Dear Limoncinis,
After months of upheaval, our little family has finally found our rhythm in Maiori.
The decision to move wasn’t an easy one. In the wake of the January Pacific Palisades fires — which hit us five weeks postpartum and displaced us seven times — raising our child in Los Angeles felt illogical. The rising costs, the lack of family nearby, the sheer speed of it all. We realized that raising our son surrounded by family, in a slower-paced town, might be the right move.
Six months later, I can say with certainty, it was. Groceries and childcare are affordable, neighbors bring food or offer to babysit, the Nonnis are always on hand, and while life here sometimes feels decades behind, the rhythm is kinder to my nervous system than the relentless churn of the U.S.
Of course, our arrival wasn’t seamless. Our first apartment was cramped, and the bureaucracy of setting up residency—especially for our baby—was unnerving. But each hurdle led to connection: kind locals stepping in with advice, parmigianas, and warm company.
I’ve always believed community is what you make of it, even in big cities. But here, I quite literally fell into a village at ten weeks postpartum—drained from the fires, depleted from trying to build up a dwindling milk supply, and grieving my Los Angeles chapter while stumbling into a new one.
The dolce vita fantasy can only carry you so far. Sunlight, pomodorini, and Tyrreanean beauty don’t magically erase exhaustion or culture shock. But what they do offer is a soft landing—a balm for the darker moments. And in this village, I’m learning that gossip and scrutiny come with the same closeness that makes life here livable.
If you ever find yourself at a fork in the road—wondering if you should take the riskier path, the one that feels uncertain but alive in your heart—know there’s nothing wrong with choosing it. Sometimes the so-called safe choice (like moving back in with family) is actually the bigger leap, because it means leaving behind the life you know best in search of something greater.
That was my big swing. Letting go of my familiar Los Angeles life, even with all its comforts and loves, to chase something I could only half-dare to dream of: raising my son surrounded by family, and building a future rooted in something deeper.
The landing is never as terrifying as the free fall in your mind. We build up the leap into something impossible, forgetting that life has a way of catching us—often in the arms of people we never expected to meet. The magic happens when you take the big swing. Not in the perfect plan or the flawless outcome, but in the strangers who become neighbors, the neighbors who become friends, and the friends who remind you that you’re not falling—you’re being carried.
To life’s big swings, leaps of faith, and greater hopes.
A presto, xT
