New Moon Coaching for Expat Women

I have often been asked if I miss Italy. I have had difficulty answering this question in the past and it still makes me a little uncomfortable, because it sounds all wrong to me, like a mangled subjunctive or “school” written without the “h”.

Often, the question is posed rhetorically by non-expat acquaintances who naturally expect an affirmative answer, imagining that I will start talking about food and family. Instead, I am left open-mouthed, with words and emotions crowding my throat—words and emotions that each go their own way, often even in opposite directions. I find myself at an impasse that can never be resolved with sincerity, because my interlocutor expects a simple “Yes, of course” that I cannot give them.

Because the answer is complex and cannot be forced within the limits of a superficial exchange, as if one were talking about the weather or how expensive eggs are.

But this is not a space to be frivolous, so I will allow myself to open a small door to my inner world and venture an answer, tidying up the tangle of ideas that crowd my mind at the thought of Italy, with two necessary premises. Premise number one: I will not speak here of loved ones, because they deserve a space of their own; premise number two: as always, what I write pertains only to me and depends on the experience I have of my home country and, by contrast, my experience of my newly found home, Colorado.

Things I miss: Having breakfast at the bar in the piazza, brick and mortar houses, city streets with historic buildings and cobblestones, the spontaneity of the people, going to the newsstand, the fellow villagers who have known my whole family over the decades, having the sea two steps from home, listening to passers-by speaking Italian, the sense of humor, the ability to laugh at one’s own misfortunes, the ease of making friends, the bluntness, the teasing among friends, the freedom to talk about politics without fear of offending anyone, conviviality, the film club in the tiny village cinema, the gastronomic culture.

Things I don’t miss: Rudeness, the anger and frustration of the people, the generalized sense of helplessness, the lack of civic sense, the “culture of the smartest,” the exploitation of workers, being paid 11 euros an hour for a profession for which I graduated and then specialized, fixed-term contracts renewable every year, nepotism, hierarchies, small houses, the scarcity of green spaces in residential areas, Italian television, machismo, narrow-mindedness, the sense of discouragement among young people, the lack of prospects, the Italian political class.

The Architecture of a Life Abroad

In my coaching work with expat women, I see these two lists everywhere. We often treat our lives like a ledger that must be balanced, trying to trade the frustrations of our present for the comforts of our past. But as many of us discover, the price we pay isn’t a transaction; it is an integration.

We are not choosing one country over the other; we are building an internal home that houses both. When we feel stuck at the impasse I described—unable to explain the tangle of ideas to those who haven’t lived it—it is often because we are trying to simplify a narrative that is meant to be complex.

When you are asked ‘the fateful question’ about missing home, what is the truth you usually leave unsaid to keep the conversation comfortable? Share it in a comment.