The Ligurian Sea laps gently against Aquarius’ hull.
We’ve dropped anchor off the shore of Livorno, close enough to watch rows of mint-striped umbrellas gather across the beach like scattered sweets. Even the Italians have surrendered to the shade this afternoon.
I stay beneath the sail. The breeze never quite found us today, and despite several applications of sunscreen and a determined effort with layers of linen, I’ve accepted that the Mediterranean sun will always win over human ingenuity. From my vantage point, though, I have something better than bronze. Out here, the horizon has a way of making every destination feel uncharted, daring you to discover just how far you’re willing to go.
Today is the Fourth of July.
Nine years ago, I would have spent it somewhere in the United States. Instead, my husband and I are floating under the Tuscan sun on our Italian friend’s sailboat with a friend visiting from Singapore. As the four of us have many air and nautical miles between us, we reminisce over shared prosecco, insalata mista, and frutta fresca.
A family waves to us from another boat. For now, it’s bungiorno. In a few weeks, we’ll say arrivederci, pack our lives into boxes again, and exchange another address for one we haven’t yet memorized.
People seem to ask the same familiar questions:
Is it difficult to leave each time?
Don’t you worry about being on your own?
How do you know if you’ll like it there?
They’re reasonable hesitations, though I notice they aren’t anchored around visas, finances, or learning another language. They are misgivings about our quality of life, rather than survival.
I usually just chuckle with a straightforward reply: this is what we’ve always wanted.
No, I’m not multilingual, although I’ve discovered some wonderful dishes simply because I misunderstood the menu. I’m still an introvert at heart, yet I’ve built friendships across five continents. I used to panic riding the metro, just three hours from where I grew up. Now I cross countries every few weeks by land, air, and sea. Ironically, trains remain my favorite way to travel.
There is an entire world beyond the life I once imagined, and I still find myself wondering what waits just over the next horizon.
Winds of Change
Moving abroad has a way of exposing routine. How you buy groceries becomes a new lifestyle. Holidays are no longer just about nostalgia; they begin to encompass new traditions. Conversations require more patience and understanding. There is no certainty, only the next unknown you haven’t yet discovered.
I’ve relocated six times in the last nine years, and I couldn’t join my husband for all of them. With every transfer, the illusion of control gives way to resilience. After the first move, we discovered what determination and two pairs of willing hands could accomplish. The third taught us to expect the unexpected. By the sixth, we’d learned to trust the process instead of trying to control every outcome. When each move is guided by purpose rather than escape, you’re no longer lost in the past. You’re mapping out your future.
I notice the customer in line behind me listening intently; they intervene to clarify my order before I even unlock my phone for translation. I greet my neighbors who speak different languages but somehow understand one another perfectly over a misdelivered package. I’m often baffled by unfamiliar cultural nuances, then laugh once I’ve realized I unconsciously mirror them.
It’s no surprise that when living a transient lifestyle, even possessions eventually lose their importance. I no longer remember what I put in boxes all those years ago, and many of my photos have been digitized to save limited storage space. I prefer consumable, clutter-free gifts for the same reason.
Memories replace the sentimentality once held by possessions.
What I cherish instead is time well spent. Coffee on the terrace, the scent of jasmine drifting on the breeze. A six-hour airport layover that became an unexpected conversation with the stranger beside me. Brunch followed by video calls with friends scattered across continents until the ritual became as familiar as Saturday morning.
These experiences make my life choices lighter to carry than trinkets ever could.
Safe Harbor
Creating these memories isn’t easy.
Living this way stretches your world while shrinking your circle.
Connection must stretch across time zones.
Relationships bend to accommodate distance.
Home may not have a permanent address, but it becomes a state of mind
and is shared whenever you open your heart.
Current Flow
There are moments when the lack of permanence catches me by surprise. A new traffic light has been installed in our rural hometown. The receipt of graduation announcements when you still remember your friend’s children in diapers. Another lease ends, but this time, our furbabies will be in a locket around my neck instead of their carrier under our seat.
The passage of time offers no promises of what remains in waiting, much like the boats around me on their own course.
Perhaps that’s why this afternoon feels so meaningful.
The umbrellas will fold, and before long, the beach will be empty. Families will gather their towels and wander this coastal city for the best seafood dinner. Tomorrow, someone else will drop anchor in this very lagoon, unaware that another family celebrated their independence here today.
A rising tide lifts all boats.
In a way, we all rise and settle with the tide.
We watch the sunset from the pier, and my husband reaches for my hand. He smiles at me, then turns to our friends and suggests we end the night with pistachio gelato. It’s moments like this that make me feel so grounded, assured that I’m where I’m meant to be.
We’ve spent years testing the depths of waters neither of us could have imagined when we first married. I don’t know if we’ll ever have a forever-home, but we’ll forever wonder if we don’t seize the opportunities that arise.
The purpose of an anchor is to hold steady for a while, until it’s time to voyage again. I’ve learned expansion works much the same way. Perhaps home isn’t the place where we finally stop moving, but the life we’re willing to keep discovering. The sea never promised certainty, only possibility. So far, that’s been enough for me.
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Arbor of the Vine provides inspirational content and resources designed to support women’s creativity, wellness, and personal growth through our collective platforms, including Echoes & Vine Magazine, The Word on the Vine Newsletter, The Echo Effect Podcast, Lore & Leaf Studio, and the Emerging Voices Youth Writers’ Guild. Our content reflects lived experiences and diverse perspectives, celebrating empowerment, resilience, and thoughtful connection. While intended to inspire and guide reflection, it is not a replacement for professional guidance. For situations requiring emotional support, we encourage seeking care from a qualified medical or mental health professional.
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