Sprezzatura

A Florentine shopkeeper, a birthday, and the quiet kind of excellence

By definition, a “studied carelessness”; such as the “effortless mastery” of a musician or actor who internalizes their technique so deeply that their performance feels completely fluid, hiding the years of grueling practice required to master it.

In reality — “excellence” defined as those things that make us truly rich; the goodness that exists when you pull back the veneer. The practice of sprezzatura is in building a truly rich life, brick by brick, from those quiet moments of excellence — the ones most people walk right past.

“Excellence” not because of perfection, but perhaps in spite of it. The richness that comes from a truly good meal, not just in the context of flavor, but because you know those vegetables were grown by a local farmer, the wine came from a vineyard owned by the same family for centuries, all shared over a table with someone you care about.

Photo by my incredibly talented friend, KT Merry

Or so I was told, as a bright-eyed college student lucky enough to study abroad in Italy. I didn’t have the stereotypical study abroad experience. I rarely went out; I missed my soon-to-be husband, and had an insatiable curiosity about the culture I was immersed in. Instead of partying at night, I was up with the sun, usually watching the sunrise over the Arno. After a week or so of this, a shopkeeper who could usually be found sweeping the stoop of his shop’s porch as I passed by each morning began to notice. A quick “buongiorno” soon turned into stopping for a few moments to chat.

He thought I was a French expat at first, but when he discovered I was a college student, he was patient enough to let me practice my (very rough) Italian. As a multi-generational Florentine — as in, his family has owned a local farm and vineyard since the actual Renaissance of the fifteenth century — Mr. Ricardo was proud to tell me the secrets of his city. One day I asked him what he really thought of “la dolce vita”: was it more of a tourist trap cliché, or was it something that truly mattered, culturally? Similar to the way in which I believe so fervently in the concept of the American Dream?

That’s when he sat down whatever he was holding (he had to talk with his hands, of course!), and began passionately describing the concept of “sprezzatura”.

According to him, “la dolce vita” occurs when little, uncomplicated yet appreciated moments of excellence are incorporated into daily life. Pockets of richness can be found in the everyday, but Italians have cultivated an eye for noticing, appreciating, and incorporating them. Where some cultures view this concept as more of a noun or an adjective — gilded opulence in France; a mansion as the hallmark of achievement in the US — Italians treat the idea more like a verb. A long dinner with laughter and a rich glass of wine, for example. Italians are by no means the wealthiest country, but as he told me, they may be the “richest” — and it may do the rest of us some good to study why.

Fast forward a decade, and I did, in fact, go on to study it. It was one of those words that got stuck in my head and sent me down a rabbit hole of curiosity. The results of that studying partly came to fruition in 2023, when I published a blog examining the modern renaissance that is occurring today.

There are many ways to debate what caused the Renaissance to rise out of the ashes of the Dark Ages, but one simple answer may be found in examining the way a society was able to build the concept of sprezzatura into their culture. The architects of the Renaissance were able to build something that lasts because they adopted and incorporated this unique cultural definition of “excellence” as a north star of sorts. The Dark Ages didn’t give way to the Renaissance because of some outside event that changed a society — it happened internally.

When I came home from that study abroad, my world changed. Within a few months of being home, my MALS (median arcuate ligament syndrome) reared its ugly head, and I ended that year unable to eat, undergoing a surgery that required 7 surgeons to lift all of the organs out of my body. I’ve never viewed a meal the same since, and I have not taken a single meal I get to share with a loved one for granted.

Over time we have found out that the issue “relapses” — scar tissue grows back — almost exactly every three years. A godsend of a surgeon has to go in and clean out my entire thoracic region: ribcage to sternum to ribcage. It’s never easy, but it’s something I am indescribably grateful for. We all face trials and tribulations — this has become my training ground. I know, to my core (literally), that I can handle any period of adversity life may throw at me. Not many people get to learn that lesson, and it’s a gift.

So as I was easing very sore lungs through that post-op recovery earlier this month, I found myself looking back to move forward, and came back to this concept of sprezzatura. My only nervousness when it came to this surgery was whether or not we would have to push it to the fall. Matt and I are finally going back to Italy in September (!!!!!) — something I kid you not, I have thought of every single week since I came home for my senior year of college. I never thought it would take this long, but c’est la vie. I’ve been looking “back” at the places I want to show him — I of course want to see if Mr. Ricardo is still there; I want to show him my favorite little corners of Florence.

But I’ve also been looking “forward” — because tomorrow, I officially make another trip around the sun. This will be my first birthday since 2015 that I am not dealing with an injury or waiting on a surgery. I’m healthy and out of pain for the first time since April 4, 2023.

“Sprezzatura” isn’t capturing my curiosity because of some pursuit of perfectionism this next year. It’s the opposite. It’s a richness of life I want to savor during this gift of a healthy season.

An excellent life doesn’t just happen. It’s built, brick by brick, in the in-between moments. And I think it gets most confused with performance — which is where it loses its soul entirely. It’s not cultivating a garden for the ‘gram; it’s choosing to honor your grandfather, who was an actual farmer, who taught you how to truly tend land. It’s not going somewhere to be seen. It’s crying until you’re laughing with the people you love.

That’s the brick I’m reaching for this year.

Plenty more to say about this, but I have some loved ones coming over to celebrate in a bit. I hope this is your summer of “sprezzatura”!

PS — I’ll let you know if I find Mr. Ricardo when I’m finally back in Florence.