Memento Vivere
- Rebekah Orlick
- Sep 5
- 2 min read
Updated: Sep 7
I have not been the nicest person to be around lately.
Ever since I got home from Italy, I’ve felt pulled in a thousand directions. Juggling my roles as wife, mother, homemaker, student, and now even this blog has left me feeling like a frazzled wire—just waiting to shock anyone who gets too close.
I keep asking myself: how do I calm down when I feel like this? My mind is strong in so many other situations. Even this past weekend, I did a backflip off of a diving board for the first time in over fifteen years. I barely thought twice about it.
But when it comes to the endless list of “have to's,” I freeze. I have to get this blog written quickly. I have to finish my homework. I have to sort the piles of laundry so that the kids have clothes. I have to work out. I have to eat healthily. But what am I sacrificing in the meantime? My peace? My family? How can I turn my have to into a get to?
That’s when my mind goes back to Italy—especially Venice.
Venice reminded me of what it feels like to be fully alive, not just moving from task to task.
I stood in front of Giovanni Bellini’s San Zaccaria Altarpiece, medieval panels that told stories of faith and virtue. Tintoretto's works, where women are boldly frontal and maternal (such as Presentation of Christ in the Temple at Santa Maria dei Carmi) made me wonder about their meaning. I stood under the ethereal presence and the golden mosaics of San Marco, watched gondolas glide by with their cargo, and took in Veronese’s Feast in the House of Levi (I cannot even begin to express the scale of these works!). I even saw Giorgione, the Vitruvian Man by Leonardo, and works by Albrecht Dürer—all in the span of a couple of days.
And then there were the nights
Wandering the warm glowing lamp lit sidewalks of Venice at night with my camera in hand, I found myself at rest in a way I had almost forgotten. I marveled at the glow of the water, the way that the city was so quiet it felt like a weighted blanket, and for once my mind felt at ease. Gone were the incessant background noises. Photographing for pleasure reminded me of who I was before the noise of everyday responsibilities.
Venice gave me clarity. It taught me that I need rest, yes—but also that I need to go.
Life is finite, and all the little things I let weigh me down—homework, laundry, errands—don’t matter as much as I think they do. What matters is living and being full of thankfulness while I do it.
And that’s what I want to hold onto now, even here in the chaos: the reminder that there is more to life than lists, and as I was reminded at an artist lecture last night, achievements.
Surrounded by so many memento mori in Italy, I initially thought, how depressing. I don’t need another reminder of death and my mortality. What I need is a reminder to live.
So, I’ll leave you with this: Memento Vivere—remember to live. And don't forget the gratitude along the way.
Sincerely,
Rebekah
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