The art of taking up space

Venice has a way of making you feel like the main character in a lush, sweeping film.

I arrived late one evening, just after Christmas. The city wrapped in a curtain of snow — big, wet, thudding flakes, the kind that lands with a gentle thump on your coat. The water taxi slid slowly through the dark, navigating the heaving water and the low visibility, the whole scene lit only by the glow of lamps along the canals.

By the time I reached my hotel, I was cold but wholly enchanted. The welcome was warm, with the sort of old-world graciousness Venice does so well. And the next morning — as if the night’s snow had been a dream — the sun was dazzling, the sky wide and blue, and the streets and canals shimmered with light. I wandered for hours, happily lost, pausing only to gape at some small bridge or ancient doorway or colorful shop window.

By mid-afternoon, I was deliciously tired and settled into an outdoor café on the Grand Canal with a glass of prosecco. Gondoliers floated past, some singing, others chatting, as they passed each other, warmly in rapid Italian. The waiters, clearly amused that I was the only person mad enough to sit outside in brisk winter air, surrounded me with tall propane heaters. I felt cocooned in warmth. Antipasto was served, and more prosecco. The world was perfect.

And then, Prince Giorgio arrived.

He touched down on my table like an A-list guest making a fashionably late entrance — plumage shimmering with purples, blues, and greens, tiny ruby-red feet clicking on the tabletop. He strutted, head bobbing, giving my antipasto a professional once-over. The audacity. The confidence. The absolute lack of apology for gatecrashing my solo moment.

Yup, a magnificent creature, Prince Giorgio was a handsome fellow, but nonetheless a pigeon.

I laughed out loud. And it struck me — maybe midlife is about embracing our own inner Prince Giorgio. Landing where we please. Strutting without permission slips. Showing up, feathers gleaming, in spaces we were never “invited” to but fully belong in.

We wait too long for perfect timing, the perfect welcome, or the perfect company. But sometimes joy — and delight — comes from dropping in, unannounced, and claiming the table. Even if you’re just there for the prosecco.

Because here’s the thing: at this stage of life, we’ve already earned our seat at the table — in Venice or anywhere else. We’ve raised families, built careers, survived losses, started over (sometimes more than once). We’ve spent years thinking about everyone else’s needs before our own. Now, the Age of Savoir Faire isn’t about waiting politely for someone to pull out our chair. It’s about walking in, owning the moment, and ordering the prosecco because we feel like it. Take up space.

And yes, it’s about knowing how to laugh when life serves us the unexpected — even if it comes in the form of a pigeon with impeccable style and questionable manners.

So the next time life hands you a “Prince Giorgio” moment — unscripted, bold, a little ridiculous — take it. Enjoy it. And remember you belong here, in the middle of your own beautiful story, feathers and all.

Share with someone you know who needs to take up space. 
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Until next time.