One of my lifelong ambitions is never to go to Italy.
When I was a boy, in Ohio, my parents urged me to wish for something more realistic, such as never going anywhere in Missouri (several states away). Mom and Dad knew that never going to Italy would be unattainable for people like us. But I kept dreaming, as I pored over my lists of places in Italy I dreaded to see, foods I hoped not to eat, and famous cathedrals I did not want to go on tours of. After all, a big part of the fun of never travelling somewhere is in the planning. My folks had the wisdom to allow me that, though they knew the disappointment sure to come.
This story is from the March 11, 2019 edition of The New Yorker.
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This story is from the March 11, 2019 edition of The New Yorker.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
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