the last time i posted on Substack, several friends reached out to see if i was leaving California for good. and the truth is, even if *i* didn’t know it (really, i didn’t), they might have been onto something.
good or bad…now that’s the part up for debate.
BUT!
before we go further with the navel-gazing-Harriet-the-spy-ing-word-dumping that i have planned, let the record show i do still have my LA apartment — and my landlord is still watering my plants — and there are still 23 days until the US Presidential Election, and nothing is going to stop ME from voting. so make sure YOU are registered and ready, babes!!!!
all of this to say, up front, and loudly — i’m not really going anywhere.
probably. i mean. not yet?
like most stories, this one is a long one. but if you have the time, i’d love to tell you about it. actually, i want to stomp it into online existence with my size 8 digital footprint. i want to remember it for myself. i even want to inspire you, dear reader! i want you to think that i’m brave and trying new things and running towards something bright and sparkly, not just running away from the Big Bad Things chomping at my heels. but it’s late where i am. i’ve been working at the library all day, crammed elbow-to-elbow with a dozen bright-eyed international students who are all dressed WAY better than me, and who are all studying economics and/or fashion and/or art restoration and/or artificial intelligence. also, i’m supposed to meet a friend for dinner. which means, for now, the “short” version of this story will have to suffice.
so. why am i in Italy?
here’s what you need to know:
in February, i had my heart broken. and one day i’ll write more about it, but not right now. in the aftermath, i lost my voice from how hard i cried. my mom shipped me an industrial-sized order of Kleenex with lotion (luxury!) and i used every last one. i started going on long, long, looooong runs with the same EDM songs on blast because it was only when i couldn’t breathe, AT ALL, that i could get out of my head. i stopped eating. i started napping on the floor and listening to ghost-hunting podcasts in order to fall asleep, because, somehow, the thoughts in my head were even scarier (spooky!). my dad sent me the very same self-help books from the ‘90s that he read after he and my mom divorced, one at a time, and i clung to each paperback liferaft until the next arrived in the mail. i also went to Paris to see Taylor Swift and got to write my first episode of tv — so it hasn’t been all bad. i’ve been hurt. and i’ve been very, very lucky.
but this year brought me down to the lowest i’ve been in some time.
and, while i was down there, i promised myself that i’d come back to Italy.
i am from the generation of hopeless romantics and privileged white women who grew up with Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love (although, I only saw the movie for the first time last year, and boy does it NOT hold up!). the first time i read the book, it was the summer before i started 8th grade, and i thought i knew what heartbreak was (HA!). i was on a weekend trip to New Hampshire with friends from school, and during our drive i annotated my copy with a kitchy mechanical pencil, all of us listening to a “new” album by Florence and the Machine. i remember it vividly, even now, maybe because i had never annotated a book before.
ever since that drive, every time i’ve gone through a heartbreak, i’ve re-read that exact copy of Eat, Pray, Love, and i’ve annotated it anew, eager to revisit all the previous versions of myself who left fingerprints in the margins.
and every version of her has dreamed of life and love abroad.
no, this is not my first time in Italy. the first was in 2015, for a mere twelve hours, in and out of Rome with the overnight train, and i wrote about it for one of our campus magazines at Syracuse. that summer, like now, i was grieving a break-up, and as i re-read that essay (will share it later), i can see just how afraid and bitter and YOUNG i was (even more so than today, if you can imagine). the second time i visited was Summer 2023, and i spent a full, magical month in Verona while researching a new project that i can’t exactly talk about just yet. the third time, this time, started off with me on the floor of my LA apartment, Googling language schools in Florence (or “Firenze”, if you want to be correct…and/or a pretentious expat) and finding one that offered housing.
i was supposed to stay in Italy for the month of September — studying Italian, following my heart, and working on a new book.
but…i’m still here.
before now, my experience studying foreign languages has been limited to two semesters of Italian in college (my worst class, by FAR), four years of high school Latin (which, i mean…you don’t even speak), and approximately 200 days of Duolingo. aka — i arrived here knowing NOTHING. not only that, but this is my first time in a classroom in YEARS, and i forgot how uncomfortable the desks are. also, flashcards?! what a concept! but the school is amazing, my classmates are amazing, the city is amazing, the food is AMAZING, and i’m learning firsthand that you will fall in love with whoever teaches you Italian, so you better be careful with who you spend your time.
after i booked my plane ticket, i happened to look at the 2024 vision board that i made with my book club (shout out to you, Book Club). i had entirely forgotten about it, but there, in the top corner, i found two, teeny-tiny words:
IN FLORENCE.
when i was little, perhaps too little, my grandmother and I watched A Room With A View. it stuck with me, and it was that memory that nudged me to pick this city as i planned my international escape (sorry, totally meant escapades). i assumed that everyone had seen this movie, but i’ve since discovered that a lot of my classmates haven’t, and i’m currently scheming to arrange a screening. if you haven’t watched it, or read it, there is one particular quote that i’ve been thinking about: “If Miss Honeychurch ever takes to live as she plays (piano), it will be very exciting — both for us and for her.”
that’s how i’ve been trying to live.
and if you’re up for taking advice — that’s how i want you to try living.
be it in Florence, Firenze, or anywhere else in this little big world.
last week, i took a few days off from class and went on an unexpected tour of the Tuscan countryside. a dear friend and former boss had booked the trip for herself, but she was unable to attend and the ticket was non-refundable, and that’s more or less how i ended up as the only 29-year-old (and single person) on a trip with a dozen couples in their 60s+. it was stunning, and deserves an essay all its own, and i’m also not exaggerating when i say that in the last 24 hours of our trip, everyone tried to set me up with their single sons/daughters. but the reason why i’m mentioning it here is because when i got back to this city, it was the first time i realized how insanely happy i feel — a real, stupid, blissful, poetic, cheesy, ooey, gooey, obnoxious, “i must write about this feeling” kind of happiness. the happiest i’ve been in months.
and even if it is only temporary, i think i did leave California “for good”.
because now i’m practicing how to find those little bits of good, and better, with every single day.
OH!
one last thing.
seeing as you’ve made it to the end of this essay, i wanted to tell you that i am soft-launching PREORDERS for my YA debut, KILL THE LAX BRO.
(!!!!!!!!!)
that’s right, talk about an off-topic mic drop. but like i told you before, this newsletter is the first place where i’ll be sharing book news outside my family group chat. and now, you can use this link to snag a copy of KTLB for next summer:
i’ll be sharing the announcement on socials very soon, plus the cover when i’m allowed. until then…i have homework to do.
più presto xo