What Happens When You Realise Your Dream? (Part 3)

Having made the rash decision to leave everything behind and move to Rome, things fell into place quite quickly. Within three months all my belongings were packed in storage and I was on a flight to the motherland.

The dream was to live the life I might have led had my parents never emigrated to Australia. I was curious to know how different might my circumstances have been? 

Unlike other Italian immigrant families, mine was small - just my parents, my two brothers and I. Growing up, our celebrations weren’t filled with the stereotypical cacophony one generally associated with Italian gatherings. So moving to Rome I looked forward to finally celebrating holidays and birthdays the ‘Italian’ way with aunts and uncles and cousins.

I also anticipated the novelty of speaking my mother tongue on a daily basis, of it being what everyone spoke as opposed to just a minority. But mostly, I looked forward to surrounding myself with a history and culture, fashion and lifestyle that I knew would inspire and stimulate me. 

The wellbeing I had experienced on every previous visit I was sure would be my daily condition rather than a holiday interlude.

In stark contrast to Brisbane, Rome immediately felt like home. Unlike any place in Australia, in Rome I felt SEEN; and it felt good. Every sight, sound, and smell felt right, familiar, and the city heaved with many forms of each.

I found work in a prestigious contemporary art gallery (as you do), settled into a comfortable apartment with an ex-runway model who was aging so gracefully I was ashamed of myself, and connected with old and new friends so organically that I felt utterly entrenched in my very own Dolce Vita.

I was living the dream, baby!

I felt alive in a way I had never felt before. Rome injected me with its vitality and the high was intoxicating. Its atmosphere enhanced even the most mundane tasks; like hanging the washing on the terrace on a Sunday morning while the city’s church bells chimed across the rooftops – I mean, come on!

Don’t get me wrong, even in Rome, Mondays still feel like Mondays, work is still work, and days could still be filled with drudgery. But when all these are tinged with the warm tones of ochre, amber, and blush, accented by cool white marble – colours that define the eternal city – even the dullest day felt vivid.

Everything about life in Rome was enhanced by a sense of urgency to make the most out of every day. Every interaction was soaked with purpose, whether good or bad, nothing was routine or a given. And at the end of the day you easily considered yourself a warrior who made it through another day. I can’t tell you how invigorating that is.

Living this dream felt exactly that, like being in a dream. But the thing about dreams is, eventually you have to wake up.

After about a year, it slowly started dawning on me that the dream was finite, that as wonderful as it now was, the life I was living was unsustainable. I had suspended reality to fulfil my dream. It was like I was on an extended holiday; yes, I had to go to work and pay bills and do chores and face some of life’s dramas like my uncle becoming seriously unwell and almost dying, but I realised it all felt removed from the life I had left behind in Australia, my REAL life.

Back home, in the meantime, my father’s dementia progressively worsened and my mother and brother were dealing with difficult decisions about his care. They were asking for my return and I knew it was time to make the choice I wasn’t ready to make. 

…to be continued…