INTRODUCTION: WHY LEADERSHIP, AND WHY ME?

I WAS RAISED FREE.

Free to play, free to dream, free from roles, free to be and become myself.

How?

Imagine a medieval village on a hilltop, perched on a beautiful volcanic lake, surrounded by green hills, where kids are playing in the streets while old Italian grandmas sitting in the shadow of their doorsteps keep a discrete but constant eye on them.

I was one of those kids.

Used to living outside: be it running up and down the streets, swimming or fishing in the lake, pony riding at the local farm, learning how to use a bicycle on the only flat road along the lake-all while getting all sorts of scars and a variety of rare diseases from the stray cats we would try to cure.

Used to being independent: since age three, I was authorised to walk to the music school by myself-my parents knew there was a network of old ladies sitting by their windows keeping an eye on me; and soon after, I started my summer business to be able to afford candy supplies and gelato for the whole season-selling old books, pots and pans, or any object our neighbours were ready to let go of, to tourists.

Used to standing up for what was important to me, I was well known among the village mayors for bursting into their offices, hardly reaching the height of their desk, to share my lists of complaints-from broken swings to scooters speeding on the street where we were training our bicycle skills; and I was well known in school for standing up for stuff-be it a classmate, my weekly boyfriend, my little brother.

Being used to all of this seemed and came natural to me. But I realised with time that it wasn't a given.

It took granting me the freedom to try things out and do it my way; it took giving the support and the encouragement where guidance or confidence-building were needed; it took drawing clear red lines that I couldn't cross. Be it the square at the end of the historical centre where cars were allowed again to drive, be it certain words or behaviours that were simply not tolerated within the family, or the clear requirement to attend and do my best at what was important to my parents: school, music classes, sports and family events.

Of all things, though, what shaped me the most were the daily examples and reference points of how things were done and-even more-of how things could be done differently.

Both my parents came from outside this small village in the countryside of Rome. A Milanese mother and a Dutch-Canadian father, who both came to Rome with a biology scholarship, fell in love and decided to settle down in the village nearby the research centre-to build their life together.

A life which had to bridge not only their differences in culture but also their difference in roots as they emerged from two opposite worlds.

My Italian family still lives today in the (relatively poor) outskirts of Milan. They migrated there from other parts of the country because the local factory was giving houses with water and electricity to its workers, and they saw it as their chance of moving out of poverty. After living under the fascist regime; refusing to ever take the fascist party card; suffering hunger, cold, and bombardments; they succeeded in rebuilding their lives. By exiting the factory and making their dream jobs come true: for Gianna, my grandmother, a hairdresser saloon-which she ran out of their living room; for Tersilio, my grandfather, driving trucks. And by creating their most precious accomplishment: my mum.

The biggest dream and drive for all though was to give my mother what they never had: an education. My grandad died as my mum was in high school due to an unknown (back then) sickness, my grandma-supported however possible by her 10 sisters-increased her work hours, her number of clients, to be able to afford my mum's education. And my mother delivered: a degree in biology, a job in the capital city, a life living the unlived dreams of her parents.

Now imagine the opposite. That is my other half.

My Dutch grandad came from a banker's family; my Canadian grandma from a military doctor's one. After being part of the anti-Nazi resistance in the Netherlands and imprisoned for a few years in Germany, Bastiaan-my grandad-graduated as a lawyer and moved to London for his PhD in law. There, while playing tennis at the university club, he met Patricia Anne Margaret, my grandma, known as "PAM", who had recently graduated from a posh all-girls university in the United States and also freshly moved to London for her history PhD. A power couple who lived an international and upper-class life, from The Hague to Paris, from Luxembourg to Brussels-surrounded by four children, nannies and cooks.

A life filled with wealth and purpose. Which wasn't-as for my Italian family-giving their children a better life than their own, as that wasn't even a faraway concern. It was, rather, leaving their children a better world to live in. Bastiaan dedicated his life to building the European project, advancing our collective values of peace, freedom, democracy. PAM dedicated her life to finding purpose in all sorts of other ways-since, in those years, wealthy women were highly discouraged from having a full-time job. After publishing a few books, PAM spent her life teaching English, visiting prisoners, founding the renowned International Bazar in Luxembourg to create a culture of charity among the upper class, founding and presiding over the Femmes d'Europe (European Women) Association in Brussels to advance women's rights and serving as a loyal member of her Quaker community-fighting for peace and equality, in the streets, in op-eds, in her own patriarchal family.

And this is how we get to me: a result of this improbable mix.

With a Canadian grandmother screaming at me because I behaved in a too non-lady-like manner at the dining table (i.e. eating eagerly, without leaving any trace of food ever being on my plate) and an Italian one teaching me to eat and savour every little piece of it-because I was lucky to not starve. With a mother for whom her job as a biologist and our little home by the lake was the ultimate success-given her modest roots-and a father for whom the same job and the same home were never enough-compared to his upper-class upbringing.

A mix which wasn't always easy to manage but which did give me a unique perspective on the world.

A father who-unlike most dads in the village and certainly unlike his own father-cooked for us, took us to school, invented magical evening stories, took us on birdwatching trips and used to be the only man attending parent-teacher meetings, showing us that being a dad starts at home and teaching me that parity can and must be expected; and a mother who worked late, became the main breadwinner and taught us that nothing counts as much as your independence, especially as a woman. Dutch grandparents who made us tour European cities and institutions to teach us that we all have a role to play in the greater good; our Italian grandmother who taught us the importance of family and the power of kindness and of modesty, especially in the smallest things we do-they reveal who you really are. A surname for which I was teased at school, teaching me it's never easy to be different, but which now gives me strength and uniqueness. A life in the calmness and isolation of a tiny village, regularly interrupted by jet-setting to see the family abroad. A mix and match of English, Italian, French, and even some Dutch, which trained my mind to think like a global citizen-without even realising it-while always staying rooted in the winding streets of my village.

An upbringing bridging worlds, cultures, social classes. An upbringing which shaped me to the core.

A bachelor's degree in philosophy and a master's in political science between Rome, Berlin, and Paris-filled with the hope they would give me the foundation to somehow contribute to our world. Taking on my first job as a humanitarian worker in the Middle East, to be there for those suffering due to absurd wars. After four years spent between Jordan, Iraq, Lebanon, and Turkey, moving to Geneva in a global executive role, aged 27, co-leading a large think-and-do-tank to ensure political and aid decisions were based on data, on reality, not on the usual poor planning and assumptions. Deciding to then return to study, this time in Boston, to get closer to the political world. Discovering, while there, my passion for writing. Returning, after 12 years abroad, to my home country, Italy, as a result of a mix of nostalgia and of my drive to contribute to its socio-political change-a return accelerated by the global pandemic and by my desire to be there, close to my parents, my grandmother, in the streets of my childhood. The publication of my first newspaper columns, then of my first book. Followed by an experience which changed my life trajectory more than I would have expected it to: being appointed as G20 Sherpa during the Italian presidency, leading the work of the G20 Alliance for the Empowerment and Progression of Women's Economic Representation (G20 EMPOWER).

Suddenly submerged in data, briefings, policies, reflections on gender inequality. And then having an eye-opening realisation: I had lived many of those data points, of those statistics, on my own skin; and, for the first time, I connected the...