There’s a feeling in the air that another year has flown by. The Christmas holidays are slipping away as we turn the final page of the calendar. A touch of regret lingers for the things we didn’t accomplish, mixed with hope that we’ll make up for them next year—especially now, with just a handful of days left before 2025. In our minds and hearts, particularly after holidays that have either reunited families or kept them apart, we take stock: reflections and wishes, pages to turn, chapters to close, ideas to nurture, and plans already in motion for the year to come. We are filled with expectations, yet equally eager to leave certain things behind.
It’s not so different from the feelings of those who once crossed the ocean in search of a better life. In many ways, we’re not so unlike those passengers setting out for La Merica, a land of promise and new beginnings. Just as it was for them, today we stand at a threshold, reflecting on what we hope for and what has changed. It’s that same feeling of transition you get at an airport, lingering by the baggage carousel—suspended for a moment between the journey that’s ended and the plunge into the chaos of the city that awaits. The emotions are timeless, unchanged from then to now. We are all in that in-between space, straddling the past we carry with us and the future we’re about to enter.
We watch the conveyor belt spin steadily, our anxious eyes fixed on the suitcase that holds a piece of the life we’ve just left behind. It offers a sense of comfort—something familiar to cling to before we take those first steps forward. But the exit is not the destination; it’s just the start of a new adventure. Already, we are changing. New experiences are leaving their mark, reshaping who we are and drawing the outlines of the life to come. They will shift our perspectives, our priorities, and how we see the world.
When those earlier travelers stepped off the great ships that had carried them far from their familiar villages—whether perched in the cool Apennine mountains or nestled by the fragrant waves of the sea—they had little time to process the grueling voyage in third class. Their journey had ended, yet a new one had already begun. The New World, with its harsh, alien language that disoriented them and filled them with uncertainty and loneliness, had already swept them up, transforming them completely. There was a before and an after, and they, like us, stood in the middle. Even those who never made that crossing, who aren’t descended from those journeys, feel something similar at this time of year. We all find ourselves in a space of transition, caught between two worlds: the one we leave behind and the one that awaits us. From a gray, undefined present, we move toward a future full of color.
If we look back at the covers of L’Italo-Americano from the past twelve months, we can see this constant interplay: past and present, Italy and America, transformation and change. It’s a journey, a passage, a metamorphosis—where our dual Italo-American souls blend together, like sand in an hourglass.
Throughout the year, we’ve celebrated figures who, crossing both time and our imaginations, have embodied this life lived between two worlds. Two of these stand out—Martin Scorsese and Sophia Loren—each of whom we recently featured on our front page. Their long artistic careers have been defined by a constant balance between Italy and the United States, their identities rooted in both places.
In February, we turned our attention to Saint Frances Cabrini, patron saint of immigrants and the first American saint—she obtained US citizenship in 1913—despite having been born in Sant’Angelo Lodigiano, Lombardy. When presenting Alejandro Monteverde’s biographical film, set for release in March, we reflected on the resilience that accompanied the hopes and hardships of Italians seeking a better life in America. Saint Cabrini played a crucial role in the growth of the Italian community in the United States, dedicating herself to improving the living conditions of early Italian Americans. She worked tirelessly between these two worlds, driven by the hope of creating lasting change.
It’s fascinating to juxtapose the spaceflight of astronaut Walter Villadei, which we covered in March, with the ancient Roman Appian Way, designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in August. These two examples are emblematic of Italy’s dual identity: a present defined by technological innovation and a past deeply rooted in history. This duality—between a future brimming with scientific progress and the vast cultural and artistic heritage of a millennia-old history—runs through Italy’s entire story. Beneath the surface lies a treasure trove of knowledge, safeguarded and handed down over centuries.
In May, we reflected on the rural world through the lens of Italian-American photographer Joe Vitone. His photographs capture the timeless spirit of Puglia, where the ancient resurfaces as if by magic—in the most classic preparation of tomato sauce—and where the modern world emerges alongside it. Wind turbines now stand beside sunflowers, changing the landscape but not the essence of the work: the sweat of brows, the labor of hands, and the toil of working the land and animals.
In October, we recounted the ongoing restoration of the Watts Towers in Los Angeles, overseen by Ermanno Carbonara, an Italian who chose to live and work in California. His career now includes the honor of preserving the legacy of another Italian, Simon Rodia, who crossed the ocean in the early 20th century. What’s particularly fascinating is how Rodia’s unconventional work seems to echo the Festa dei Gigli of Nola, a town in the province of Naples not far from where he spent his childhood. It’s as though his extraordinary, eclectic art filters memories of his early years, translating ancient traditions inherited from his hometown’s folklore into something new.
And what about Sardinia’s supercentenarians, witnesses to the slow passage of time? In July, we explored this Italian Blue Zone—a demographic and geographic area where life expectancy far surpasses the average—and discovered their secret to longevity. Then there’s the legendary Ferrari, racing toward a futuristic horizon. Founded in 1929, Italy’s most iconic racing team has carried the desire to win far beyond the tracks, embodying the lesson of its founder, Enzo Ferrari. As we read in the May edition: “A factory,” Enzo said, “is made of people, machines, and brakes. Ferrari is made by people. It’s the people who create the product.” Or, as current director Pignatti Morano puts it: “If you want to build an exceptional car, you must put people in the best possible conditions to make it.” In a sense, this is what California—and America itself—became for so many emigrants: a place where they could flourish far from home.
The common thread running through all of this year’s editions has been the constant interplay of permanence and evolution, continuity and legacy: the lesson that time always changes, but it never completely passes.
The journey of L’Italo-Americano began 116 years ago. The newspaper itself was born within this perpetual dichotomy of past and future—of yesterday’s linguistic and cultural heritage and tomorrow’s possibilities. It exists in a present that is always changing, yet continually enriched by the memories and legacies of the Old World and the achievements of the New World. This is its defining trait and greatest strength—just as it is for all Italian Americans, who care for their roots while nurturing the new branches that stretch toward tomorrow, ready to bloom in the spring sky that will arrive in just a few weeks.
The vitality of a culture lies in its ability to evolve, grow, and develop. It will change with the seasons, but the flowers that bloom will always carry the genetic imprint of the seed that fell from the original tree.
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