I was happy to get back to the United States this time. What a shock.

Everyone who knows me knows about my love affair with Italy. I’ve made sure of it. A bad day in Italy is better than a good day in the United States. I’m having my baby on Italian soil so he/she can have it easier jumping cultures than it has been for me. Kings and queens had the right idea: the only reason to get married is to get a green card. But I’d rather die than get married. Why should I have to get married to be legal to work in Italy?

Why was I ready to come back from Italy this time? Was it my job? No. In fact, I resigned the morning of my return. Did I miss my boyfriend? No. He was there with me. Did I miss L.A. traffic? Not.

Here it comes: I wanted to swim in my smelly, ugly, cold Santa Monica Y pool. Aren’t there pools in Italy? Yes, and I have swam in them. The thing is, going to the pool is something I do day after day, so I just want it to be easy. When I compare a visit to my local YMCA pool with going to any old pool in Italy, it’s easier in the U.S. Why? In Italy, you may or may not need a doctor’s permission to be able to swim. Other times it’s just a money situation like it is here. Pay, swim. Sometimes there’s no towel at the pool in Italy like at the Y and you have to drip dry. It all depends. I can handle that for other things. But I don’t want to waste time on variables when I swim.

So you could say it was a time thing. Swimming and going to the gym take a chunk of time out of the day. Three hours gone (snap). Like that.

That must be it. After all, the whole point of the trip was to spend time in Italy together, sharing what I love most with the person I spend the most time with these days. My boyfriend.

Did we spend time together? Yes. Awake, or asleep? Well, a bit of it we spent asleep. Awake, we shopped a lot, an activity foreign to me. We ate a lot. Also an activity foreign to me. Although it’s a good habit to have, and it’s fun to do in company. We also argued a lot. An activity foreign to me. Well…

We do argue. Kind of. Most of the time we agree. In the United States that is. It works like this: Anthony states his opinion and does things his way and, for the most part, I go along with him. In a nutshell: While he likes physical comfort, I like mental comfort. He makes a lot of money, and gets more responsible things accomplished in a day than I do. I prefer to do the minimum responsible required so that I leave myself the maximum freedom to work on creative projects. Needless to say, I make a lot less money than he does. I also feel free to work on my projects. He doesn’t.

I say we don’t argue much in the U.S. because we spent a month together in New Orleans last year. Our relationship in New Orleans was easy; it was a dream. I loved it. Okay, he was working. I had just finished a job. My reward to myself was a block of time to work on short stories.

Hey, wait a minute. Now that I think about it, we really didn’t spend all that much time together in New Orleans. We couldn’t. He was doing film work, which means I spent 10 to 12 hours every day writing all alone. He would come home, we would eat or not eat, enjoy a little time together, go to bed. Weekends we spent gallivanting around Jazz Fest, flying up to NY (another story), visiting plantations, hanging out with set buddies, visiting swamps, and feeding marshmallows to alligators.

Maybe the trip to Italy was more difficult because we spent more time there together. Twenty-four seven really. And have we done that before? Not really, not since we started hanging out, and not ever for five weeks straight. Okey dokey, then.

Well, shoot. What’s ideal? What’s the solution? Why can’t everybody get along?

On the other hand, as my Aunt Shirley said this morning, it’s pretty remarkable people get along as well as they do. We build roads, we build countries. We haven’t self-destructed yet, despite the number of people and opinions co-existing on this planet.

What if she’s right?
Why do we try to push toward an ideal? (Is that American?).
What about ‘If it’s not broken don’t fix it’?

In Italy last month, we certainly heard a lot of badmouthing going on about the U.S. and what we’re doing outside our borders. What does that say about the relationship between Italy and the U.S.? Is it falling apart? Should it be fixed?

Well, can we fly there? Can they fly here? Yes. Can we learn Italian here and there? Can they learn English here or there? Yes. Can we share our products? Yes. Well then, sounds good. Not broken. Don’t fix it.

That was easy. Was it too easy?

Maybe the thing to ask is this: Should we be doing more to help them? Well, should they be doing more to help us?

Can’t we help ourselves and not expect too much from others? My friend Narayan says it’s smart to be as self-reliant as possible. That way, if others choose to help us, we’ll be appreciative rather than expecting they should, in which case we feel frustrated or offended when they don’t.

Or how about this: Can I shut up about what I love? More precisely, can I shut up about Italy? I did say we spent a lot of time together on our trip. I didn’t say how much we shared. I shared. Too much. Anthony is a saint.

It could be we share what we love to make sure that people are informed. That way, they can make choices and lead fuller lives. If we’re lucky it’s not because we want to shame them into acting, and doing what we want them to do.

I’m well aware that I sing Italy’s praises day and night. It didn’t help us in Italy. Did it break our relationship? Let’s see.

Are we still together? Yes. Do I still love him? Yes. Does he do things that annoy me? Yes. Does he love me? Yes. Do I do things that annoy him? Yes. But we also do things that are wonderful and loving and generous, too. Let’s say we appreciate each other more than we annoy each other. How do I know I can speak for him? Well, we’re still together. If at some point in the future he decides to leave me, I can conclude that I annoy him more than he appreciates me. But for now, we’re together and we like it. That means what we have is not broken. So there’s nothing to fix, right?

The real risk here is what it means to admit that for the first time in my life, I was ready to come back to the U.S. I am risking something: my identity as a trans-Italian. Maybe I don’t want people to think they’re right about me. I really am American at heart. Italy really isn’t so great. I’m just like everyone else. Whatever.

Or is it I don’t want to admit it to myself? Italy has been a big part of my identity for so long. Thirteen years now, and counting. It’s been my passion. What does admitting I was ready to leave my huge passion say about me? Does it mean my dream is dead? Am I no longer useful to people as a role model for pursuing dreams?

Who cares.  

I do love speaking Italian, and going over there. I love Italian culture. I admire their traditions of going home for lunch and taking a few weeks off every August. (These traditions are changing, by the way.) I don’t think it would hurt us to spend a little more time away from our jobs. People do have value if work is not their priority in life, you know. (Gasp!).

Regardless of how I appear, nothing changes my decision to start a grad program in Italian Lit this fall. What for? Well, because I love it. Huh? What are you going to do with a doctorate in Italian Lit? I don’t know. Use it as writing fodder, maybe. Same thing I did with my BA in Theater from U.C. Santa Cruz. (Funny thing is, most of my post-BA jobs have been in theater or film, so there you have it).