Simmer Down

It's widely known by most people in my orbit that the topic of Italy occupies many cracks and crevasses of my brain and has since my first visit in October 2012. My evergreen Italian daydream isn't about being unhappy with where I live, nor is it a desire to leave my life behind in exchange for greener grass. But the undeniable magnetism I feel toward Italy does color the lens through which I view my life, specifically its lifestyle and culture. I love how Italians live. I love what they value. I love how they see the world. My curiosity to understand whether I can emulate any of that hasn't waned in the last 13 years since I saw it and felt it first-hand. 

To be clear, I know I will never experience life in America as an Italian would experience life in Italy. The big rocks that represent our differences (boulders, really) are immovable and forever ingrained in our respective countries' way of existing. However, the tiny pebbles that represent everyday habits, rituals, and certain characteristics of Italian life... that's where I believe small, mindful acts of imitation lend themselves well to adoption.

Admirably, Italians don't subscribe to the frenetic way Americans work, which is not to suggest in any way that Italians don't work hard. But I think they've mastered the ability to balance their priorities, to weigh matters of import with unapologetic clarity. In Italy, life simmers. Pace, intention, and simplicity are badges of Italian culture. In America, life boils. We value speed, productivity, and gratification. To me, these are irrefutable differences in our cultures.

I believe that time and perspective have a great deal to do with our cultural contrasts. Italy was sought after and conquered by various foreign powers for millennia before it was fully unified in the 1860s. Chief among its admirable qualities were its accessibility as a peninsula; strategic geopolitical position; advanced capabilities in the sciences, arts, and infrastructure; fertile lands and bounties; and of course, its beauty. Italy isn't lacking in longevity nor perseverance, which seem like logical companions to a country that prefers to simmer. Take it slowly... or "piano piano," as they say in Italy. There is a casualness to how Italians approach their lives that I think is a byproduct of their deep and complex history. On the other hand, if you don't clean off your plate, you will experience a passionate response that's anything but casual. Actually, that's a prime example of what they care about and thus, what deserves emotion.

Italy still lures people from around the world, from retired expats to digital nomads, many of whom are pursuing a life there... one our ancestors left behind 100+ years ago. Enter Tito Tiberio, my paternal grandfather who emigrated at the age of 17 to join his older brother in New York (I believe this photo of him was taken before he left Italy). Like millions of other foreigners, he knew his chances of living a better life hinged on the American dream. Enter me, the granddaughter of an immigrant who cannot let go of the possibility of calling Italy my second home. The irony isn't lost on me. 

Whenever I am in Tito's hometown, Casalbordino, I cannot help but reflect on our parallel truths that span more than a century. I so deeply wish I could have talked with him about life in Italy as a young boy and teenager, what his parents thought about him leaving the motherland, what his journey to America was like, did he ever regret his decision to emigrate, what was it like being a foreigner here. The list goes on. The Italy he left in 1920 is surely not the Italy we know today, especially considering post World War I recovery and the rise of Mussolini's fascist regime. And let's not forget the Spanish Flu of 1918... 

What I do know about my grandfather is limited to his time in America. I know that in a matter of 14 years on U.S. soil, he worked for the New York State railroad through which he gained citizenship, learned English, married my Italian-American grandmother Sarah DiRisio (whose father emigrated from the same hometown as Tito), bought a house, started his masonry business, and had his first-born son, my father Eugene (picture below). That brings him to age 31; from then on, his family grew like his backyard garden: fertile and abundant.

Like Tito, our ancestors came to America to pursue opportunity and they did so by working HARD. They had to demonstrate and/or learn valuable skills and trades and they earned a very modest living that would likely be appalling by today's standards. They raised generations of hard workers, too. 

My maternal grandmother of Irish descent, Anna McEneany Wallace, echoed the same sentiments to me throughout my adulthood, surely passed down by her parents and grandparents. The message was loud and clear: if you work hard, you will be rewarded (though sometimes the reward was high blood pressure, long hours, unfavorable working conditions, sacrifice, and hopefully some financial stability, too). Working hard was also a way (though not guaranteed) that you earned respect, which was absolutely paramount to immigrant families in their quest to be treated like citizens. Sadly, for the same reason, my grandfather refused to teach his children Italian for fear they would be treated like second-class citizens.

I wonder though, did our elders unknowingly set the foundation for what we now consider to be an unsustainable pace of life in America? Did their hard work and unshakable tenacity have the unintended outcome of creating a culture that burns Americans out at an alarming rate? One that prioritizes success over family, well-being, and enjoyment? Even with a 100+ year gap in the America they knew and today's America, we probably can't untangle these ideas. 

Speaking of burnout, I resigned from my job in May to take some personal time off. It has been an exercise in unwinding the stress and squelching the "live to work" mentality that is alive and well in America. This pause (and privilege) has been one of the best decisions I've ever made and has enabled me to be clearer about the things I don't want, one of which is to spend any one of my remaining years regretting how I lived my life and spent my time.  

In a few short weeks I'll return to Abruzzo, a fitting backdrop for my ongoing quest: to live a life that honors the past, celebrates the present, and visualizes the future like a kaleidoscope of opportunity. An ambitious pursuit, yes. But I'll take it slowly and let it simmer, as the Italians do.