13 Months Abroad: How Moving to Italy Changed Everything

A look at how moving to Italy transformed my life, diving into the 13-month journey and seeing how this country became my next chapter.

The day I became an official resident of Italy last August. Photo by Vittoria Urzetta.

The day I boarded my flight from Toronto to Lamezia, I thought I knew what I was getting into.

I had dreamed about moving to Europe for as long as I could remember, picturing cobblestone streets, morning cappuccini, and evenings spent in the golden glow of piazze. Still, I wondered if I would actually be able to adjust once fantasy turned into reality. Fast forward thirteen months, after hopping between Calabria, Milan, England, Malta, Rome, and Iceland, I find myself not only comfortable, but completely convinced that this is where I belong.

This is the year that has taught me the most lessons in such a condensed time frame, and what led me to decide that moving to Italy full-time is no longer just an idea, but my next chapter.

Moving to Italy and Finding My Footing

In the days leading up to my departure, I was buzzing with anticipation, yet plagued by anxiousness. I had been waiting for this moment for years, yet there was still that whisper of doubt. Would I adjust? Would the version of Italy I built up in my head align with the one that awaited me?

Selfies with Deby in Bergamo storefronts.

When I finally landed, that anxiety melted away almost instantly. The first month felt like a summer holiday; August in Calabria is a whirlwind of festivals, fireworks, and late nights surrounded by family and friends. It’s impossible not to be swept up in the energy of it all.

I was so absorbed in the moment that it didn’t even feel like ‘real life’ yet. By September, reality crept in, and I had that quiet realization that this wasn’t a temporary getaway. I was actually living in a different country now. In fact, the moment it really hit me was when I went grocery shopping alone for the first time while my cousin was at work, and I was living with her in her apartment. As I placed the most random thing in my basket—toilet paper, a jar of green olives, a two litre bottle of water, bell peppers, and taralli—it suddenly hit me. Oh shit, I had thought to myself, I’m literally living in Italy now.

From that point on, each city I lived in painted its own picture of what life in Italy could be for me. Calabria tugged on my roots and reminded me where my family came from, while Milan reminded me of a less-safe version of Toronto that I was looking forward to leaving. Finally, it was Rome that spoke directly to my soul. 

The balance of history, chaos, and vibrancy made me feel like I belonged in a way no other place had. While my heart is undeniably tied to Calabria, Rome feels like home.

Expectations Meet Reality

Before I moved, I imagined I would thrive most in the small-town atmosphere of Calabria. I dreamed of affordable houses, sprawling gardens, and afternoon walks where I could walk through town and everyone knew my name. I quickly learned that when everyone knows your name, yes, but they also know all your business.

Privacy is a rare commodity in a place where curiosity is practically a community sport. Personal questions weren’t so much taboo as they were casual conversation starters, and it took me a while to adjust to that level of openness. I also learned the art of answering questions like a politician (that is, dancing around the answer and eventually changing the subject entirely).

As much as I cherish Calabria, I really understood that small-town life wasn’t at all what I wanted in the long run.

When I finally moved to Rome for the second time, everything fell into place. Walking those streets, navigating the markets, sitting in cafés where no one questioned why I was there, I felt an overwhelming sense of belonging. It was the perfect balance between the European lifestyle I had always craved and the energy of city living I had grown up accustomed to.

I found beauty in being completely alone in a big city as much as I enjoyed spending time with my friends and exploring with them.

As someone who has jumped around from house to house while living in Canada, home was always tied to people (rather than a specific place) for me. In Italy, however, I realized for the first time that the idea of home could be a place for me too, and that place was Rome.

Italy as the Anchor

At-home pizza nights in September 2024.

Daily life in Italy has felt like slipping into a rhythm I didn’t know I was missing. Learning the language has been both humbling and hilarious. Some days I speak slowly and deliberately, stumbling over verb conjugations and incorrectly flip-flopping between tenses, while other days I surprise myself by chatting away with confidence.

Either way, people often tell me how much I’ve improved, and that reassurance goes a long way when you’re bent over a grammar book for hours every week.

Making friends also came easier than I thought, which was a relief. My social circle grew quickly, filled with people who are just as passionate about the little things as I am. Of course, passion sometimes comes with stubbornness, and I’ve learned that Italian debates can be a full-contact sport (especially when 99% of your friends across Italy are also Calabrese). In between the lively discussions and the laughter, I’ve found a community that makes me feel like I belong.

It’s this sense of familiarity that really sets living here apart from simply visiting. Recognizing the neighbour taking his dog out for a walk in the evening at the same time you usually are coming back from exploring downtown, knowing exactly which aisle in the grocery store has the olive oil, being greeted by the same cashier who asks how my week has been; these are the tiny markers of a life being built in a new place. They’re the threads that weave ‘tourist’ into ‘resident.’

Even when I get caught in the frustrations of Italian bureaucracy, waiting endlessly for citizenship approval or being reminded that my bloodline may be Italian, but my paperwork apparently needs more convincing, I can feel it. This is where I belong.

Side Quests: England, Malta, and Iceland

While Italy was the centrepiece of my year, I did sneak away for a couple shorter adventures before my 90-day EU travel visa expired. A month in England was equal parts exciting and culture shock. After a couple of months of practising Italian, it was refreshing to speak English day in and day out. Yet, I couldn’t help but miss Italian food, especially when faced with a steady diet of pub meals when I was out and about. Thankfully, my friend Leanna rescued me with a balance of her delicious home cooking and letting me cook too, proving that English kitchens are capable of miracles when the right person is behind the stove.

Some of my best memories from England are small, intimate moments: making watercolour art with my friend over breakfast, exploring the oldest castle in the country, and wandering through the department store Liberty of London for the first time. Days spent losing myself in the Victoria and Albert Museum, my favourite museum in the world (so far), also felt like slipping into a dream.

There was also a weekend in Brighton with my long-time friend Amy and her dog, where we explode vegan restaurants and went for walks through the bustling streets and along the seafront together.

Pastizzi making with mamma in Malta. Photo by Charles Bugeja.

From England, I hopped over to Malta to meet my mom. The difference was immediate, not only in the food, but also in the atmosphere. With Maltese roots on her side of the family, there was a deeper sense of connection as we explored together.

We went to see a symphony as part of the Three Palaces Festival, learned to make pastizzi from a local, tasted olive oil fresh from the source, explored museums, and indulged in Michelin-recognized and starred restaurants. After weeks of heavy English fare, Maltese flavours felt like a revival. More than that, sharing those experiences with my mom gave Malta a kind of magic that will always stay with me.

Then there was Reykjavík in February, a trip that my cousin and I had been planning since her first visit to me in Toronto back in the winter of 2019. Finally seeing it come to life after years of anticipation made it even sweeter.

We filled our days with adventures that felt straight out of a dream: horseback riding across snowy landscapes, spotting whales along the icy waters, and watching the Aurora ripple across the night sky multiple times. In between, we warmed ourselves with incredible food and wandered through museums that gave depth to the city’s rugged beauty.

Personal Growth

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in thirteen months abroad, it’s that growth sneaks up on you. You don’t notice it day to day, but suddenly you look back and realize how far you’ve come.

Cooking has always been something I loved, but here, it became a full-on passion project. With no one hovering over my shoulder in the kitchen, I finally had the freedom to experiment. Hosting dinner parties complete with multiple courses and dessert became a new joy. There’s something deeply satisfying about feeding people and watching them linger around the table, glasses of wine in hand, as conversation flows.

The language was another frontier. Even when I felt like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and tongue tangled, improvement was happening (even when it felt like it was happening super slowly). Friends and family often remind me of how far I’ve come, which is reassuring when all I can see are my own mistakes. Even dialect has crept into my vocabulary, sometimes without me even realizing it…much to my Italian teacher’s dismay.

Life (trying to) imitate art in Anzio. Photo by Vittoria Urzetta.

Beyond the tangible skills, the biggest shift was learning to be alone and embracing it. Solitude, once something that felt overwhelming, evolved into a sense of peace that I love. I realized how much I thrived on having my own space, my own routine, my own time. That independence is something I’ll carry forward, whether in Italy or anywhere else.

Relationships and Connections

If I was nervous about making friends when I first arrived, that fear dissolved quickly. My social world expanded in ways I didn’t expect. I went from avoiding eye contact on buses, terrified that someone would strike up a conversation I’d have to stumble through in Italian, to chatting comfortably with strangers on my ride home in Rome.

Along the way, I met people who stayed in my life for only a few days, others for a few months, and some who feel like they’ll be around forever. These connections reminded me to trust my gut. 

Good people usually reveal themselves quickly, even when they occasionally do things that make me roll my eyes or that I don’t necessarily agree with. The same goes for the ones who aren’t worth my energy—no amount of polite conversation I force myself through can sugarcoat a crappy personality.

Distance, of course, also reshaped my relationships back home. Thank God for video calls, because without them, I don’t know how I would’ve managed, or would continue to manage. Still, some moments hit hard, like watching my goddaughter grow up through a screen, hearing her say my name for the first time in a video instead of in person. It’s made me cry more than once. I miss my people every day, but the gift of technology means I can live this life in Italy without actually losing them. I can have both, though it’s undeniably different than it was before.

What I’ve gained int he process of this all is balance. The friendships here, the deepened-albeit-shifted bonds with people back home, and the ability to carry pieces of both worlds with me. It’s bittersweet, yes, but it’s also proof that connection can stretch across oceans and still remain as strong as ever.

Paper lanterns being sent into the sky over Vazzano on the week of Christmas. Video by Emily Fata.

The Challenges

Life abroad may sound glamorous, but it obviously comes with its fair share of challenges. There’s the obvious things, like being away from my Canadian friends and family, but then theres also the daily life struggles navigated in a different country, as well.

Trains, for one, seemed to have a personal vendetta against me during my early months in Milan. I’ll never forget the day I tried to visit my cousins in Bergamo, only to face cancellation after cancellation until I was in a state of panic and completely gave up. I sat on a bench that Saturday morning on a platform for hours, waiting for the mess to just sort itself out

Giving up, it luckily did sort itself out, and I got there hours later than planned. It was a lesson in patience, I guess.

Speaking of lessons, I also learned that booking an apartment in Rome without air conditioning during a summer heatwave was a terrible money-saving strategy. Let’s just say heat stroke is not the vibe you want when you’re trying to feel romantic about Italian summers. Neither is nearly fainting in Termini Station when you’re all alone and trying to make your way back to Calabria for the August holidays.

On the other hand, loneliness was something I expected, but never actually experienced. Even when I was on my own, a sense of contentment kept me grounded. My three months alone in Milan were eye-opening; instead of feeling isolated, I found myself embracing solitude in a way I never had before. That time marked the beginning of knowing myself more fully, of seeing the authentic version of me take shape. It was like I had finally stepped into my own skin.

Challenges also showed me that resilience isn’t something you decide to have, it’s something you discover you already carry. Every cancelled train, every bureaucratic hoop, every sweaty night without air conditioning reminded me that I could handle it. I could bend without breaking. That kind of confidence doesn’t come from easy days, but rather, comes from the ones that make you want to shave your head in the heat and still laugh about it later (no, I didn’t crack and shave my hair off in the end; I persevered and just cried about the heat instead, like a big girl).

The Magic and the Mundane

What I love most about Italy is how everyday life feels cinematic. Waking up naturally without an alarm, sipping a cappuccino at the dining room table while catching up on my texts from Canada, or even listening to true crime podcasts while I clean the house—these small routines have become sacred. They give structure to my days and remind me that home is built from rituals as much as it is from a place.

Taking over the kids' area at a Ren Faire in Calabria. Photo by Domenico Lo Duca.

Then there are the extraordinary moments that feel like scenes straight out of a film. Dancing tarantella in a piazza in Calabria surrounded by hundreds of people, watching fireworks burst over the Tyrrhenian Sea, or biting into fried food at a sagra under the summer night sky. Sitting in a park eating fries, wandering past ancient columns embedded in modern buildings, or seeing a stray cat sip from a centuries-old fountain. Even conversations at home on the couch about the Roman Empire and the Ptolemies somehow carried that magic.

It’s the blend of both the ordinary and the extraordinary that made my year so rich. Daily routines made me feel grounded, while bursts of wonder kept me wide-eyed. Living abroad heightened everything, so even the simplest experiences have shimmered with significance. That balance is what made thirteen months feel like a lifetime’s worth of memories.

All in All

When I look back at the past thirteen months, it feels like a lifetime contained in a single year. I arrived anxious but excited, wondering if I could really build a life in another country. Now, I’m leaving this chapter behind with absolute certainty that moving to Italy is not a temporary detour, but the road I was always meant to take. Rome feels like home in a way no other place ever has, and Calabria will always hold a piece of my heart, even if it’s not where I settle for now. Maybe one day, in my retirement, in a villa on the sea, when my bones are old(er) and my joints are achi(er).

Looking out over the Roman Forum from Musei Capitolini. Photo by Enzo Abruzzese.

What I’ll miss most in these coming four months back in Canada are the routines and relationships that filled my days here: the morning coffees, the slow walks, the friends who turned into family. At the same time though, I’m ready to step into a new version of life, one where I get to build my own space, create my own rhythms, and carry forward everything this year has taught me. It’s bittersweet to leave behind Toronto for good, but I know in my bones that this is the right choice.

And, obviously, I am beyond thrilled to spend time with my core people in Canada. To squeeze them and hold them and talk to them face-to-face. To have sleepovers and dinners and go for drives together. My aunt, uncle, and cousins that I hadn’t seen in over a year came to Italy just a few weeks ago and when I saw them, I had one girl on each side of me and held their hands for hours without letting them go. When you’re away from people for so long, you get used to it, but when you have the chance to be with them again, it hits you how tough it actually is to be separated from the people that you love so much.

Ultimately, this experience isn’t only about geography. It’s about saying “yes” to the unknown, to growth, and to living intentionally. You don’t need to pack up and move across the world to find that, though I highly recommend visiting Italy at least once in your life.

Expanding your world can happen in small ways too, by pushing past comfort zones in your own city, opening yourself up to new people, or embracing the rituals that make life feel more like living. For me, it meant moving across an ocean. For you, it could mean something entirely different.

What matters is that you give yourself the chance to find it.

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