I'm going to try to move to Italy?

Big news. Huge!

I’m going to do it. Or, at least – try.

I have an appointment at the Italian Consulate in San Francisco, in April. I got the first available visa appointment. I booked it on New Years. 15 days ago, I felt like if I didn’t just do the damn thing already, it was always going to be a maybe. Been there, done that – next. I’ve been in high gear ever since.

The last we really spoke about this, I had shared that the main thing holding me back was my 88 year old dad, who is the best and only has me. I decided that the only way forward was to talk openly with him about it.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, I think I know what you’re going to say…”

“What would you think if I moved to Italy? Or at least, for a little?”

“I knew that was what you were going to say, I’ve been expecting it. I moved to Florence when I was your age.”

We continued to discuss, but it immediately removed that primary worry from my mental tally. He said that maybe he would finally learn to use an iPhone so that I could “Facebook Time” him from a piazza. He wants to introduce me to his old landlord, so maybe I can live in his old apartment (he doesn’t fully understand that the world has drastically changed, especially in travel, in the last 15 years).

But, for now, I just booked and paid rent upfront for my dream apartment (in almost all ways) just across the Arno, in one of my favorite piazzas. Let’s repeat. I just booked an apartment in Florence! In a true Renaissance palazzo, in a true pocket of that history in all its glory.