I’ve never made a big production out of moving anywhere.

My first international “move” was when I flew to Mexico City on a one-way ticket. I’m not even sure I announced that I was moving per se. I took a few suitcases, definitely not any furniture, walked across the San Diego-Tijuana border, and just…did it.

Friends and family asked me how long I planned to stay, and I couldn’t give a clear answer. For as long as it feels right I would tell them (and myself). This became my motto over the years.

I wasn’t confident enough in my decisions to fully commit, and I didn’t want to let anyone down either.

I started off in a small Airbnb with roommates so I could quickly meet people and get to know the area. This is how I met my French lover, Pierre. He deserves a separate post. Then I moved into another apartment in the same neighborhood (Roma Norte), but with a very intense couple. Both of them were absolutely gorgeous models slash actors from Spain, and neither one of them spoke any English. After a very short and stressful stay, they dramatically broke up and our landlord kicked us out.

As I walked the streets of Roma, feeling a bit lost, depressed, and unsure of where to go next, I spotted what would turn out to be my new home.

Things turned around quickly at that point. I manifested the perfect casa (seriously it is crazy how I ended up in that house!), had emotionally stable roommates (a win!), made friends that I know will be friends for life, and fell in love for the first time since my divorce (not with Pierre).

And yet…I went back and forth between Mexico and the US a lot, unable to fully settle. Each time I would reenter as a tourist, rather than pursuing residency. Why complicate things? I slowly brought my books and crystals and other comforts of home, but my room at my parents’ place was a very comfy — and easy — backup plan. (It still is to this day.)

This pattern of not fully committing to Mexico continued for more than three years.

While I was happy with the chaotic city, I considered it more of a stopover. There was so much I loved, but it didn’t feel like my forever home. Call it an intuitive knowing, call it an inability to settle, but my heart was calling me elsewhere.

I was longing for Italy.

Italy!

I was VERY into Italy.

I was so into Italy, in fact, that I had an Italian roommate, an Italian boyfriend, and an Italian language teacher, all while I was living in Mexico. To say I was prepared to pack up and head to the land of pasta and amore in a moment’s notice was an understatement. I also had dual citizenship in my back pocket (through descent) and was ready to use it.

When my Italian boyfriend and I broke up after one exciting, yet rocky, year together (very Italian indeed), I decided it was time to try somewhere new. Some women get a new haircut after a breakup. I get myself on a plane.

I was in the midst of healing my heart and dreaming of all the Aperol spritzes I would consume when the pandemic hit.

During “pandemic walks” with my roommate (not the Italian one, she had since moved out), we would dream about traveling to Italy together. We fantasized about the men we’d meet, and more importantly, the delicious food we would consume. We needed to figure out her visa situation, but as soon as this pandemic was over, we were (hypothetically) on our way!

It turns out the pandemic wasn’t “just a couple of months”. While I was becoming more and more restless, Italy remained closed to tourism. I knew that Italy was my next step, so I continued to speak about it as if it were happening, putting the energy out into the Universe. I told everyone I knew that I was going.

I just needed a plan.

The pieces fell into place when a friend shared a post from a female digital nomads Facebook group: A Sicilian family was opening a co-living/co-working space and looking for someone who could help them get it off the ground. The requirements? Someone who was fluent in English, spoke some Italian, had a marketing background, and most importantly, wanted to live in their villa by the beach in exchange for helping them out.

I read it and immediately knew. The person they were looking for was ME.

I expressed my interest and less than 24 hours later was on a video call with a kind, young Sicilian woman named Irene. When I asked how long I could stay, she said most other volunteers would do two or three nights. I negotiated two or three weeks. I would be flying in from Mexico after all!

Now I had an exact location (Mondello, Sicily), people who would pick me up from the airport (a mother daughter duo), and a free place to sleep (at least for a while). In other words, I had a very typical Asia plan — just enough to get me going, but not enough to promise a long-term stay.

I bought a ticket to Palermo and packed my things into one carry-on and one checked luggage.

When my roommate asked me how long I’d be gone, I responded with my usual for as long as it feels good. And then, probably just a couple of months. And finally, I’ll definitely be back for Christmas.

Spoiler alert: I most definitely was not back by Christmas.

Italy had won my heart.

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