Giving Thanks

It was my 32nd birthday, and I was on a pilgrimage.

In ancient Rome, newly crowned emperors would travel to Praeneste and its temple of Fortuna in order to ensure a prosperous reign. After conversion to Christianity the temple was lost, but it was rediscovered when World War II bomb damage uncovered ruins beneath the medieval city of Palestrina. The temple was so extensive that it had become the core of the city, with the sanctuary transformed into a palace. I arrived on a wet and foggy morning, as early March can provide even in Mediterranean Italy, and I had the town practically to myself on my day trip from Rome. The temple museum was empty except for the guards huddled in the lobby, chatting and drinking espresso.

In most museums, European and American, guards are situated strategically to ensure that no one damages the exhibits. I was a harmless tourist, though, and found myself alone in a room with the ceremonial statue that personified Luck and Fate to ancient Romans, and whose name is tattooed on my chest.

I leaned in, kissed Fortuna on the cheek, and whispered "grazie" in her ear.