Some days you wake up and climb out of your childhood bed in a suburban east coast town, comb your hair, brush your teeth, throw a waffle in the toaster and head to school, sometimes grabbing a drive-through coffee on a good day.

On other days, you wake up to an 18-foot chandelier-mounted ceiling, swing open your Kelly green shutters, bound down the 88 cement stairs of your Renaissance age apartment building and head to the local bar to pound down an espresso and a Nutella croissant on the way to class.

I am in the right place.

Have I not been until now? I think it’s really complicated to say there’s only one “right” place because there are many different things connecting us to many different places.

There’s a quote somewhere in the history of time that goes something like “How lucky am I to have so many places and people to call home?” but I’m not exactly sure how it goes.

I got shat on by a bird today. In case you read that wrong, I did indeed write “shat”. Shat, as in the past tense of “sh*t."

Bird sh*t is good luck.

Today being the second time I’ve been targeted by a seagull, I can say first hand that once you double-wash your hair, all that’s left behind is a great story and a shared memory with friends that just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

Bird sh*t is good luck.

“I won the Powerball after getting sh*t on yesterday,” said no one ever.

I once won $4 on a scratch ticket in a gas station parking lot, but that’s the closest I’ve ever been to being classically lucky.

I am so lucky to be where I am.

Considering the good fortune that bird poop should bring, I realize that I am already surrounded by the best things I could ever ask for.

I am in the right place.

I am fortunate enough to be studying abroad in gorgeous Florence, Italy. Or as we professionals would say, Firenze.

I’ve been fortunate enough to grow up in the same house in the same town with the same family until I chose to leave to go to college. At home are my family, friends and most of the things that have shaped me to be who I am.

Home was the right place for me for the time that I spent there. If you were to ask angst-filled, pubescent, teenage Hannah, she would disagree, but semi-mature, wine-loving, adult Hannah would maybe even admit to missing home occasionally. Maybe.

Going to school a significant distance from home both allowed and forced me to make friends and a home out of unfamiliar territory, and now propelling myself thousands of miles across the world by choice is giving myself permission to wander, explore and delve into the incredible things I never would have found in my suburban east coast town.

Being in the right place doesn’t mean meeting Beyoncé in a public bathroom. Being in the right place means letting your breath match up to those around you. Being in the right place means crossing the street when no cars are coming, despite the little red man telling you otherwise. Being in the right place means smiling at passing strangers- or at the ground because apparently eye contact with strangers in Italy is not a normal thing. Being in the right place means missing your college roommate(s), best friend(s) and dog(s), while simultaneously sitting across from your new roommate(s) after a day in the Tuscan countryside with your new friend(s) while looking at pictures of when you met your landlady’s dog(s).

When you’re in the right place the world feels small; home is near enough that halfway across the world feels like next door. There are so many faces and places that live in my backyard and turning over rocks doesn’t feel like climbing mountains. Making friends is made possible by a mutual love of culture and appreciation for food.

When you’re in the right place there’s no other place to be.