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okay.” I smiled, sharing, “It is, but when I get the opportunity to meet people like you and
to sit in a home and to eat some food and know that I have a place to stay, the calmness
returns. Even though I know tomorrow it's all going to start again. Right now, I feel held
by it, by your kindness.”
Filipo picked up a scoop of pasta and put it on my plate.
After the meal he suggested I go to my room and get some much-needed rest. I lay down
and thought again of Dr. Mann. She had given me the courage to not just be free, but to
also be myself. To know who I am and to believe in that person. As Filipo and I talked that
night, I realized that sometimes it only takes one person to convince you to go on—just one
compassionate voice amongst the cacophony to once again set hope alight.
In the morning, I said my good-byes to my new Italian friend and continued heading
east. This time I was off to Lake Como to search for George Clooney. I had promised Lina
I would find Mr. Clooney and get his autograph (and his number) for her. On the way to
Lake Como, I found some Italian Good Samaritans to give me gas, arriving soon after at
one of the most beautiful places on earth. The sun was setting, and the lake was shimmer-
ing with the last rays of light. I had no doubt George would soon be on his way to greet me
and my yellow bike, or at least someone half as nice.
But like that yacht in Saint-Tropez, George never appeared. Instead I spent the next four
hours trying to find someone to open their home to me, begging hotels for a free room, ca-
joling people on the street to let me crash on their couch. I even walked into a church to
try and find some love. Nothing. I was facing the real possibility of sleeping for the first
time in the sidecar of Kindness One. From villa to “homeless,” this was becoming a true
riches-to-rags story.
There were throngs of people along the lake, enjoying the fine weather and the light
breeze stirred up by the waters of Lake Como. I stopped a few more people, but it seemed
that kindness was nowhere to be found. Maybe all the generous people were over at Ge-
orge's house. Sipping martinis and watching reruns of ER .
Unfortunately, it was going to be Kindness One for the night. I put on all the clothes I
had and lay down in the sidecar. I tried my best to ignore the drunken Italians walking by,
peering at the sleeping madman. I woke up with the rising sun. I crawled out of Kindness
One and walked to the water's edge. Dangling my feet in the lake, I felt a burst of energy
flush through me. I may not have had a home for the night, but I was fully alive. I was liv-
ing my dream. I may not have connected with anyone in Como. But I was living my dream.
I may not have had much gas in the tank. But I was living my dream—out on the open
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