Historically speaking, my podcast episodes have mostly revolved around shoes. Sometimes that means a proper shoe topic, sometimes it means something happening in the world that affects shoes, and sometimes it is simply me talking through an idea that has been bouncing around in my head.

But the more I think about what a podcast actually is, the more I realize that it does not always need to be a perfectly defined educational topic. Sometimes it can simply be a conversation. A story. A reflection.

And maybe I am giving myself far too much credit by thinking my life is interesting enough to talk about. But then again, The Shoe Snob Blog was never started as some cold, faceless publication. It was started as a way to share my journey: the shoes, yes, but also the people, places, lessons, mistakes, and experiences that came with them.

So, with that in mind, I wanted to talk about my recent trip to Rome.

I go to Rome every year because my eldest son lives there. That is a longer story for another day, but every year I make the trip to spend time with him. My mother also lives in the UK, in Wales to be precise, and often she and my stepfather will meet me there as well. So it becomes a small family gathering for 10 days or two weeks, which is something I am very grateful for.

This most recent trip felt different, though. Not necessarily because Rome itself was different, but because I was.

For most of my adult life, trips have not really been holidays. I do not know that I have ever truly understood what a vacation is supposed to feel like. My work has always followed me. Emails never stop. Social media never stops. Suppliers never stop. Content never stops. And when you run your own business, especially one that has relied so heavily on you being present, responsive, and constantly visible, it becomes very difficult to switch that part of your brain off.

In past trips, I would go see my son, but I would still be working more than I should have been. I am sure that was hard for him at times. He does not see me every day, and there I am, trying to be present while also answering emails, posting content, dealing with problems, and carrying that invisible pressure that many entrepreneurs know all too well.

You are physically there, but mentally, half of you is somewhere else.

The hard part is that the work feels justified. You are working to provide for your family, but the very act of working can pull you away from the family you are trying to provide for. It becomes this very strange and difficult balance between protecting your family financially and protecting them emotionally.

That is something I have struggled with for a long time.

But as I get older, and as my goals shift, I feel myself letting go of some of that pressure. Not completely, of course. I did still work on this trip. Let’s not pretend I suddenly became some carefree Italian pensioner strolling around with an espresso and no responsibilities. But I worked less. More importantly, I put less pressure on myself to work.

And that made all the difference.

For years, I have had this almost uncontrollable need to respond to everything immediately. If a client emailed me, I wanted to answer within minutes. If someone had an issue, I wanted to fix it right away. I have always cared deeply about making sure people are happy, and I do think that is a good thing. But there is a point where that constant responsiveness begins to come at the expense of your own peace.

When I was building my shoe brand in London, I remember being at the pub with friends and still being glued to my phone. London revolves around pub culture, and there I was, pint in hand, replying to client emails because I did not want to miss a sale or leave someone waiting. My friends would tell me to get off my phone, and they were right. I was not doom-scrolling or wasting time, but I also was not really there with them.

That is the problem with work when you never allow it to stop. Even when you are somewhere else, it follows you.

This trip to Rome was one of the first times I felt like I was able to loosen that grip.

I played basketball with my son. We took walks. We talked, properly, father to son. He is nearly 13 now, which is wild to think about. He is becoming a young man. His character is forming. He is basically as big as me already, and his feet are larger than mine, which is a great shame because I can no longer pass my shoes down to him.

But more than anything, I felt connected to him in a way that I maybe had not in the past. Part of that is simply his age. When children are young, the connection is different. They are there, you love them, you care for them, but the conversations are not yet the same. Now he can hold proper conversations. He has opinions. He has humor. He has presence.

And because I allowed myself to be more present, I was able to appreciate that more.

At the same time, I was able to reconnect with Italy in a way that I had not for a long while.

Most of you know that when I was 24, I packed up my life and moved to Florence to study bespoke shoemaking. That year changed everything for me. It was also where I met the mother of my firstborn son, and it was the beginning of a very intense chapter of my life.

I had traveled before, but living in Italy at 24 was different. I experienced what felt like a lifetime in one year. I fell in love with Italian culture. I made friends who treated me like family almost immediately. I had people around me who supported me through what was, at the time, a very big and slightly terrifying leap.

One of those people was my dear friend Matteo, who was also a shoemaker at Stefano Bemer when I was apprenticing there. Matteo taught me so much about classic Italian culture. Not just food, but cinema, music, humor, card games, family life, and the little things that make a culture feel alive. Through him and his family, I received a kind of cultural education that I still carry with me today.

Over time, though, life moves on. After Italy came London. Then New York. Then New Jersey. Soon, Idaho. You move, you adapt, you get busy, and sometimes you lose touch with parts of yourself that once meant a great deal to you.

Even my Italian has faded. I can still understand quite a bit, but when I try to speak, Spanish starts barging in like an uninvited guest. That is what happens when life pulls you in different directions.

But on this trip, some of that old feeling came back.

Part of that came through meeting Marcellino Shoemakers in Rome.

Marcellino Shoemakers are a young bespoke shoemaking duo, Caterina and Giulio, based outside the central part of Rome. Not exactly the middle of town, and not the easiest place to get to if you do not have a car. And I do not particularly love driving in Italy. I have driven in plenty of chaotic places, but Italy still manages to make driving feel like a full-contact sport with surprise legal traps thrown in for good measure.

The ZTL zones alone are enough to make me leave the driving to the Italians.

Thankfully, Caterina and Giulio kindly offered to come pick me up, which I gladly accepted. We had been chatting on Instagram for some time, but meeting someone in person is always different. Almost immediately, I liked them. They were funny, warm, full of character, and had that quality that I have always loved in certain Italians: once they welcome you in, you feel like family.

Spending time with them brought back so many memories from my year in Florence. We talked about old Italian music, cinema, comedians, food, and culture. The sort of things that most Americans would not necessarily know unless they had lived there and had someone really bring them into it. Lucio Battisti, Rino Gaetano, Alberto Sordi, Carlo Verdone, Totò — all of those references that reminded me of the Italy I had fallen in love with when I was younger.

There is something beautiful about that classic Italian culture from the 70s, 80s, and 90s. The music, the cinema, the humor, the food, the sense of identity. Maybe I am just getting older and nostalgic, but I do think those decades produced something special. And not just in Italy, either. Music, film, comedy — so much of it felt richer then. But that is another rabbit hole for another day.

I visited their workshop, took photos, looked at their shoes, and spent a proper amount of time with them. We ended up going to lunch, and the whole day turned into something much more meaningful than just “visiting a shoemaker.”

They offered to make me a pair of shoes, which was incredibly kind. We did not have time to measure me that day because I had to pick up my son from school, so we arranged to meet again. The next time, they came to where I was staying, measured my feet, and then we went to lunch again — this time with my son.

And he became the star of the table.

It was funny because, with me, he is one version of himself. But with an audience, suddenly this whole other personality appeared. He was entertaining the table, making people laugh, holding court in his own way. Caterina and Giulio loved him, which was really nice to see. As a father, there is something very special about watching your child interact with adults and realizing they can hold their own. It was a proud moment for me.

In many ways, that lunch captured the whole trip.

My son is growing up. New friendships are forming. Old memories resurfacing. Italian culture is pulling me back in. Shoes acting as the bridge between all of it.

That is probably why I felt compelled to talk about this trip in the first place. Yes, this is a shoe blog, and yes, shoes are still the foundation of what I do. But life is more interesting than just shoes. The shoe journey has always been connected to a larger life journey: the places I have lived, the people I have met, the cultures I have experienced, and the lessons I have learned along the way.

And as I get older, I find myself thinking more about what actually makes life meaningful.

For the last 20 years, I have thought almost entirely about my career. Building, pushing, growing, surviving, creating, trying to make things work. That drive has given me a lot, but it has also taken a lot. Now I am starting to realize, probably later than I should have, that there is much more to life than constant forward motion.

Sometimes you need to stop. Sometimes you need to be with your family. Sometimes you need to have a long lunch with two young Roman shoemakers* (one is a very proud Calabrian 😉 and your nearly teenage son. Sometimes you need to let yourself enjoy the experience instead of treating it as an interruption to your work schedule.

That was the biggest difference with this trip. And a lesson I deeply appreciated learning. In what has felt like living in a tornado for the past 1. 5 years, I have finally learned to just let go. To not stress, worry, or overthink and to just stop and be present and enjoy the moment. It only took 42 years. But as they say, better late than never.

In the past, I often viewed trips as obstacles. Something that disrupted my work rhythm. Something that made me feel behind. But this time, Rome felt like a breath. A necessary pause. A reminder of where I have been, what I love, and what I do not want to miss while chasing whatever comes next.

It was wonderful to see my mother and stepfather. It was wonderful to spend time with my son. We even taught him how to make a few meals, because at 12 years old, it is time to start learning how to be independent. No guarantees in life, after all. Better to know how to cook.

And it was a true pleasure to meet Caterina and Giulio of Marcellino Shoemakers. Not just because they make beautiful shoes, although they do. But because they are good people. And I have always believed that when you support a shoemaker, you are not only supporting their product or their design. You are supporting the people behind the work.

They are young, talented, warm, funny, ambitious, and full of heart. If you are ever in Rome, I would definitely suggest reaching out to them. Great designs, beautiful shapes, promising work, and most importantly, genuinely wonderful people. That is quite a powerful combination. I will soon make another post about their shoes and their workshop. Stay tuned.

So yes, my trip to Rome was amazing. Not because of one single thing, but because of all of it together.

Seeing my son grow. Watching him charm a table of adults. Reconnecting with Italian culture. Meeting new friends through shoemaking. Spending time with family. Remembering parts of myself I had not felt connected to in a while. And, perhaps most importantly, allowing myself to relax.

That last part is not something I have historically been very good at.

But maybe this trip was a first step.

After Rome, I went to London, but I will save that for another story. For now, I am simply grateful for the trip, for the memories, and for the reminder that life, like shoes, is often best appreciated when you slow down long enough to notice the details.

Learn more about Marcellino Shoemakers: https://www.instagram.com/marcellino_shoemakers/

—Justin FitzPatrick, The Shoe Snob

Shop · Marketplace · J.FitzPatrick · Patreon

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