Well, every Substack needs an introduction…

Welcome, dear reader; please allow me to introduce myself.

Before writing these words that grace your screens, I did ask myself the inevitable question: Does the world really need to hear from yet another woman who moved to Italy and discovered love, happiness, satisfaction, and insatiable food? After a long period of soul-searching (5 minutes!) and much-needed reflection, my answer is a resounding, unapologetic yes! 

I've dreamed of being a writer for as long as I can remember. I devour books the way most people binge Netflix. Books are my sanctuary, my comfort, my delight. My biggest dream is to make others experience the catharsis and joy I feel when I read, through my writing.

And why did I wait for so long to write? Well, I actually always wrote by myself and to myself like every shy wannabe author out there. I can confidently say that now, I am at a place in my life where I wake up every day and tell myself, today, I’m living exactly the life I want. I cherish it intentionally and acknowledge that arriving here was one hell of a journey. It has not always been like this, and it has most certainly not been easy.

I am also aware that, in today's world, it's not fashionable to speak of contentment. Social media has glorified exposing all of our wounds, parading them like carcasses decomposing under the sun, while the crescendo of likes feeds on our souls, one click at a time. Our societies often respect tales of trauma and, more so, tales of overcoming them, deeming this brave and bold. But the truth is, I don't feel like writing about those things, at least not today.

I'd much rather write a love poem about the creamy pistachio gelato I've savored well every day of this past week. I’d much rather talk about how, despite having a few things that annoy me here and there, on a macro level, I am so effing content with my life. I wake up next to someone I love, adore the food I eat, and find myself expressing respect and gratitude for the life surrounding me—from the magnolia trees adorning the town square to the off-tune songs of seagulls gracing my morning walks by the sea.

I no longer measure my happiness by the number of nice things that happened to me that day. Instead, I wake up feeling content—grateful to be alive, in my body, and given another day to experience this thing we call life. I would even argue that feeling satisfied with one's life is a profound form of resistance in a world that relentlessly markets the pursuit of the next big thing, owning the next expensive item, and the constant chase for success—often at the expense of our health, relationships, and our heart’s desires.

The creamy pistachio gelato in discussion, only hiding under layers of nocciola (hazelnut) and dark chocolate

Though I have always loved writing, what kept me from doing it publicly for so long was the uncertainty of having anything valuable or original to say. These worries were compounded by the fear of what others might think if I bared my thoughts for all to see. But now, at the grand age of 36, I know better. While I may not yet fully have internalized this, I know on a deep intellectual level that we are all mortal beings with limited time on this precious earth, and life is far too valuable to waste on worrying about others' opinions. With enough practice, I may one day truly believe and feel this at my core.

Where I take my morning walks hearing the off-tune songs of seagulls

So, dear reader, welcome to my Substack. If you have discovered this space through some universal karmic unfolding, I would be delighted if you chose to subscribe. Here, I will share my reflections on making sense of my time on this little planet, my musings on decades spent contemplating joy, satisfaction, and peace, my new adventures in Italy, a few ramblings, and some short stories.