As I brushed my teeth just before leaving my Airbnb in Rome, I ran the landmarks I had read about in textbooks through my head. The Vatican was a 15 minute walk from my door. The Colosseum 5 minutes. My heart fluttered with excitement, at what laid before me – a history nerd’s dream.

Of all the places I would visit on a sixteen-day, seven city tour across the UAE and Europe, these two places were near the top of my list of things I wanted to see. Admittedly, I was more excited for the Colosseum. But, the Vatican, a place so steeped in centuries worth of doctrine, would help me to let go of the indoctrination I created for myself.

As I neared the end of my morning brush, something inside of me said to watch a scene from Good Will Hunting. Robin Williams and Matt Damon, sit lakeside, a night after Matt Damon’s character, tries to emotionally level, Robin Williams therapist character. Battling for audio superiority over the running faucet, the scene played and Robin Williams’ character said, “If I asked you about art, you’d probably give me the skinny on every art book. Michelangelo, you probably know a lot about him. Life’s work, political aspirations, him and the Pope, sexual orientation, the whole works, right? But I bet you can’t tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You’ve never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling.”

I looked in the mirror and was sobbing, the foaming white toothpaste dripped from my mouth and was met with a flood of tears. It was a dazzling sight of imperfection to behold. A realization, that I was someone who had thought he had experienced life but hid behind a self-perceived understanding of wisdom without the practice of action.

In that moment, I recognized, that I was now, living my life. Pride filled my heart.

I wasn’t just reading about life. Books and documentaries were becoming reality. Life was no longer theory.

After touring the Colosseum and rapidly taking in the Vatican, I walked into the the Sistine Chapel. I looked up at that marvelous ceiling and my eyes began to well up. Robin Williams was right. I’ll never forget that smell or the shear sense of wonder I felt. My neck cramping as I tried in futility to take it all in.

This was just the start.

I walked across the outside of the Vatican, engaged in the beauty of the most gorgeous post-rain purples skies. The lights out front of St. Peter’s Basilica illuminating the street. The scenery serving as the perfect metaphor for what was to come.

As I crossed the threshold into St. Peter’s, my breath was quite literally, taken away from me. I remember that feeling so vividly. I looked up into the massive ceilings adorned with centuries old artwork by some of the greatest artists that have ever lived. The power of this place as a historical, cultural, and religious center piece of the world overtook me. I was in its aura.

Why was this feeling so powerful? Was this because I grew up Catholic and was feeling a call back to it? No. Was it the fact that it was the historical significance of this place? Maybe. The questions felt misguided. Perhaps, the surface level nature of them serving as a bit of self-protection.

Walking through the Basilica, I passed the confessionals. A watchful eye toward them. Passing back and forth several times, it was an interest I continued to ignore. I would hang around a little longer each time. Watching as people came in and out. I talked to the guard and asked him a few questions as I passed again. I even took a picture.

Everything but taking the risk of action because I was scared. Then I reminded myself, “This is why you’re here.” And followed that up with “Bro, you’re in Rome. When in Rome (the Vatican)…”

I entered the confessional. Kneeled down. Hesitantly did the Sign of the Cross, not so sure it was the right thing to do. I hastily tried to recall my thirteen years of Catholic school teaching, as the priest said a few words. I started.

“Blessed me father for I have sinned, it’s been, like, over 10 years since my last confession,” I muttered out, as I tried to remember my schooling. The priest in his very thick Italian accent encouraged me to proceed, “Go ahead.”

I continued stammering.

Until truth gave me the ability to speak.

“These are my sins. I have had a hard time finding love for myself, and as a result, I have pushed those that I have loved and the ones who have loved me, away,” my eyes tearing up as I tried to hold back this pent up emotion.

“And in turn, I have not led a life of love that I’ve wanted to. I have not loved those I’ve wanted to most, the way I’ve wanted to and the way that they’ve needed to be. And for that I am sorry.”

Trying to recall all the “sins” I had committed, of which I’m sure there were many, I capped it with a very profound and eloquent, “And, uh, that’s it.”

A lifetime of exhale and admittance to myself, of what I felt the greatest “sin” in my lifetime was. Something I held onto for years – that I was not someone worthy of love, and therefore, I could not give it.

Expecting a papal level decree, on self-love, God’s love, acceptance, and perhaps, a solid dosage of famous Catholic guilt, I was instead met with, a polite grunt and a very simple, “I absolve you of your sins. For your penance, say two Hail Marys and two Our Fathers.”

That was it?! A lifetime of self-deprecation, and unacceptance of myself and I get two goddamn Hail Marys and Our Fathers as my penance?

Make me say a rosary. Have me do a pilgrimage on my knees to Fatima. Something so that I would pay for this egregious act. I could smell the fire and brimstone, and this is how I’m absolved?

As you can tell, I was let down. However, ever the diligent man of his word, and seeker of spiritual growth in all its forms. I kneeled before one of the breathtaking statues, maybe it was a crucifix, which would have been rather apt for the self-crucifying martyr I had become in my mind. I started my prayers – often times having to start over as I jogged my memory for the right words. “Our Father who art in Heaven…Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for our trespasses…nope that’s not right. Hail Mary, Full of Daily Bread..nope”

Eventually, I got them down and completed my penance.

There was something about that statue. I started to chuckle to myself. Not at the crucifix, but at what I had finally come to understand the teaching of the priest, whether intentional or not.

All these years I had kept up this notion that I was not worthy of the love I wanted to feel. The only person keeping me from it was me. Yet it was in this moment that I realized, the lack of forgiveness I felt, was my doing.

That priest’s perceptively small penance with my “big” confession, helped me to see how easy it was to let go of self-created pain. I could love myself and others because of flaws, not in spite of them.

The Christ-like level of perfection I expected of myself dissipated. The Crown of Thorns removed. None of it was necessary. I ok’d myself to be a flawed person, and in turn, saw others the same way – as complete people.

I must confess, seeing that filled my heart with so much pure love, that it permeated through my being.