Where do you want to start?
Back in high school, I'm getting my hair cut by a witchy-woman (aka my brother's long time best friend's awesome mom) and she drops the comment "I picture you having adventures all over the world, maybe marrying some sexy Italian..."
No, I don't have enough time to start that far back.
When I married MM (Mediterranean Matteo), there were ideas that we would move to Italy one day. But first we moved to California.
We looked for work in Italy and at one point, I had a very nice offer from a place in Bologna. Matteo had something in the works in Milano. We were doing post-docs (underpaid PhD slaves) in the states, and these jobs in Italy were more of the same. Three year contracts. And we also had a baby who seemed to be allergic to air blowing on him from the wrong direction. We were new parents, new PhDs and we decided the stress of those positions was just too much for us.
But we kept asking, what if, and if only, shoulda-woulda-coulda...
So we sat down and figured out "what would it take for us to move to Italy." We realized that we needed a job that was a step up. Something that will amount to something in the eyes of future employers. We weren't willing to throw two PhDs into a tail spin to spend a couple of years having fun in Italy. We didn't want to be stuck in the situation where we'd have to come back and start over.
Well, it looked like that was never going to happen. We settled down, bought a house, and dove into our jobs and life in Ca. Life was really good for the most part. We saved Italy for vacations and retirement.
After a few years, MM was job hunting. His feelers were out. Head hunters, job search engines, etc. All bay area though.
Well, he got called by the Italians. As strange as this sounds, I've met another family here, also from the bay area that got this call. I think it's a new mafia operation.
He asked me: "I got called about a job in Italy. Should I do the interview?"
My reply was, "Hell yea do the interview! Do it with bells on! Knock their Gucci's off!"
Never mind that I was a year into my dream job at a non-profit. Never mind that I'd made friends there that I can't live without. Never mind that we just finished making our money pit perfect; bamboo floors, an office, a beautiful kitchen.
My reply was, "Blow their socks off. Let's see if we get an offer we can't refuse."
Well, three interviews later (one in Italy) that's exactly what happened. Be careful what you wish for, right?