Buy the Ticket - A Letter from Liz for Easter Beginnings

It’s Easter morning.

And like most sacred things, it arrived quietly — no parade, no great trumpet of change. Just the soft light of spring inching through the curtains, and a sense that something new was ready to begin.

Easter, in its essence, is about rebirth. The soft kind. The tender kind. The kind that says: You’re allowed to start over.

Years ago, I told you a story. Do you remember?

Here’s the old Italian joke.

A poor man goes to church every single day and kneels before the statue of a great saint.

“Dear saint,” he pleads, “Please, please, please… grant me the grace to win the lottery.”

He prays like this for months.

One day, the exasperated statue comes to life, looks down at him and sighs:

“My son… please, please, please — buy a ticket.”

Today, I’m on a train. Somewhere between places. The fields outside are waking up slowly, just like me. A sleepy farmhouse blurs past. A child waves from a crossing.

Life — quiet, ordinary life — unfolding in all its beauty.

And I think of the ticket. Not just the literal kind, but all the moments in life when we wait, hope, and beg for change... without taking even the smallest step toward it.

So here’s what I did, I bought "the ticket".

Not just for this train, but for myself. For a beginning I don’t yet understand. For a chance I can’t fully see.

Because maybe that’s what Easter is for — not for being perfect, but for being willing.

Willing to start again. Willing to move. Willing to whisper to life: I’m ready.

Wherever you are this Easter, I hope you find the courage to buy your own ticket. Whatever that means for you.

And if you need a sign — this is it.

Attraversiamo, Liz