I've been thinking a lot lately about my choice to live here in Italy. Lots of times, people tell me it was such a courageous thing to do - which is a huge compliment, but one that I feel like I can't exactly accept. At least without this disclaimer: I was 23!
Don't get me wrong, I don't in any way feel like it was a mistake moving here, or do I think I was stupid for doing it. But, you know, it's much easier to make decisions when you're 23, than when you're, say, 36 (not that I'm that old or anything). When you're 23, it's just sort of what I call the Pin the Tail on the Donkey choice: close your eyes, find the general direction your heart (and inner ear balance) takes you, extend your hand forward and pounce, and hope to get it centered as best you can.
Luckily, I'm a pretty mean Pin the Talk on the Donkey player. My instincts are good (which is probably the A#2 hope I have for Sofia as she grows up - A#1 being health, of course), and I knew instantly that Home was where Andrea was. How did I know this? Because, from the first time we met, I could sense his presence in a room without even lifting my eyes. Pretty good reason, huh?
While my decision to come live here was actually easy as pie, the actual living of it, day in and day out, can be pretty damn hard, however. The first years were especially wrought with adjustment problems. I loved this country as a student and visitor, but then the working world (often a contradiction in terms in Italy), the bureaucracy (bureau-craZy), the politics, the ass-kissing, the chauvenism...the INJUSTICE I often find here is hard for an American to swallow - even one as seemingly "un-American" as myself.
I still have that angst, and often, especially with Peanut in tow now. But - and maybe this is precisely *because* I have Peanut in tow now - I feel like I've been able to come back 'round full circle to remembering why I appreciated this country in the first place: people here haven't removed themselves from the actual act of *living*. I've pshawed the Italian month-long August holidays - but I've since realized my real question is, why doesn't everyone take a month off in August? Here in Italy, the important things include Family, Food, Friends and Fun. Does that make this a lazy country? Well, yeah, it does - which is what really gets my panties in a knot when all I need is to mail a letter at the post office and everyone is on a coffee break. But now I've come to respect the coffee breaks: why on Earth should I NOT have a coffee break? You can wait, life can wait, the financial market sure as hell can wait. I only live once. Why should I be denied my cup of coffee just so I can help you mail your letter?
I wish I could print this out and somehow have My Past Self from 10 Years Ago read this post....oh, the laughter (and frustration) I'd get from myself!!
Anyway. Am ending this now so I can go get some coffee. Go Italy! (just please stop closing supermarkets on Sundays!)
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