November 3, 2026 — Garden of the Gods, Shawnee National Forest, Illinois

What a roller coaster of a day!

It began with the excitement of getting my little home on wheels ready for another adventure. After days of rain and clouds, I was looking forward to some sunshine and a visit to the Garden of the Gods. I celebrated a small but meaningful victory: after six weeks of back pain, I realized I could move freely again.

Getting out of the muddy vineyard was another story. For a terrifying moment, my heavy van was stuck, wheels spinning in the mud. But I made it out, and the adventure continued.

The Garden of the Gods rewarded me with spectacular rock formations, glimpses of sunshine, and two wonderful hours of walking. Back at the campground, I managed a work meeting, finally mastered the art of taking a hot shower in my van, and enjoyed a somewhat surreal vocal lesson with David, surrounded by nature.

There was more good news: my beloved broken guitar might actually be repairable, and my plans for Nashville were finally taking shape.

The day ended with a delicious steak, an orange, and thoughts of the people I love, whom I somehow feel closer to despite the distance.

And a reflection on life’s unpredictability. Every choice opens countless possible futures, a realization that brings both excitement and anxiety. But I remembered something beautiful my son Luca once told me:

“You don’t make the right choice. You make your choice right.”

Perhaps that’s what this journey is teaching me. To embrace uncertainty, trust my choices, and make the most of wherever life takes me.

Tonight, I feel happy, peaceful, and deeply connected.

Exactly where I’m supposed to be.

November 2, 2026 — Southern Illinois

Another misty, rainy day, spent almost entirely inside the van working. But unlike other times, today it was my choice. I felt energized, connected to my team, and genuinely excited about pushing things forward at Foresight.

Still, I couldn’t help noticing a familiar pattern: I keep trying to get all the less enjoyable things out of the way so I can finally focus on what I love. But those things never seem to end, and somehow they keep stealing time from music, exploration, and simply living in the moment.

Not much music today, and perhaps keeping busy also helped me avoid thinking about my broken guitar.

Tomorrow, the road calls again. I’ll get the van ready and head toward the Garden of the Gods in Illinois for a night surrounded by nature, before continuing to Nashville.

Perhaps today’s lesson is simple: life doesn’t begin when the to-do list is finished.

Beach Barn Winery, Illinois

What a strange day. It began beautifully, in the quiet comfort of my van, surrounded by mist and rain, completely absorbed in music. I played Cucurrucucú Paloma and was so moved that I decided to record it and share it on Instagram. I worked on my own song, Rain, and explored the music of Rosa Balistreri. It was one of those precious mornings when I felt deeply connected to music, and through music, to myself.

https://www.instagram.com/reel/DfNLZ2cNRXe/?xtok=c3R2eW1yejVqZGRn

And then, in an instant, everything changed.

My Córdoba 10, my first real guitar, fell and broke. Ten years together, through happiness and heartbreak, unforgettable moments and quiet discoveries. I kept telling myself, È solo un oggetto. It’s just an object. But it wasn’t. She had accompanied me from the very beginning of my musical journey, and losing her felt like losing a little piece of my own story.

Needing perspective, I jumped on my bicycle and headed toward Inspiration Point. Along the way, a beautiful horse approached me, curious, strong, and free. Was it a sign? Probably not. Just a beautiful encounter that somehow lifted my spirits.

At Inspiration Point, surrounded by the vast beauty of nature, my troubles suddenly seemed very small. 

But the journey back became an adventure of its own: darkness falling over rocky forest trails, bats flying around me, and my phone battery nearly dead. I eventually made it back to the vineyard, relieved and exhausted, with just 2% battery remaining.

And now, reflecting on the day, I realize that the last song I played and recorded with my Córdoba was Cucurrucucú Paloma. A song filled with longing and love, played during one of my most emotional musical moments.

Perhaps that was our goodbye.

It’s remarkable how much of ourselves we leave in the things that accompany us through life. A guitar is wood and strings, but after ten years, it becomes memories, emotions, and a witness to our personal journey.

I will find another guitar. But I won’t forget this one.

Thank you, Córdoba 10, for ten beautiful years of music. I’ll miss you.

October 31, 2026 — Alto Pass, Illinois

Today was a day of ozio—the Italian art of slowing down and simply being. After a wonderful night’s sleep and even a long afternoon nap, I felt something returning that I hadn’t experienced in a long time: the ability to rest, focus, read, and enjoy the moment without feeling the need to move on to the next thing.

Eventually, I took my bicycle to the Bald Knob Cross of Peace, a remarkable monument with a fascinating history of human generosity, ingenuity, conflict, and perseverance.

But the most meaningful discoveries were more personal. Despite being far from home, conversations and messages with family and dear friends made me feel more connected to them than ever. And an unexpected fascination with Sicilian folk singer Rosa Balistreri opened another door to my roots, inspiring me to explore my heritage through music. I watched her documentary last night, very inspiring, what a story.

Back at Peachbarn Winery, I enjoyed a glass of wine and the company of the people building a new life and business here: Sophie & Colin, in the picture below, together with the bar manager. 

A day when I seemingly did nothing, yet experienced so much. Perhaps that’s the beauty of slowing down: creating space to reconnect with ourselves, with the people we love, and with where we come from.

October 30, 2026 · Peachbark Winery (the Peach Barn), Alto Pass, Illinois

I made it to the winery, and yes, it is as good as I had hoped. After all the anticipation, it feels good simply to be here.

I’ve just finished playing. It was a small audience—a table, then another—but they were listening. There is something lovely about that, even when the room is far from full.

I almost feel bad being paid and fed in a place like this. The welcome has been generous, and I want to give something back. I suspect I’ll be having dinner here every night.

Now the plan for Saturday and Sunday is very simple: relax, take it easy, and take it all in. Stay in one place for a little while. Make some room for myself and see whether I can actually settle into it.

I’m excited about that. Let’s see if I can do it.

October 29, 2026 · St. Louis, Missouri

Most of today belonged to work. Calls, business, the familiar world inside the unfamiliar setting of the van. I felt a little impatient to get outside and see where I actually was. Finding a rhythm between the two is going to take some practice.

Eventually I took the bicycle out. I rode through the city, past the cathedral, through Forest Park, and down toward the Arch and the Mississippi. There was plenty to look at, but I also came back with a feeling of sadness. People seemed so separate, each in their own world. A few runners together, some basketball, small signs of life that I was happy to see.

Back at the van, another improvised shower with a gallon of water. Then out again, hoping to find music and a lively evening. A Mexican dinner led to a few conversations and suggestions, and a somewhat wandering night through places that were quieter than I had imagined. One stop felt quite surreal, but I was glad I went.

In the end I was happy to get back to the van, watch a little tennis, and go to bed. Tomorrow I’m heading toward the winery. I’m looking forward to staying still for a few days, breathing, and making some room for music and myself.

October 28, 2026 · Amana, Iowa → St. Louis, Missouri

This morning I rode through the Amana villages, along gravel roads and past the golf course, with lovely views across the hills. At times a smell or a stretch of landscape took me straight back to Sicily. I sent Rory a photograph, and she said it looked like Sicily too. Funny to find that feeling in Iowa.

I’ve enjoyed the space here, and the kindness. People seem proud of where they live. The second half of the ride took me onto a busier road, so it wasn’t all quite as peaceful, but I was glad I went.

Back at the van, a few small wins: my first outdoor shower, getting air into the tires, and unpacking the little microphone for my first vocal lesson on the road. Ordinary things, perhaps, but each one makes this life a little easier.

Then on to St. Louis and a set at Evangeline’s Bistro. A proper stage and sound system, a welcoming staff, and a few people who had come to listen. When I took a break, a table asked whether the music was finished and seemed happy that it wasn’t.

I felt I played well. A good meal, some kind exchanges, and another night back in the van. Still feeling good, and learning as I go.

October 27, 2026 · Heritage Trail and Amana, Iowa

Out on the Heritage Trail this morning, I found myself thinking about the people I had just met. A marriage that began with high-school sweethearts, four children, grandchildren, a business, and still so much enjoyment in being together. It was beautiful to see. It doesn’t have to be my life for me to appreciate it.

The quiet is doing me good. Fewer things pulling at me, early nights, proper sleep. I can’t remember the last time I rested like this. Even a nap before leaving Peosta felt like a small luxury.

Later I drove to Amana, a place I knew almost nothing about. One turn off the road and suddenly I was in this charming old village, with its German character and a brewery where Nathan welcomed me warmly.

I played, shared dinner, and talked with the staff. Some people listened closely, others carried on with their evening, but the response was kind. Then back to the van. A slightly surreal, beautiful day. I’m still feeling good being here.

October 26, 2026 · Peosta area, Iowa

Today I took my first shower in the van. I got the hot water working, managed in the small space, and didn’t empty the whole tank. I was quite pleased with that.

I’m still learning how to move around in here. Where to put things, how everything works, how to make the everyday gestures feel easy. Even taking a shower requires a little figuring out.

It made me wonder what this will feel like in six months. Will I move around without thinking? Will all these small things have become familiar? It’s hard to imagine that now, while I’m still so aware of every adjustment.

I’m curious about that gradual change. Perhaps I’ll only notice it when I look back and remember how much attention everything needed at the beginning.

For now, the water was warm, the shower worked, and I’m happy to be learning.

October 26, 2026 · Peosta area, Iowa

This morning I went for a two-hour bike ride with Jeff, who hosted my first show at Darkbird Taphouse. We rode through the hills of Iowa and talked along the way. Later, the day continued with appetizers, meeting some of his family, and dinner with him and Melinda.

When I planned this journey, I spent a lot of time thinking about where I would go and where I might play. I couldn’t have planned this particular day. A show, a place to sleep, a bike ride, a shared meal. One thing opening into another.

After the strange feeling of the week before leaving, I’m beginning to feel more present. There is work to do, and plenty still to figure out, but today I felt comfortable letting things unfold.

I want to give myself time to take it in before thinking about the next stop. I’m curious where this will lead. For now, I feel pretty good being here.