Transitions

“The interval between the decay of the old and the formation and the establishment of the new, constitutes a period of transition which must always necessarily be one of uncertainty, confusion, error, and wild and fierce fanaticism”

-John C. Calhoun


Basically, our reason for coming to Italy was, “Why not?” The timing seemed right.
Our goals were a little vague—but intentionally so. We hoped to find a place to live, a lovely hilltown close to the sea, an affordable place that felt right to us. On previous trips to Italy, we’d flitted from town to town as “stranieri” (tourists). This time we wanted to put down some roots, stay long enough in one place in order to live more as locals and less as tourists-- to develop relationships and experience the rhythm of a local Italian life. We hoped to find work, but that prospect was a little more complicated, because in order to work legally in Italy we needed specific “documenti” (i.e., a visa) from the U.S., which we didn’t have. Mostly we were hoping, in this initial 6-month period (May to November), to figure out how to live here more permanently—maybe next year, maybe several years from now.
It took us about a month of hard searching to find “our place”, this island (Isola di San Pietro), this town of Carloforte. And when we found it, we knew it was special. A little slice of paradise.
Living here is indeed magical. A vital village teeming with locals of all ages, in a beautiful setting of azure waters, white sand beaches and hidden coves, baked in sunshine every day. What more could we want?
But as each lovely day flows into the next, and the next, and the next, time begins to slow. Days and weeks merge, and we find ourselves lulled into something like a walking sleep, groggy, lethargic, unable to remember what day it is, staring for long periods of time at nothing in particular. We are saturated in wonder--so what’s wrong?
When we first got to the island, there were always new places to explore, new experiences to occupy our time. But this is a small island, and we’ve had a lot of time. Jeff has ridden his bicycle up and down the island so many times he’s practically worn a groove in each of the three roads. Even working up the energy to go to the beach has become tedious. We’ve found so many hard-to-find “eyes of St. Lucia” we can fill a coffee cup.
I stopped having adventures to write about because we keep doing the same things over and over again.
It’s funny how quickly we get “used” to things, even really beautiful good things. Whether it’s a lovely ocean, a beautiful beach, a nice home, a good marriage, it’s hard to keep a fresh perspective. All those things in life that start out new and beautiful and exciting—they might still be there, but as the newness fades, the familiarity seeps in and we stop seeing the beauty. It takes so much work to keep seeing things new, to keep a fresh outlook. It’s hard to keep appreciating things.
Appreciation is easier when we compare something with its opposite. Eckhart Tolle says if everything in the world were blue, we wouldn’t even see blue anymore, because there wouldn’t be anything to compare it to. So we appreciate the sun when it’s balanced with rain. We appreciate the summer when it’s balanced with winter. We appreciate ease when it’s balanced with stress.
Rest and relaxation are good, but without anything to compare it to (like work) there comes a point when relaxation turns a corner and becomes flat and lifeless, and not even very restful. Some days, the most taxing thing I do all day is write up a grocery list. Or take a shower. On days when we have an actual thing to do, like someone invites us over to dinner, we’re almost giddy with excitement. It’s pathetic.
Feeling restless, we’ve branched out a bit, hopped the ferry and explored mainland Sardinia, taken day-trips to Cagliari, driven up to Alghero a few times. We’ve come to appreciate mainland Sardinia’s unique, remote, stark beauty.
But we needed something more.
What was this new and unfamiliar feeling?
Malaise?
Meloncholia?
Boredom?
By nature, Jeff and I are vibrant-minded people who never have a problem with occupying our time. We’re hard workers but we know how to relax and enjoy life. We share an appreciation for the Zen of “what is”, but also a quest for adventure.
We have found ourselves in a situation we hadn’t anticipated: neither tourist nor resident, we’re in this “in between” place. If we were tourists, on vacation, we’d just relax and explore, move on if things got boring. If we were residents, our lives would inevitably be structured around work, around accomplishing something.
Here we were, in ITALY, a country of endless beauty, feeling relaxed, yet restless and caged. Trapped. Bound by our remote location, but also by our limited budget, a budget so tight we haven’t set foot in a Carloforte restaurant other than to order a pizza
We began to fantasize about adventure, hopping a ferry to Sicily, hitting the open road. But not only did we have an agreement with our landlords for 2-1/2 more months of ridiculously low rent, but also we knew from experience that road travel is expensive and exhausting. Living out of a suitcase, eating in restaurants every meal, staying in hotels—we couldn’t afford it. Our situation here was good and sustainable, inexpensive and safe. Hitting the road was so enticing, though--maybe we’d find more towns like Carloforte. But maybe not. It was a serious gamble.
The road was calling to us. We longed for adventure, for newness, for something to happen.
We gnashed over our situation.
And then as luck (or destiny) would have it…something happened.
Ever since our travels began, we’ve been on a few email lists, alerting us to potential caretaker/housesitter positions. Usually, they’re either in locations we’re not interested in (like South Dakota) or jobs we’re not interested in (like cleaning) or qualified for (like horse experts), but one day I found a house-sitting opportunity in Le Marche region east of Rome. Assignment: take care of 2 dogs while the owners go on vacation to Croatia. Dogs! Le Marche! We jumped on it immediately, sent them our resume/profile, references, and spent the entire day, alternately checking email and crossing our fingers, chanting, “Please pick us, please pick us”. By the end of the day, we’d connected with the owners, they loved our profile, it seemed like the perfect fit, and the deal was done.
We were wild with excitement, dizzy with the prospect of a new adventure. A whole new region to explore! Something to write about! It’s the perfect opportunity to relocate and still save money. We leave in just a few short weeks.
The next day we talked to our landlords and gently explained the situation, and they were wonderfully understanding, mostly just sad we were leaving. (Rafaella even cried).
It feels strange to be this excited about leaving a place we were so excited to find, but life is strange sometimes.

NEXT UP: Harvest