Since moving to Milan, I have had dozens of remarkably similar versions of the same conversation. When I meet someone new, they ask where I’m from—one need not be Sherlock Holmes to realize it’s not Italy—and I reply, “Gli Stati Uniti.” When pressed further, I say, “California.” At that point, their eyes widen a bit and they say excitedly, “California! It’s my dream!”
Often they follow up a minute or two later with a puzzled question: “What are you doing here?!”
…..
A few weeks ago, my husband and I flew back to the San Francisco Bay Area. It was my first return since we’d left in October 2022, and in the weeks leading up to departure, I found myself feeling ambivalent about the trip. I was unsure of what it would be like to go back, because though I’ve only been in Italy 16 months, I feel in many ways like a very different person than when I moved here. I have been stretched and strained and broken over the last year. You might even say I have been born again.
We landed at SFO near midnight during one of the “atmospheric rivers” that have recently blessed/cursed the state and drove through the downpour to our house in the Berkeley Hills. As we entered, the time and distance since I was last there vanished. I took in the colors and textures and scents, and listened to the stillness of the hills, so very different from the hustle and bustle of Milan.
We awoke the following morning to the magnificent westward views of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge. I ventured down to the luscious garden to pick a bowlful of lemons. It was all so instantly familiar.
Yet it also felt…foreign. Like I didn’t belong there anymore.
Though we only lived in the house for a bit over three years, it was a family weekend house before that, so we have many years of memories there: Christmases. Easters. Birthdays, including my 40th and 50th. Dinners and parties, and visits from far-flung family and friends.
In the back yard lie the ashes of Zoe, the dog my husband had before we were married. Next door are neighbors who became dear friends as our “bubble” during the pandemic. Down the hill is the stately UC Berkeley campus, while up the hill is incredible hiking.
There’s a lot to love. All of which made the purpose of our trip more raw. Because we weren’t there to vacation; we were cleaning out the house and getting it ready to go on the market this spring.
Though our 10 days there were a whirlwind, we did manage to see quite a few friends, and I found myself having the same conversation a number of times. Someone would ask why we were visiting, and when I replied that we were getting the house ready to sell, a crestfallen look would cross their face as what I was saying dawned on them.
“Wait…if you’re selling the house, does that mean you’re not coming back? Are you staying in Italy?!?” And I would explain that yes, at least as of now, we are not planning to move back.
We’re staying in Italy.
…….
I’m no stranger to big moves. At 18, I left Grand Rapids for Chicago. At 21, I left Chicago for Nashville. At 32, I left Nashville for San Francisco. And at 50, I left San Francisco for Milan. I’ve left a piece of my heart in each city, and my restless side would love to forever flit about between them all. But as a mere mortal, the laws of time, space, and finance mean that is not possible. So these days I settle for memories of times gone by, with visits to create new ones too few and far between.
…….
California was my dream for many years. When I was a boy in Michigan, I looked forward to the annual Christmas card letter from my aunt and uncle in Orange County. Everything they wrote about California sounded so exotic and enticing to me. Mountains! Palm trees! Surfing in the ocean!
I was in my late 20s before I made my first visit to the Golden State. My friend Chuck, who’d been before, told me that if I went up into the Marin Headlands and looked back at San Francisco, I’d be smitten. He was right, and five or so years later, I watched Music City’s skyline disappear in the rear-view mirror of my Nissan as I headed west.
My life in San Francisco was glamorous and grinding, exhilarating and exhausting. I’m so grateful I got to call that place home.1 It was a city of constant “firsts” for me, including my first real boyfriend. It was also while living in San Francisco that I first visited Italy, way back in 2006. Funny how life goes.
…….
One sunny day during our trip, we took our jet-lagged selves away from the packing and purging and escaped to Tilden Park. For a couple hours I was swept up in the sights, smells, and sounds of one of our favorite hikes, and I wondered, Are we crazy to leave all this behind?
They say that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, and perhaps that explains why I wanted to move from California to Italy, while so many in Italy want the reverse. Maybe it’s the human condition to always want something more, or at least something different.
…….
The experience of packing up the house was an emotional roller coaster that brought home for me again how incredibly short life is. At 51, I’m almost certainly past the halfway point, and I’m definitely old enough to know that if we want to do something, we have to do it now. Not “someday.” So when we felt the tug toward Italy, we knew we had to go for it. It would have been much easier to stay; we had a lot to lose, after all. But it was time to go.
Saying goodbye to the house this time was harder than when we moved in 2022. This time there were tears. Because this time, I knew it was forever.
California is, in many ways, still very much a dream. But it’s not mine anymore. Now it’s someone else’s dream.
Subscriber Shout-Outs
As I mentioned last time, the response to the launch of my paid subscription options has been very encouraging! I’ll be recognizing paid subscribers—if they’ve given me permission to do so—in my newsletters going forward, but for today I thought it made sense to start with my original three. These folks pledged to support my writing before I’d even made the paid options available, so I thought they deserved a special shout-out. So thank you to Rod from California, and Wendy from Florida, and last but certainly not least, my father-in-law, Leszek Wolfram! I’m grateful to each of you for your early support of and belief in my writing. Grazie mille!
More Reader Feedback on Born Again
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Despite what you may see on the news, San Francisco is still vibrant in many ways, teeming with energy and life. It’s full of good people, people who are deeply rooted in their communities, working to love their beautiful city and care for each other.