I used to think this way about Italy when I lived in Canada. I would spend evenings overlooking the river valley and imagine it were a view of Florence at my feet, the Italian lifestyle the ultimate dream. In Italy, I would be a more exotic version of my current self- impeccably dressed, flitting effortlessly between Italian and English at cocktail parties in Milan with an international cast of friends and acquaintances. The eagerness to leave home was driven by this fear of missing out of what was surely waiting for me in Europe. But truthfully it's all a lovely illusion, this exaggerated idea of your parallel life in a cooler city with cooler people. It was not Italy that made me better, happier, but the choices I made myself on the road that led here. Now, the only thing I allow myself to think I"m missing out on has to do with gelato flavours.
Continue reading on the original site: The Book of Life