allora and the former workaholics club
“Our alarm clocks have been replaced with roosters and church bells, and seasons are marked by whatever the farmer next door is harvesting.”
It sounds so idyllic, right?
Let me paint the picture for you: I’m super spoiled by our home. I’ve never been one to go house hunting and ask, “okay this place is great but what are my views?” Everywhere I’ve lived as an adult before was small, super cool but also included sharing a washing machine with several strangers. But this place… You want a small vineyard on a hillside off the kitchen? Got it. You want a view of the sun setting over the Italian Dolomites? Go take a shower and enjoy the vista. Would you like to make friends with the local stray farm cats? Please, show yourself to the front yard.
Where we live is everything I imagined (hoped! prayed!) living in Italy would be. So why was it so hard for me to just relax and appreciate it? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been obsessed with it from the jump, but something in me wanted to fight and reject this new life with all the fury I had.
Because what you don’t realize is that when you pull a Type-A, classic workaholic who has spent over a decade dedicated to “that” sparkly and impressive career life and drop her, jobless, into the honest-to-Madonna Italian countryside, she’s gonna fight like hell. I missed the rush. The e-mails, the contracts, the booked calendars, planning for Q4 in Q1, money, promotion, titles, status, call times, wheels-up, let’s go, that’s a wrap. Rinse and repeat.
I always knew I had an unhealthy relationship with work. I loved what I did but my career was totally that boyfriend I knew I should take a break from, but we looked so damn good together I could never separate myself. Who was I without it?
So when I arrived in Italy, and like so many people during the pandemic I was let go, my identity was in crisis mode.
You may be wondering why this news was so crushing (just get another job, DJ, move on!) Here’s why: I’m here as a military dependent, aka my husband is in the military. Years ago, in 1951, a U.S.-NATO military treaty with Italy was written that made it illegal for American spouses to work while living in their country. The SOFA (NATO Status of Forces Agreement) was written during a time when military spouses were primarily women and during an era when those women were expected to be home raising a family. This agreement still exists today. (Pause for reaction).
So I was frustrated. I was simultaneously growing a human, trying to be a present wife, soaking up the sights during constantly changing lockdowns and screaming inside my own head at the same time.
One day that first October here, I was feeling really low. We’d been living for two months in a stuffy hotel room with two cats and I was well into my first trimester. Not pretty. We were supposed to get the keys to our home the next day but it was now going to have to be next week because… Allora! I was gutted.
F*cking allora…
My husband, the precious gem of a man he is, took the day off to get me into some fresh air. We grabbed a coffee at what would become one of our favorite little cafes here. While sitting outside we noticed at the home across the street there was an etching above the door that had the words “GALILEO GALILEI” on it. After translating, we learned that this was a home Galileo stayed at in the summers of the 16th century to study the night sky. Just a casual, random corner. No tourists, no icon on a map. That’s Italy for ya.
There’s something that happens when you live here and aren’t just passing through. You start to see that every little town, no matter how small or big and sparkly, was built with the same grandeur and forza as Florence and Rome and Milan. Brick by brick, the intricate floors, the walls, their chiesa, the streets, the doors (oh my god the doors!). There is more hidden in Italy that you’ll never see or touch that is holy, gorgeous, historical. Weathered by centuries but still standing more beautiful than ever with a story to tell.
What I’ve come to realize is that Italy, and my neighbors here, they don’t care how sparkly my career is or was. They really don’t even want to talk about it because to them life, and family, and appreciating what is in front of you in the moment is so much more important. They revere the long haul, the family legacy, and the grandeur that you as an individual bring to the room. I moved here so ingrained with consumerism thinking that what I did for a living, and that the company I worked for mattered. Like I’d be invisible without it.
It’s taken two years for this realization to finally sink into my head (Yes, I am that stubborn. Ask my husband.). It’s taken that long for me to let go of the anger and embrace who I am now. All the lessons Italy was teaching me took their time slowly weathering me into where I am now and who I have come to be. Being a guest of this country has shown me that there really is no shortcut to rebuilding yourself the right way. It can’t be forced or rushed or fit into a powerpoint presentation. You have to embrace the allora no matter how inconvenient it may be, and eventually she will embrace you in return.
Andiamo.
Galileo’s 16th century summer hangout
For more information and context on the SOFA treaty, please check out the article from the February 2022 digital issue of Stripes below.