Thirteen years ago, I had a beautiful life in Northern Virginia. I was a 25-year veteran kindergarten teacher, married to a successful businessman and former Air Force pilot, and had raised two kids. We didn't have financial issues: We had a lovely home and traveled often. And yet, I couldn't shake the feeling, the pull, that something was still missing.
I knew there had to be more to life than getting up on a Saturday morning to run errands. I'd become overweight and unhealthy. It was February, nowhere near the end of a school year, when I told my husband I needed a change. He said, "What do you want to do?" I said, "I think I need to move to Italy." The ever-supportive partner, he said, "OK. We'll make it happen."
