Michelangelo once said, “I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” As I walked through the ancient ruins of Pompeii, I felt that same sense of uncovering—of witnessing something trapped in time, waiting to be set free.
When Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, Pompeii was buried under 13 to 20 feet of volcanic ash, preserving everything—the people, the animals, the buildings, even the food. The entire city was locked in its final moments, discovered centuries later like a time capsule.
Pompeii, frozen in volcanic ash for over 2,000 years, is more than just a city. For me, this eternal city was a story about life and death, of what we leave behind and what truly matters.
Curiosity as a Lens
Curiosity provides us with new lenses through which we can see ourselves and understand our relationship with the world around us.
As I walked through the streets of Pompeii, I couldn’t help but wonder: Do we need history to guide us? Does it shape us and touch us in a meaningful way? The value of history isn’t about doing it again or going back in time but rather learning from it—holding on to the treasured parts and learning from the painful, ugly parts so we can do better.
In a thousand years, will anyone look back at us the way we now look at Pompeii and wonder about our lives, our struggles, our triumphs? What will we leave behind, and what will it mean to those who come after? What will they see? What story will it tell?
We have choices.
The Bread
As we walked the cobbled streets—streets that had intentionally created ruts where ancient Roman chariots traveled—there was so much to take in. Beautiful frescos were preserved on the walls, the amphitheater, the bath houses, and the storefronts of many women-owned textile and other commerce businesses.
But there were two images that I couldn’t stop thinking about—a perfectly formed loaf of bread. There it was—bread that had been preserved for thousands of years and looked like bread that my grandmother would make.
I stood there, imagining the baker—was this a rushed task, part of the daily grind? Or was there something soothing in it, the way my nana found comfort in kneading dough, feeling its texture under her palms?
Who was the bread for? Was it for a family dinner, or perhaps sold in the market? The hands that prepared it never knew their work would outlast them by thousands of years, that a loaf of bread would survive a disaster that wiped out an entire city. And yet, there it was, frozen in time.
I’m not entirely sure why I’m still thinking about that bread. Maybe it’s the connection to our shared humanity. Thousands of years later, we are still doing the same task, creating bread in the same shape and for many of the same reasons.
The Woman Frozen in Time
The other image that has stayed with me is of a woman lying face down, her arms above her head, one hand gripping the hem of her dress. Her position suggested that she had pulled it up over her mouth, trying to protect herself from the ash that fell relentlessly from the sky. In that position, she took her last breath.
What was she thinking in those final moments? Was she rushing to the market, baking bread, or maybe running toward someone she loved? The ash came so suddenly, and her life—like the city around her—was stopped in its tracks. Was she alone? Or were people that she loved near her?
Where did her thoughts go in that instant? Her final act was not one of hate, jealousy, or superiority but one of survival, of protection.
The Unexpected Power of Pompeii
It’s funny—Pompeii wasn’t really on my must-see list. In fact, I didn’t think ruins would feel much like a vacation. Thank you to our travel agent, who really pushed and encouraged me to add this to the list. Here, I am sharing with you the images and lessons that have stuck with me.
The people of Pompeii lived lives not so different from our own. They went to the market, ran businesses, baked bread, and gathered in bathhouses to socialize and network. In many ways, they were just like us. And yet, in a single moment, everything was gone.
What Really Matters?
Pompeii reminds us how quickly life can change, how fragile and fleeting our time here really is. When disaster strikes, the coins in our pockets won’t save us. The grudges we hold, the insecurities we cling to, the need to be better than someone else—all of it becomes meaningless.
The lesson Pompeii offers is simple: Focus on what truly matters.
Ultimately, the love we give, the connections we make, and the way we show up for one another matter most. The everyday things—the bread we bake, the conversations we have, the kindness we share—are the legacies we leave behind.
What Will We Leave Behind?
As I left Pompeii, I couldn’t stop thinking about the buried city, the stories frozen in time, and what we—today’s generation—will leave behind. Are our insecurities, our need for validation, our hate and jealousy worth the energy we give them? When our time comes, will those be the things that matter?
Curiosity, love, connection, and unity—these are the things that will outlive us.
Pompeii teaches us that our time here is uncertain and brief, but we also have the power to choose how we live.
Hate takes up so much energy, and when the end comes, it will not save us. It will only serve to drain our precious energy and time from living this short life.
Like Michelangelo, we are all carving something from the marble of our lives.
