Settling into Florence

So, I quit my job in London and decided on a whim to move to Florence.

Over the last six years I have passed a fair amount of time here and have fallen in and out of love with this city a million times over. I knew what I was signing myself up for. I romantised a future here, of pottering around markets and café hopping and also promised myself at different points I’d never come back.

My boyfriend is from Florence and we often said we would move here ‘one day’ which seemed like a distant idea we played with when the greyness of London was getting under our skin. Despite knowing all too well the flaws of Italy, it was nevertheless always put on a pedestal, it was the reward destination when we met our career goals, had enough savings and felt we could live well. In other words, when we felt ready.

And now speaking for myself, according to these practical terms I was by no means ready in that sense. I’ve come here with little more than myself, less than one year of experience in my profession, little savings and poor Italian language skills. But yet, I feel ready. Ready to prioritise other aspects of my life and measure its value in different terms. In how good the fruit was at the market this week, in how many secret little gardens, beautiful buildings or coffee spots I discovered.

A successful week is generally considered one where I’ve managed to escape the city to go the beach after work, to meet a new person and feel connected, or improve my Italian (a rare feeling to be honest).

Of course, most likely these won’t be my priorities forever, but for now they are. Less grind, more life which is not an expression I’ve invented. As a native Londoner this way of life feels counter-intuitive in many ways. I don’t know where things are going, but for the moment they feel good.

Italy it’s not a perfect place, but it is a special one. I don’t know how long I’ll stay, maybe till the summer is over or at least when I feel ready to move onto the next adventure. Vediamo.