A young American wants to pace his life to a rhythm he learned in Rome.

Justin Britt-Gibson, 25, attended Temple University's Rome campus in the first semester of 2004. He studied Italian cinema and creative writing, and graduated that same year with a degree in film and communications. He now lives in Los Angeles, where he is pursuing a career in screenwriting.

It was the middle of January 2004 when I landed in Rome. Winter was well under way, and a cold rain showered the streets for what seemed like an eternity. It was my first time overseas, and I barely knew a word of the language.

Upon entering the city, a multitude of signs, billboards, and banners made clear that the language barrier would be a tremendous hurdle to overcome. I remember getting lost on my first day, and the days that followed, foolishly asking the natives in English for directions to my destination, or ordering food at the local café, butchering the little Italian I knew. And how could I forget the exchange rate — the almighty Euro mercilessly draining my debit card thanks to its superior value to the American dollar.

Then there was the coffee.

For a red-blooded American addicted to the jumbo-sized cups of joe served at Starbucks, espresso took a little getting used to. "Where's the rest?" I often thought to myself, staring into the teeny cups housing a small shot of caffeine. Finally there was the breakfast: croissants, sweet rolls, doughnuts, and a variety of other pastry confections. How was I going to survive four months without my eggs, pancakes, bacon, and toast? I was beginning to believe I wasn't made for life overseas, that I was better off spending my last semester of college in a more familiar environment. Then, not a day later, something miraculous occurred … an event that would singularly quell my fear of alienation and homesickness.

I made friends.

Braving the human traffic flooding Piazza del Popolo [Piazza of the People] with fellow students, we came upon a small underground pub. A compact chalkboard flanking the pub advertised cheap drinks, so the choice was a no-brainer. It was there that we met our soon-to-be best friends, Fabrizio, Federico, Antonello, and Flavia, sitting across from our table, eager to make contact. Fabrizio intrepidly dragged his stool to our table, introduced himself, and asked where we were from. Within minutes, the rest of Fabrizio's pack had gathered. We talked until closing time, comparing our respective cultures, learning the differences as well as the vast similarities. When management kicked us out, we hit the streets.

An after-hours trek became an all-night tour of Rome. We visited the Trevi Fountain, a celebrated structure featured in one of my favorite films, La Dolce Vita. I was awestruck as we strolled through Piazza Navona, encountering the late-night bustle of street artists and merchants. We marched along the walls of the Vatican City and jeered at the security guards sleeping comfortably through the graveyard shift in their vehicles. Finally, we climbed the Spanish Steps and were treated to a magnificent view of the entire city. As we watched the sunrise atop the majestic steps, any doubts, fears, or frustrations I harbored for this new experience were erased. All of the sudden, I felt right at home in my new surroundings and looked forward to more all-nighters with my new Roman "brothers."

Over the course of the semester, Fabrizio and the crew exposed us to the real side of Rome. No amount of maps or travel books could compare to our native navigators, who treated us to the more obscure nightspots around town. Hookah bars, discos, pubs, cafés — we frequented them all. The more we explored, the more pals I made along the way. In fact, my nights out became so common, my studies got less of my attention. But how was I supposed to hit the books when the real Italy called me outside the university gates?

Pretty soon I had grown accustomed to life in the Eternal City. I felt I'd found a new home. Imagine arriving at the realization that you are having the best time of your life. My experience in Rome was, and remains, hard to top.

I became a local, giving clueless tourists directions and holding conversations in Italian. Thanks to daily interaction with my native buddies, I was speaking the language more fluently and frequently. My acquaintances were my informal Italian language teachers. The nights before big exams were usually spent with Fabrizio and Federico quizzing me on the fundamentals and providing shortcuts to a better understanding of their language.

And then the final week arrived. With my final exams complete and term papers turned in, I spent five gloomy days bidding farewell to Rome and the friends I had made over the course of the semester. Without their camaraderie, my life abroad would not have been the culturally rich, rewarding experience it turned out to be.

I was consumed by my experience in Rome with its comfortable and easy-going rhythm to life. The Italians gave priority to family and friends, and still had a committed, yet highly manageable, approach to work. Sure, my Italian friends had jobs, but they didn't seem to break their backs in the process like people often do in the United States. Three years later, it's this dichotomy between the two cultures that I continually struggle to balance here in America — the workaday, career obsessions of my homeland and the more leisurely pace of Rome.

Three years since my semester overseas, Rome remains embedded in my thoughts. Not a day passes where I'm not consumed by the temptation to drop everything and flee to Italy's capital and pick up where I left off in 2004. Thanks to the valuable friendships I sustain to this day, a couple of couches are always waiting for me should I ever return.

I can only hope to offer my Roman friends the same favor when they are able to visit me in the States.

The opinions expressed in this article do not necessarily reflect the views or policies of the U.S. government.