Reflecting on a Decade in Italy

Ten years ago, I packed up my life into a single suitcase, my cat Mason, and whatever optimism I could muster and moved to Italy.

I was excited, of course, but the months leading up to the move had been incredibly stressful. Relocating internationally with a cat is not for the faint of heart, and I was already running on anxiety and determination before I'd even arrived.

I was moving for love. My then-fiancé had been offered a job in Tuscany, and after years of long distance, I imagined we'd finally get to enjoy a normal life together.

I'd go to Italian school, learn the language, make friends, find work within six months, and settle into my new Italian life.

It all sounded rather lovely.

As it turns out, I was spectacularly wrong.

I was woefully underprepared for just how difficult those first years would be. Learning Italian was much harder than I'd anticipated. Even something as ordinary as grocery shopping could send me into a panic. I'd gone from being a capable, independent adult to someone who struggled to accomplish the simplest tasks without help.

Eight months after arriving, circumstances took me to a small village in Emilia-Romagna, where I lived with my future in-laws. I married in December 2017 in a decidedly unromantic fashion, and by January 2018, I was finally back in Tuscany, living just outside Florence.

I started working, mostly as a nanny, and eventually began picking up massage work in the city center.

But those first three years were hard. Really hard.

I was lonely, frustrated, and struggling with the loss of independence that came with being financially dependent on someone else. Participating in conversations with groups of Italians was exhausting, even after months of studying. Friendships were difficult to establish, and Florence, wonderful as it is, has a revolving door of people coming and going.

For a long time, I wondered whether I'd made a terrible mistake.

The pandemic and the disintegration of my marriage was probably the most difficult chapter of the entire decade.

After a year without working, my savings were gone. I was starting over with little more than a mattress on the floor (IYKYK), and I was about a month away from calling my brother and asking him to buy me a plane ticket home.

And then Rebecca came into my life.

I needed a roommate, and she needed a place to live. Her first and last month's rent gave me just enough breathing room to survive another couple of months. Work slowly started trickling back in, and somehow, little by little, I found my footing again.

What began as a practical solution to a rather desperate situation turned into one of the most important friendships. It's scary to think how differently things might have turned out had she not walked through my door when she did.

There were plenty of other people who helped me along the way. My former brother-in-law Roberto and his partner Erika were an enormous source of support during those early years. Although our lives eventually went in different directions, I'll always love them dearly and be grateful for the kindness they showed me.

And then there's Caterina.

One of the greatest gifts Italy has given me is her friendship. She's seen me through so many different versions of myself and has always been a steady, loving presence in my life. She welcomed me into her family, and I have the enormous privilege of being Zia to her boys.

Living abroad has taught me a lot about friendship. Some people are only meant to be part of a particular chapter. Others come and go with the seasons, which is especially true in a city as transient as Florence.

I've experienced the heartbreak of friendships ending, including one that hurt more than any romantic breakup I've ever been through.

But I've also learned to recognize the rare people who love you through all your different versions. The ones who show up when life is ugly, celebrate your victories without reservation, and make you feel at home even when you're thousands of miles from where you started.

Those are the people worth holding onto.

About halfway through my journey here, I met Ovidiu.

And what a difference it makes to have a real partner.

Someone who supports your dreams, challenges you to face your fears, and brings peace rather than uncertainty into your life. We've traveled, laughed, adopted cats, mourned losses, and built a life together that I genuinely love.

Of course, not all the memorable moments have been happy ones.

I've said goodbye to beloved pets, including Mason and, more recently, Dante, whose sudden death absolutely devastated us. We've welcomed Beatrice and rescued Virgilio. Each of these little creatures has been part of the story of my life here, and I can't imagine telling it without them.

And then there's the career I somehow managed to build.

When I arrived, I imagined I'd find a job at a wellness center, much like I'd done in Michigan. I certainly never pictured myself running my own business, working in beautiful villas throughout Tuscany, collaborating with other therapists, managing retreats, or organizing travel experiences.

There were some rather random jobs along the way, including three months selling leather handbags in a friend’s shop. As a vegetarian, not exactly my finest moment of ethical consistency, but a girl's gotta pay the bills.

Eventually, I took the terrifying leap and started working for myself.

It hasn't been easy, particularly when it comes to navigating Italian bureaucracy, paying taxes in two countries, and trying to make financial progress while the two governments seem determined to take an enthusiastic share of everything I earn.

But watching my business grow year after year has been incredibly satisfying. I've built relationships with wonderful clients, established collaborations, and created opportunities I never would have imagined ten years ago.

Getting my Italian driver's license was a massive turning point. Suddenly, I had the freedom to work beyond the city center and explore opportunities throughout Tuscany. Buying my car, Vittoria, was another enormous milestone; and thus named accordingly.

The fucking permessi di soggiorno….. I could rant endlessly on the nightmare this has been.

Years of appointments, paperwork, waiting, unanswered emails, and documents that were practically expired by the time they finally arrived.

Obtaining my independent work permit was a huge victory, it’s near impossible to qualify and only 500 are granted annualy! Finally receiving my long-term residence permit felt like winning a war I'd been fighting for years. It finally released me from the never ending bureaucratic loop allowing me to travel outside of Italy and take a breath. I learned to call, email, insist, follow up, and generally break the balls of anyone necessary to get things moving. Unfortunately this is how one must do things here to make any progress.

There have been so many extraordinary experiences along the way.

Traveling with my cugini Mike and Grace to Isnello, the Sicilian village our ancestors came from. Another dream vacation together in the Aeolian Islands for our wonderfully named Vulcation. The four of us watching Stromboli put on an incredible volcanic show is something I'll never forget.

Experiencing the wild spectacle of the Battaglia delle Arance, witnessing Romania's incredible bear dancing, discovering Matera, and exploring Italy and beyond by motorcycle.

And then there are the smaller things that have become part of everyday life.

Knowing the people in my neighborhood. Having my regular places. Running into friends unexpectedly. Sitting down for a proper lunch instead of inhaling something over a keyboard.

I've developed a real appreciation for slowing down, for enjoying good food and better wine, and for recognizing that life isn't supposed to be an endless exercise in productivity.

Although some Italian habits remain completely baffling; I will never understand the national terror of colpi d'aria. Watching in bewilderment people at the gym wrap towels around their necks like scarves to protect themselves from the air conditioning is something that will forever highlight my “otherness.”

Ten years here have changed me in ways I couldn't have predicted.

I'm more patient, more independent, more confident, and far less willing to tolerate other people's shit. I've learned that plans are mostly suggestions, that flexibility is essential, and that sometimes the only way forward is to figure things out as you go.

I've also learned that I can lose almost everything and still find a way to start again.

And again, if necessary.

I think living abroad changes your relationship with belonging, too.

I feel more Italian than American in many ways now, but I'll never truly be Italian. And when I return to the States, I don't quite feel entirely American anymore either.

I seem to have ended up somewhere in between, with one foot planted in each culture and neither fitting quite perfectly.

There are sacrifices that come with that.

I've missed weddings, birthdays, and years of watching my cousins' children grow up. I've missed being able to pop over and spend time with my brother, and I know there have been times when he's needed company that I couldn't give him.

I lost a dear friend to addiction and didn't even know what had happened until her funeral was announced. I missed that, too.

Those are the parts of living abroad that don't make it into the beautiful pictures splashed across social media.

You gain an extraordinary life in one place, but you inevitably miss pieces of the lives continuing without you somewhere else.

I don't think there's a way around that. You just learn to carry both the gratitude and the melancholy.

When I look back at the person I was in 2016, I hardly recognize her.

She was anxious, unsure of herself, and about to discover that life wasn't going to unfold remotely as she'd imagined.

I wish I could tell her to learn some Italian before getting on that plane. And perhaps to save a little more money, although I'm not entirely sure where she would have found it.

But I wouldn't warn her about everything that was coming.

Because if she'd known just how difficult some of those years would be, she would have never gotten on the plane.

And then she would have missed all of this.

The friendships, the adventures, the incredible meals, the art, the places, the animals I've loved, the career I've built, and the man I get to share my life with.

For the first three years, I thought I'd made a huge mistake.

By year five, I finally felt like I was finding my footing.

And now, at year ten, I feel like I've created a life that the woman who arrived here could only have dreamed of.

Not because everything has worked out perfectly. It certainly hasn't.

But because I know now that I'm capable of surviving the things I once thought would break me. More than that, I know I can rebuild, reinvent, and create something beautiful from whatever remains.

I'm proud of the life I've made here, but perhaps even more proud of the person I've become in the process.

And after ten years of unexpected detours, spectacular adventures, bureaucratic bullshit, heartbreak, laughter, and more pasta and wine than I care to quantify, I can confidently say that I'm happy with where life has brought me.

I have people I love, work that excites me, a home that feels like mine, and more ideas for the future than I know what to do with.

Cin Cin to my next bureaucratic test, Italian Citizenship.