The Moment My World Changed Forever

a 5-year anniversary...

I have often said that selling my saxophone at age 18 to help fund my move to San Francisco is my only regret in life.

At least a decade, probably two, had passed before I came to think of it that way. By then, I didn’t want to buy a new one, as so many people have suggested I do. You see, my disappointment isn’t so much about not continuing to play per se, nor even my shame at selling for a pittance what my parents worked so hard to buy. Rather, my remorse is more about not knowing the person I would have become had I carried that reeded horn of yellow brass from place to place and home to home over the decades and years. Who would that person be today? Somehow, keeping –or not keeping—this instrument seems to signify something much deeper than my relationship to high school band. If I had kept it, maybe I wouldn’t have moved around so much. Maybe I would have had a more conventional life. Something about who I am today, I think, may be quite different.

I try not to think about that much.

There are very few decisions I’ve made in 50-some years that felt life-changing. In retrospect, I can see where I made some definitive pivots. But in the moment, each decision seemed obvious and the next natural step. Almost like I had no choice.

Only one moment in time has felt like it truly changed my trajectory . A “sliding doors” kind of moment. I’m not necessarily recommending this 1998 movie with a young Gwyneth Paltrow, only noting the theory, which in the movie is based on chance. More generally, it’s the conclusion that if you make this choice, your life will unfold this way. While, if you make this other choice, your life will unfold in a completely different way.

For me, that moment was Italy, Spring of 2020.

I had an option to change my plans months before we began hearing about some new coronavirus. And again, at the end of February, just a week before I boarded a plane, when friends and family were expressing their concern, I (theoretically) could have canceled. And, of course, when Italy declared a lockdown and Americans were flooding the airports, determined to get home, I *could* have been in that crowd.

But I didn’t go earlier. I went exactly when I felt I knew I needed to go. And I didn’t leave when everyone else did. Instead, by a miracle of sorts, or fate, or pure chance, I made it to Sicily and found a place to hunker down for what was supposed to only be four weeks.

After that, my life would never be the same.

Sure, it was only five years ago. You might think it’s too early to tell. But this is what I know for certain:

• I would not have fallen in love with Sicily had I not spent several months there when there was nothing much to do.

• I would not have convinced the steadfast man in my life to return with me two years later and look at property, with the intention to buy.

• I would not now own and be renovating a historical train stop house in Selinunte.

• I would not have married Tom (yes, the steadfast one) in 2023.

• I most certainly would not have moved back to Idaho.

• And I wouldn’t be preparing to move to Sicily full time this fall (providing I can get my visa).

Yet, there was another, more immediate moment that held a completely different possibility. A possibility so real that I can still feel it. I can see it in detail. It was so close, so close, to being true. In that possibility, I never left the island. I never returned to the States. I am an illegal undocumented immigrant in Italy, living with anarchists. I’m not kidding. Someday I’ll share that story but for now please believe me … I either stayed and became that woman in that life or… I went back to being who I already was in the life I already had.

I chose the latter, not wanting to admit even through my sobs on the side of the road that as soon as I got in my car, the moment had passed. There was no going back. I had surrendered to my cousin’s argument that June was the best time to see Florence. The only time, one could reasonably assume, that it would be so devoid of tourists (even if there were still too many for me). Not wanting to disappoint him, I flew from the refuge of Sicily back up to the mainland to celebrate his 50^th birthday.

Then my return ticket to the States was cancelled for the second time. Over a few days, I fancied that I could return south and stay. When I told Tom as much, he said he understood. It was my decision. Just one thing I might—maybe—want to consider: it was possible that if I didn’t get back to the States soon, I might not be able to return until 1) there was a new president, or 2) there was a vaccine. And neither of these things could be counted on happening.

Again, if I hadn’t already left Sicily… but now, in Tuscany, FCO was so close. I buckled. Tom’s considerations seemed practical. I found an Itinerary that wouldn’t be canceled (as I flew to Germany and then to Canada before returning to the States). On July 3^rd, my four-month adventure was over.

All of that was five years ago.

Now I’m living a life I never imagined, and I never could have foreseen.

What about you? How did the pandemic change your life, if at all? What’s your strongest memory from five years ago?

On this anniversary, a special shout-out to Nino Zappala, proprietor of Le Luminarie in Balestrate, who offered me refuge during the pandemic and, without whom, I would never have found myself home in Sicily. A friend for life, to whom I will always be grateful.