Back to Florence, But Not the Same Girl

I’ve spent most of my adult life in hospitality. It’s an industry that raises you fast and never lowers its expectations. You learn how to handle stress with a smile, how to negotiate chaos with charm, and how to deliver five-star service while secretly trying not to lose your mind. For years, that world was my stage and my sanctuary. I was good at it - damn good at it - but eventually, the cost of being "on" all the time started adding up. I’d mastered the art of showing up, even when I didn’t want to. But somewhere along the way, I stopped asking myself the most important question of all: Am I still in love with this life?

When the answer became a quiet but persistent no, I knew I had to do something drastic. And I did. I left the safety of routine and the comfort of competence to chase a dream that had been whispering to me for years: Italy. In 2023, I booked a one-way ticket and gave myself unspecified time in Florence. No plan B - just the hope that I might find a spark. Find myself.

And I did.

Florence cracked me open. It humbled me. It thrilled me. It exposed every part of me that had been buried under responsibility and burnout. I walked its streets like a woman reintroduced to herself. Every espresso, every mispronounced word in Italian class, every golden afternoon spent wandering the Arno made me feel more alive than I had in years. And yet, life back in Australia wasn’t finished with me. A family emergency cut that trip short in early 2024, and just like that, I was back in Toowoomba. Back to reality. Back to a version of myself I’d already outgrown.

It was a strange sort of grief - mourning a life that had only just begun. I returned to hospitality, to the industry that had always been there for me, but something had shifted. The apron strings didn’t fit like they used to. The familiarity lacked inspiration. The thrill of a full dining room, the elegance of a perfectly executed service - it all started to feel like a script I no longer believed in. I’d changed. That craving for a life lived with culture, excitement, and purpose felt like a far-off thing I’d once wanted but no longer had access to.

And then, just as I’d started to settle into the idea that maybe that chapter had closed for good - something unexpected landed. A door opened. Now, I'm going back to Florence. But not as the wide-eyed wanderer I was the first time. This time, I’m returning with intention. With clarity. With a job that means something to me and a sense of purpose that extends beyond just paying the bills.

I’ve left hospitality behind - not out of bitterness, but because I’ve taken everything it taught me and packed it into a new chapter. I’ve stepped into a role with a company that’s doing real, meaningful work in the world of online child safety. It’s not glamorous in the traditional sense, but it’s vital. Necessary. Urgent. I’m surrounded by people who challenge me, who are driven by values and not just metrics. It’s the kind of team that makes you want to rise to the occasion - not out of fear, but out of respect.

And let’s be honest - pivoting careers in your 40s is no walk in the park. There’s fear. There’s imposter syndrome. There are days when I wonder if I’ve completely lost the plot. But there’s also a quiet power in choosing to begin again. Not because I have to, but because I want to. Because I refuse to settle for a life that looks good on paper but feels hollow inside.

All forms of love...for coffee and for life.

Living in Italy isn’t easy. It’s maddening. The bureaucracy alone could break even the most patient soul. You never quite know what’s closed for lunch, or for a strike, or for no reason at all. The systems don’t make sense. The pace is slower, sometimes frustratingly so. But underneath that chaos is a beauty that seeps into your bones. It’s in the sound of church bells echoing through narrow streets. In the way the light hits the Duomo at dusk. In the way strangers become familiar after a few weeks at the same café. And in the strange, grounding sensation that - despite everything - you are exactly where you’re supposed to be.

I know where I went wrong the first time. I arrived in Florence like a dreamer without an anchor. I floated. I waited for things to fall into place without creating the structure to hold them. I underestimated how hard it would be to truly live there, not just exist. But I’ve learned. I’ve prepared. I’ve got a job, a network, and the kind of realistic optimism that comes from being burned and coming back stronger.

This time, I'm building a life, not just visiting one.

And sure, leaving your home country - especially when you're older - is hard. You miss your people. You lose the ability to pop over to Mum and Dad’s for a cuppa. You realise that familiarity has its own kind of currency. But what you gain is immeasurable. A second chance. A fresh identity. The chance to be defined not by where you’ve come from, but by where you choose to go next.

Australia will always be home. But Florence? Florence is where I come alive.

And I’m not looking to be saved or swept away by a romantic idea. I’m going with open eyes, open hands, and a strong sense of who I am - finally. This isn’t a fairytale. It’s a real, raw, ambitious life choice. It’s choosing challenge over comfort. Purpose over predictability. And Italy - with all its madness and magic - is the setting where I’ll put down real roots.

So, no. I’m not the same woman who landed in Florence last time, wide-eyed and drifting. This time, I know exactly who I am - and where I belong. And that changes everything.

Returning to all the things I love.......soon.