Sicily - Va Bene

Photo: Jessica Thibault

I wish I could capture the essence of what I’ve found here in Sicily, seal it in a capsule, and return to it at any point in my life. It’s a blend of inner peace, surrender, calm, and overall well-being. 

From the moment we landed in our new home country, I immediately felt at ease. The warm air, the palm trees, the slightly chaotic driving… I decided to just say YES, arms wide open, to everything that awaited me. 

Right away, I was struck by the different pace of life here: shops closed in the afternoon, appointment delays, the slow and calm rhythm of people walking down the street. One distinct moment stayed with me: as we were settling in, waiting for our cargo delivery, I went looking for a toaster to equip our Airbnb. After searching every aisle in vain, I asked a cashier for help. Seeing my confusion as she tried to explain, she left her post to walk with me through the store. Not only did she help me find the toaster, but she also took the time—at my request—to show me where the can openers were. Meanwhile, customers waited patiently at her register, without complaining or even questioning her absence. The ambient patience moved me deeply. 

It was a shock—but the gentlest kind. I realized how deeply rooted the fear of disturbing others is in our culture. How conditioned we are to avoid wasting time, to make every moment productive and therefore of value. How did we get here? We’ve normalized efficiency to such a degree that compassion now feels like a disruption. 

This slower rhythm, where people take their time, has had profoundly positive effects on my health. Here, my heartbeat drifts into a quieter rhythm. It’s as if the air carries a philosophy of the present moment—a quiet acceptance that sometimes, things are right, just the way they are. Everyone is doing their best. Things will eventually fall into place. Va Bene. 

So, I observe and absorb. I soak in this spirit of patience as much as I can and try to anchor it, unmoveable, within myself. I look around: people quietly waiting in line, letting others with fewer items go ahead at the grocery store. People walking calmly down the sidewalk, not rushing to step aside when someone walks faster, but simply keeping their own pace. I sense that everyone takes the space they need, without urgency nor apology. 

When my tire went flat and later when my car engine flooded on a street overwhelmed by water, it wasn’t just the mechanical failure that left a mark, it was the kindness of strangers who came to my aid. They surely had places to be, yet they chose to pause, making the decision to help a stranger their priority in that moment, placing compassion above their own schedules. I was immensely grateful, not only for their help but for the quiet reassurance that I wasn’t alone. That sense of calm and the feeling of being seen and supported in a moment of vulnerability is something I’ll carry with me always. 

I don’t know exactly what explains the sense of well-being I feel here, far from home. Maybe distance allows us to step back from our lives, and our culture. Maybe the background noise, the endless obligations and pressure we constantly carry, fades little by little. Maybe silence brings us back to what matters: simplicity and self. 

Being an outsider of the culture, not understanding the language, and knowing I’m only here temporarily helps me detach from how others perceive me. For someone who cares deeply about what others think, it’s liberating. It’s as if I’ve finally given myself permission not to please everyone. I accept being different, and while I am in appreciation of the local way of life, I feel not pressure to conform to it because, after all, I know I’ll leave eventually. So instead, I do things my way. I stand out. I break the mold.  

Sometimes, those differences are glaring, like when we go to restaurants at 7 p.m., wear slightly dirty shoes, let our kids go without jackets in 17°C weather, or watch them play in the fountains in the town square. 

I sometimes catch myself singing out loud, headphones in, during my morning walks along quiet streets. Bringing abrupt bursts of energy to that calm stillness that surrounds me. That, in a way, is what it means to be free from the gaze of others. It’s embracing spontaneity and doing things that bring us joy. 

I wish I could bottle this inner calm, this ability to put stress into perspective—the stress we impose on ourselves out of fear of disappointing, being late, or not fitting in. I want to hold onto this sense of self that I’ve now discovered. To maintain that deeply rooted feeling of self-worth, regardless of the opinions cast around me. To hold that quiet confidence that things will eventually work out exactly as they should. To let go of the need to perform and achieve at all costs. 

In short, I wish for all of us to chill a little more and to keep sight of what truly matters: health, solidarity and simplicity.