We have officially been back and living in Utah for almost 2 months. Things are so different now. The last time I lived here I was 19 (I did move back when I was 21 but only for 9 months and even then, I felt that everything had changed and then I was married and moved to Italy before I had any time to really adjust to all the changes. So for all intents and purposes I truly feel like I haven’t lived in the states since I was 19).
It’s almost a surreal experience. Especially being back in the town where I grew up, I was being bombarded over and over again with memories of high school. Boyfriends, friends, moment’s in time I wish I could take back, or some I wish I could forget all together, and even some that I wish I could relive over and over again.
I also find it strange that I almost miss the person that I was when I was a high school. Little Jaycee with all her razor sharp edges. A little piece that fit perfectly into the puzzle that is Utah. She knew her place, where she belonged. She was confident, ambitious, took no shit from anybody. Intimidating even, and I remember feeling so proud of her. Loving her. Feeling confident in who she was. I miss feeling that way, confident and so self assured. She listened to nobody but the beating of her own heart. She was wild, and overzealous, a rebel child. I look back and I love her. I want to be her.
27 year old Jaycee is a mom and a wife. She’s done a lot of things, but I don’t think she even realizes what she’s done. At 21 years old she dated an Italian boy for 4 months, got engaged for 6 months, and then married this boy she hardly knew. She took a leap of faith, they both did. Knowing with all their heart and souls that it was the right thing, but that it wouldn’t be easy.
She bounced from job to job. No one would hire her because she didn’t have an italian education. Every 3 months her contract would end and she would start job hunting again. She worked in retail where people would mock her for not knowing certain words in Italian. Where she was constantly told she was stupid. Where they told her she couldn’t work the cash register, because it was “too hard” for her, even though they never let her try. And sadly she began to lose bits and pieces of herself. Of high school Jaycee. That confidence was chipped away piece by piece and she truly believed that she was stupid. That she was incapable of many things. She would go home crying and not understanding how all of the sudden she changed from a confident, intelligent woman to this. Someone who was so stupid she couldn’t even fold pants at H&M the “right way”.
She searched for jobs and finally found a job as a nanny. It was a dream job for a while. She had always been told how amazing she was with kids and she truly thought it would be a piece of cake. It was also a difficult job, with long hours, and sometimes no respect. After a series of unfortuante events, as I like to call it, she knew that if she stayed in this job her mental health would take a big hit, and knew that it was time to go. She quite her job and started to tutor kids with their english homework and conversation classes. Luckily she didn’t stay in that job too long because shortly after she found out she was pregnant and that they were going to be moving to Ireland. She was going to have another fresh, clean slate. She was going to start over again.
Before she made here way to Ireland she flew to Utah to visit her family and tell them her happy news! While in Utah she had the opportunity to substitute at a school, in the office. She would need to use the computers and the phones, and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to do it. For the past 3 years she had been called stupid and incapable of doing things like that. Something that she would have never thought twice about suddenly filled her with so much anxiety. She cried in the bathroom but knew that she would have to try. She was terrified of messing up, terrified of having more people think and see her as incompetent and stupid. To her surprise she caught on fast. It really wasn’t as hard as she had thought and it filled her with renowned hope that maybe she wasn’t stupid after all. That maybe she was intelligent and capable and that maybe she would be able to continue to feel that way in her new home in Ireland.
Her first year in Ireland was hard. With an incredibly difficult pregnancy and having no friends or family nearby it was pretty lonely. But she really didn’t mind because she was growing a little human. When her baby arrived she was happy, hopeful, and felt more like herself than she had in a long time. It was almost like she was glueing all those little pieces of herself that had slowly been chipped away piece by piece, back together. She enrolled in a yoga teacher training course. Her confidence grew, it was similar to dance, and she grew up dancing her whole childhood and teen years. She felt like she was smart. She asked great questions, provided great insight, and eventually felt knowledgable about the subject. She felt empowered. No one told her she was stupid, she made friends, she felt loved, and everyone was kind. Even the strangers. Living on the sea calmed the storm that was raging in her heart, and blew away the clouds of doubt in her mind. She felt at peace. She felt at home. She was happy. And then… it was time to move on.
And here she is. Here I am. Back in my hometown, trying to be that little piece that fit in the puzzle perfectly 6 years ago. Only to find that I don’t fit anymore, and no matter how hard I tries to jam that piece into it’s old place it won’t fit. My edges that used to be razor sharp are now soft and round and there is no place for them in this outdated puzzle. So it’s time to start building a new puzzle. Slowly connecting all the pieces, finding where I fit, while making lot’s of mistakes along the way. Softening new edges, and sharpening dull points.
She is me and I am her, and I am excited to see who I grow into. Even writing my journey out in third person brings me to tears. I tend to minimize the impact things had on me, or the way I felt and handled things, but when I pretend to write about someone else, or someone I no longer am, I can see how hard and lonely she felt. I remember feeling how lost she was. How desperate she was to understand and see herself like she used to, but always feeling like she was looking through a blurry camera lens that just couldn’t quite focus.
I may miss my home in Italy, and my home in Ireland, even when some of the memories are hard and painful, but I’ve missed my home in Utah too. I consciously took a break from writing on my blog when we found out we were moving because I really didn’t know how to process my emotions. I didn’t know how to analyze and understand everything that I was feeling. Maybe even writing it all out right now has helped me process the rest of my feelings.
It’s weird how grief and excitement can coexist. I still grieve for my life in Italy, but especially in Ireland. Ireland was never apart of our family’s plan. I remember when Lorenzo told me he found a job offer on LinkedIn and that he was thinking of applying. My first thought was, “Absolutely not! We’re supposed to move to Utah!”. As I opened my mouth to tell him how bad of an idea it was, I got this gut feeling that instead of shooting his idea down, I needed to encourage it. That just maybe this was actually supposed to be apart of our story. That Ireland could heal wounds in me that Italy had caused. So I said, “It doesn’t hurt to try!”, and the rest is history. We moved to Ireland and we fell in love. And I know that we will do that here in Utah too.
We love our new house. We love that we bought everything inside of it and made it into our home. We love that the walls don’t need to be bleached monthly to stop mold from growing. Or that Giorgia’s room actually has a bed and bed frame and not just a mattress on the ground, that quickly grew moldy and needed to be thrown out. We love that Lorenzo and I finally get to share a bed since we didn’t have enough beds in our old house. I love the rug I bought for our living room, and our leather couch. I love that Giorgia can roam and play without worrying about her getting into/touching something she isn’t supposed to. I love having a car and not walking 3 miles whenever we needed to get groceries. Although I do sometimes miss walking everywhere. I love living by my family and watching Giorgia finally get to know and have a relationship with her grandparents and cousins. I love that we have a little piece of Italy two floors above us since my best friend from Italy moved here as well. And selfishly, I love finally being able to go on dates with my husband. We never went on one date night the entire time we lived in Ireland.
It was time to move on. We were ready to continue to grow and build our life. There was so many things we both wanted to accomplish that we knew if we stayed we would have to keep on putting them off, and we knew it was time to start investing even more into ourselves and our family. So while I grieve the life we knew, I can’t wait for the life we’re building now. For a house I could finally decorate and buy furniture for. For the opportunity to go back to school and finally get my degree. For family to finally be within the same time zone as us. I was excited, and sad, and hopeful, I still am.
I’m ready to make new memories, new friendships with new and old friends. I’m ready to fall in love with Utah again, and enjoy it as much as possible because who knows how long we will be here. I am open to picking up our life, and moving to wherever our family feels called to. I guess that just may always be in the cards for us. A little nomadic family that always has to find their place in a new puzzle.
So here’s to my new (and old) beginning.
