantasize about Italian time, where time isn’t the enemy and you, the victim. I sit in Waco imaging a fuller life some 7-hour time difference away. And yet, here she is appreciating the city I am calling home for this time. What would she feel if she visited the places where dinner lasts 2 hours but feels like it has only begun? Where women may ride Vespas in high heels to work but take off helmets to let perfect hair fall loose? A place where wine isn’t the only thing that gets better with the passing time.

Although I’m on my way to listen as students describe the latest challenge, my time is limited here. I don’t know if my students will text home to report their GPA!!! lol! :0!! or opt to employ their legal right to avoid actual disclosure of specific averages to parents who so often finance the failure.

I believe in my 15 minute weekly meetings though. I offer guidance each week hoping that with the outside support provided, success will become practice. Some students that have mentors already get college. Two of mine are on the Dean’s list but have a need to discuss class issues not shared at dinner with sorority sisters or lunch with fellow majors.

By providing tuition remission, my job allows me to attend grad school. I want this degree and I’m checking off another requirement this summer by heading to Italy for 4 weeks. It’s a damn thing, isn’t it? Being forced to succumb to international travel in times like these? I have to rediscover a historic town with a few students from around the U.S. in order to communicate to other English readers that they too must know and see about this place.

Until I applied to this internship, Urbino wasn’t on my map. I have walked the streets of Rome, Florence, Capri, Venice, and a dusty Pompeii. But this is an unknown and I'm thrilled.

I will descend on this town and find out why it’s worthy of time and attention. Raphael was born in the area between mountains called Urbino. His paintings are waiting for ready eyes and curious souls. There are many other fabulous heritages only locals know that I must turn over to the public and hopefully influence the future tourist’s agenda.

However I have a confession. I haven’t even been there and I’m dreading sharing the secret. I've had a relationship with Italy. Three months in Italy is like a year in U.S. time. After my second visit, I quit my teaching job and set out for an International Journalism degree with aspirations to share my experiences and inspire others to travel. But not only to travel for travel's sake but to go, to unearth new ways of seeing, eating, thinking, and believing. Though I'm scared.

There’s a McDonald’s gawking at the Pantheon in Rome. The Pantheon stares back as if to say, “Try me”. The Pantheon tolerates the Big Mac because it has too. It didn’t chose the enclosing modernism that encroaches upon its space. The monument houses Raphael’s tomb, so as long as it continues not to sell anything but history at no cost, it can live with itself.

My mission while worthy, while exciting, and while surely life changing, leaves a lingering question: will this mission end up casting a seed of change in Urbino? It happened to Destin. Destin, Florida hosts the greenest, bluest, clearest waters and still does. However as sure as anything, catering to tourist has taken hold. When I was a child, my parents took me to the beach. The actual beach. Not the outlets, not the fancy restaurants, not the local Starbucks, but the beach. We made sand castles. We picked up trash left behind from others. We played board games at night if we had the energy from all the swimming and playing and eating shrimp from the local seafood market. We slept deep knowing another long day sitting in the sand, under the umbrella, with the ice chest, awaited us.

I love Destin's beaches but the traffic at times and the energy of the place deters excitement to visit. I guess it is the face paced lifestyle creeping into place that should encourage reflection. rather than the urge to pull out the Visa. The beautiful beach stretches further down where it is free of the toil development takes. A walk through the state park allows visitors to encounter species that call this area home. If dinner reservations can be cancelled and dark can be waited for, stars will usher in the feeling that not just grains of sand below out number us. This vibe truly matches the rhythm of the sea.

As I discover a new side of Italy, I’m shall travel with a new sense of respect for keeping this buried jewel pure. I don’t want it cut down, made into a bracelet, earrings and necklace. The natural state will do. I am anxious to experience a part of Italy that remains purer to its culture than to Mediterranean cruiser.

At least that’s what we've been told, and I can’t wait to tell.