Life Is What Happens When You’re Busy Making Other Plans
As with most of what I’ve been sharing on this adventure, I’ll write something down, walk away, then return. I get frustrated with myself in what feels like an inability to really capture what I’m experiencing in a thousand words or so.
Then, I justify walking away with the realization that the experience is more important than the record. But I’m not so sure that’s entirely true.
Life Is What Happens in the Little Moments
A Florentine local, whom I’ve had the sincere pleasure of calling a new friend during my time here, asked if I plan on “writing about Florence.” To that, I thought, “Certo,” but replied in English: “Of course.” And this, I suspect, is the first of many times I write about Firenze.
“Lindsay in Firenze,” the deliveryman said with a smile as he handed me my groceries. I returned the grin with a slightly embarrassed chuckle.
“What would you like for dessert?” The waiter asked. As I began to reply in English, he playfully waved his finger and shook his head, saying, “In Italiano, in Italiano!” because he knew I’ve been learning. I proceeded to ask him how large the tiramisù was, ultimately deciding on a digestif of limoncello – all in Italian.
It’s these seemingly minute exchanges that give me glimpses of what I think I came here looking for: belonging and home, or whatever iteration you use to describe the comfort your nervous system feels – a comfort that might even feel initially foreign, yet comforting nonetheless. I think I came here looking for a semblance of family, dead and gone, of who I am after being abandoned in more ways than one by more folks than I count. That’s not an easy thing to talk about, and truthfully, something only my therapist is profoundly privy to until now.
Seven-Year-Old Lindsay
I began traveling extensively in my early thirties. By extensively, I mean I left the United States on solo adventures and jumped at every chance to explore the Golden State’s length. One of the many things that has consistently encouraged me to pack my bags and book the flights is travel’s capacity to change us, to skew our perspectives, even if only a nudge. Alongside therapy, it’s been the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.
My therapist recently asked what seven-year-old Lindsay would say to “Lindsay in Firenze” now. To that, I replied, “She’d be in awe and disbelief.” At seven, I don’t think I even knew what travel was yet. I knew about Italy because I grew up Italian American. I knew it was possible to live outside of the country I was born in because my dad and my nonna both had. But we were “poor.” Money was always an issue growing up. For that matter, money was always an issue in my early adulthood, several years after I lost my parents.
My therapist replied, “I think she’d be proud.” My therapist is exceptional at reminding me how hard I’ve worked, how much effort I’ve put into breaking generational traumas to cultivate a life that allows me to move to the other side of the world for a few months out of any given year. I am proud of myself, too.
The path wasn’t easy, but I made this life happen for me. Throughout the years, I’ve made small and not-so-small decisions that paved the way. That’s not to say that I haven’t had support on this journey. People need people. I am no exception. I know who those people are, and I see you.
The Interconnectedness of Life’s Unending Spectrum of Emotions
When I began planning this trip in January 2025, I had very clear plans that really took shape over the nearly eleven months that followed. What’s remarkable is that many of those plans have been overshadowed by life’s way of presenting what we need when we need it. “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans,” John Lennon once aptly reminded us.
I left Los Angeles and arrived in Firenze on November 5th, with “plans” and “goals” and a wealth of research. What I’ve been met with since is realization, insight, new, healthier habits, a plethora of things to ponder, and an uncertainty that would typically deliver fresh new hell, I mean anxiety. Alas, it has primarily delivered excitement and motivation. And also fear. Because it’s all interconnected. Italy has shown me a version of myself I’m only beginning to get to know, and I love her.
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Elena
January 12, 2026 at 1:53 PMI think I would love who I am in Italy too, I’d better find out. Beautiful writing!
Linds
January 13, 2026 at 12:55 AMThank you for reading, Elena, and yes, I highly recommend a prolonged stay in Italy 😉