“In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself in a dark wood where the straight way was lost.” — Dante Alighieri, Inferno

In Florence, we were compelled to look inward.
At Casa di Dante, we sat with the life of a man who loved his city, was betrayed by those closest to him, condemned to death, and forced into exile. He had every reason to seek revenge. Instead, he answered hatred with a vision of justice, compassion, and the shared dignity of humanity. His suffering became The Divine Comedy—one of history’s greatest works of literature.

As Dante wrote of exile: “You shall leave everything you love most dearly: this is the arrow that the bow of exile shoots first.” Perhaps that’s the enduring lesson of his life: if you dedicate yourself to truth, justice, and giving a voice to those without one, you will often be criticized—even by those closest to you. The question is not whether we suffer, but what we create from that suffering.

At the Accademia, Michelangelo’s David reminded us that courage can also redefine an age. Before him, sacred figures were often portrayed as distant and almost untouchable. Michelangelo instead celebrated the human person—powerful, vulnerable, completely real. David isn’t a giant because of his size; he is a giant because of his spirit. In revealing humanity without shame, Michelangelo transformed not only a block of marble but the course of Western art.

Florence reminded us that greatness is rarely born from comfort. It is forged through hardship, refined by conviction, and ultimately offered back to the world as hope.

At sunset, we climbed to Piazzale Michelangelo and watched the city turn gold. Florence spread out below us, the Duomo, the Arno, the rooftops of a city that has been making beautiful things for centuries. Nobody wanted to leave. The kind of sunset that makes you feel grateful to be alive, to be here, to be exactly this age at exactly this moment.

One of the most beautiful cities in Europe. One of the most beautiful weeks of this journey.