My Life in Salento – Part Four: After the Choice: Between Peace, Presence, and Longing

You begin again – from scratch. With things that once seemed so obvious back home: knowing where to go, who to call, how to explain a problem, how to fix it. You give them no thought in your country of origin. But when you start over, in a new place, even the simplest things require courage, trust, and a deep breath.

This morning, for instance, was supposed to be simple. Just a short drive to drop off a friend’s children at the beach, then straight to a day of work. But one wrong turn, one sharp bump against the curb, and I found myself on the roadside in rural Salento – with a burst tire, a foreign language, and no clear plan.

1. A Flat Tire, a Deeper Lesson

The rear tire was torn. I was alone. My Italian – good enough for daily life – wasn’t quite enough for car trouble. Everyone close to me was busy. I tried to explain, to ask for help, to trust strangers. Eventually, the tire exploded completely.

By sheer luck, a roadside mechanic passed and promised help within 30 minutes. We ended up visiting three garages, finally reaching the official dealership three minutes before their lunch break. They shrugged. “Come back in two hours,” they said. “We’ll see if we can help.”

Was it expensive? I didn’t know. Would it be fixed today? I had no clue. And the car? It wasn’t even mine. A friend had lent it to me, adding guilt and a deep sense of responsibility to the already chaotic situation. I lost a workday, spilled unexpected money, and battled my inner critic whispering, “How could you let this happen?”

But growth often hides in chaos. This is one more chapter in my story: a woman abroad, building her life, failing, learning, and standing back up.

2. Living with Imperfection and Moving Forward

That flat tire wasn’t just a mechanical failure – it was a mirror. A reminder that starting over in a foreign land means re-learning everything. Even small things become steep climbs. Calling for help. Explaining a problem. Trusting strangers. All in a different language, without a safety net.

You begin again – with humility.

3. Belonging and Responsibility: Staying Strong When No One Can Fix It for You

Living here means I carry full responsibility – for myself, my work, my life. There’s no familiar “system” or safety net. There are moments of silence when you realize: no one is coming to fix it. Not your parents. Not your siblings. Not a partner. Just you.

What carried me through? A stranger’s kindness. My willingness to trust, to ask, to stay calm. These are quiet victories. Strength doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it’s just steady breath.

4. The Small Victory: Being Yourself, Even When It’s Hard

At the end of this chaotic day, I smiled. Not because it was easy – but because I stayed grounded. It reminded me. Every small act of courage adds up. These moments matter. They shape the life I’m building.

5. The Parallel World

There is the world I physically inhabit – Lecce, with its stone-paved streets and baroque facades. And there is the world I emotionally belong to – Israel, where my three children live, where my parents wake up each morning, where my siblings and closest friends still gather on Friday nights.

Living between two emotional worlds is not a split – it’s an expansion. But it requires emotional resilience. There are days when the longing for my daughter’s hug, my son’s smile, my parents’ embrace, or my sister’s voice brings tears. There are moments when I want to be there – for birthdays, for hospital visits, for no reason at all.

6. Motherhood from Afar

Being a mother from afar is the hardest challenge I’ve faced. For 27 years, my children were the center of my daily life. I was the backbone – present, cooking, laughing, worrying. Today, I parent with presence – not proximity. I’ve had to trust their independence, believe in their strength, and be available in new ways: long calls, short texts, voice notes filled with love. I’ve had to redefine my role – not as the sun around which they orbit, but as a steady light they know they can always return to.

The same is true for being a daughter, a sister, a friend – I’ve had to reimagine intimacy, create rituals of connection, and accept that love can stretch across continents.

7. Redefining Belonging

How do we find a sense of belonging in a new place, especially as adults? It doesn’t happen overnight – and it rarely comes from similarity. It comes from shared laughter, from gestures of care, from being seen in your full humanity.

At first, I felt like a visitor. But over time, I started to belong – not because I became someone else, but because I allowed myself to be fully me. I joined dinners I was invited to. I said yes to spontaneous conversations. I let people in.

Today, my social circle in Lecce is small, diverse, and deeply meaningful. Some are locals, some expats. Some entered my life briefly and left. Others stayed. I’ve learned that friendship in a new culture is not about numbers – it’s about honesty, warmth, and the courage to be open again.

8. Do I Need a New Identity?

People ask me: So, are you Italian now? Are you still Israeli? The truth is – I’m both. And I’m neither. I’m me. I carry Israel in my voice, my gestures, my soul. But I also carry Lecce in my breath, my mornings, my new ways of being.

I no longer need to define myself rigidly. My identity is fluid – shaped by love, shaped by land, shaped by choice. I’m not in between – I’m whole.

In this phase of life, after the choice, I’m no longer just adjusting – I’m becoming. I am living a life that feels both rooted and expanded. There’s a new stability. A new tenderness. And a deep knowing: when we say yes to life fully, even from afar – life answers back, fully.