The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself.
I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students (April 2008). I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor. Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically.
"You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English."
I understood I was doing for her what my mother, Mauricette, had to do for herself nearly seventy years ago.
In 1959, my mother, Mauricette Elaine Ball, stepped off a plane from La Rochelle, France, and landed in the middle of the American Midwest. She was barely in her mid-twenties. She traded the Atlantic Ocean for cornfields, and the history of Europe for a town where the biggest landmark was the hardware store.
She could have let the "foreignness" of the Midwest keep her on the outside. Instead, she chose resilience. While she was struggling to learn English verbs, she was already fluent in the language of a made bed, a clean house, and a hot meal waiting on the stove.
She taught me that home isn't just a place you go; it's a language you speak.
Building Your Own Vocabulary of Comfort
I know many of you reading and listening to this are far from where you started. Maybe you are learning English right now, using my voice to practice your pronunciation (my apologies to your grammar teachers). Maybe you are a student in a new city, trying to decipher the noise of the modern world.
If you feel like a stranger in a strange land, here is my advice: Don't wait to become fluent before building your sanctuary.
- Find Your Rhythm: My mother found hers in the daily tasks of caring for her family—starting her day at 5:30 a.m. to ensure our house was a place of comfort. Create a routine that feels familiar, even if the world outside is strange.
- Listen for the Music: Growing up, I loved the musical rhythm of my French family's voices, even when I couldn't understand every word. Look for the people in your life who speak with kindness. Listen to their heart, not just their words.
- Be the Bridge: My mother became a beloved part of her community by giving of herself—whether working at the local orchard or giving perms to her sisters-in-law in our kitchen. You don't have to be from a place to belong to it.
To My Global Neighbors
I've been fortunate to spend a lifetime exploring this beautiful world. I've walked through the vibrant energy of Vietnam and India and stood beneath the modern skylines of Dubai and Singapore. I’ve experienced the quiet majesty of Switzerland and the resilience of South Africa. From Hong Kong, Korea, Thailand, and Burma to all 50 U.S. states . . .
And do you know what I found?
It didn’t matter if I was in Florence or Peoria. We are all trying to learn the same thing. We are all trying to learn how to be human. We are all trying to figure out how to stay hopeful in a very complicated world.
So, whether you are listening in a high-rise in Hong Kong, a quiet room in Aliso Viejo, or right back in Central Illinois—keep listening. Keep reading.
And remember: You are building your own "Cuba" right where you stand.
This is On the Fly. If this tribute to my Mom touched your heart, share it with a neighbor. It could be a friend across the ocean or someone standing next to you in line. Let’s keep the conversation going and work toward building a world where everyone feels they belong.
I’m Patrick Ball. Stay curious, ask questions, and keep speaking.
We've moved! Join me over at On the Fly on Substack for my latest writing.
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