...you find yourself in the end of February looking back at pictures that seem like they were just taken a few weeks ago.
Reality: they were taken three months ago.
I love living through the seasons in Paris. They are more mild and subdued in some ways {for example, I'm not missing out on the 5 feet of snow at home in New England right now}, but also noticeably present and each with their own energy. Fall has been my favorite Parisian season thus far, but then again it always is no matter where I go. Crisp air and richly colored leaves speak to my in a way that even pretty spring flowers can't. Can we turn back time just a little so I can spend my weekends wandering little streets and coming across golden and russet colored gardens?
Also to note, I am not missing the seven {s-e-v-e-n} feet of snow in New England right now. Pictures of snow piled up to roofs, more snow days than I can keep track of, and weekly "dustings" of six inches are not for me. I'm happily enjoying the reliably grey skies and drizzly rain that makes for a nice winter change after years of snow.
It's been a long and short eight months since I first arrived on my initial trip to visit my new home away from home. It feels like a few weeks have passed some days, and on others I feel like I know parts of the city and rhythm of life here so well that I am a natural in this city. But this feeling is ever changing and constantly in motion. Some days I wonder how I've made it so far with my {still} incredibly poor French. Other days I wonder how I lived without a glass of French wine and a little bit of foie gras.
I'm lucky to have lived a life that never stands still for very long. One that has allowed me to live in multiple countries, cities and states. I'm unbelievably blessed with friends and family that support my long stays away, poor return calling skills, and all-over organized chaos that I tend to bring to the table. I also know that I have so much growing to do in so many ways. In every way imaginable. Do we ever stop growing?
It all depends on the day. Some days, as a coworker told me before I even arrived, France wins. And it wins in a big way. Defeating everything you knew in the world and making you question how you've made it through twenty-seven years of life.
And just like that, I realize how much I don't know and at the same how how much I do know. And that's okay. Somewhere, I know a 50 year old woman is asking herself the same thing. And that reassures me a little.
This adventure is far from over, and my love affair with France has just begun, although some might consider it five years in the making and eight months of committed monogamy. I have so many little things from the past few months to share that I haven't found the words for until now. But for today, these pretty fall leaves and lengthy amount of inner dialogue will have to do.
Tomorrow is another day.
Reality: they were taken three months ago.
I love living through the seasons in Paris. They are more mild and subdued in some ways {for example, I'm not missing out on the 5 feet of snow at home in New England right now}, but also noticeably present and each with their own energy. Fall has been my favorite Parisian season thus far, but then again it always is no matter where I go. Crisp air and richly colored leaves speak to my in a way that even pretty spring flowers can't. Can we turn back time just a little so I can spend my weekends wandering little streets and coming across golden and russet colored gardens?
Also to note, I am not missing the seven {s-e-v-e-n} feet of snow in New England right now. Pictures of snow piled up to roofs, more snow days than I can keep track of, and weekly "dustings" of six inches are not for me. I'm happily enjoying the reliably grey skies and drizzly rain that makes for a nice winter change after years of snow.
It's been a long and short eight months since I first arrived on my initial trip to visit my new home away from home. It feels like a few weeks have passed some days, and on others I feel like I know parts of the city and rhythm of life here so well that I am a natural in this city. But this feeling is ever changing and constantly in motion. Some days I wonder how I've made it so far with my {still} incredibly poor French. Other days I wonder how I lived without a glass of French wine and a little bit of foie gras.
I'm lucky to have lived a life that never stands still for very long. One that has allowed me to live in multiple countries, cities and states. I'm unbelievably blessed with friends and family that support my long stays away, poor return calling skills, and all-over organized chaos that I tend to bring to the table. I also know that I have so much growing to do in so many ways. In every way imaginable. Do we ever stop growing?
It all depends on the day. Some days, as a coworker told me before I even arrived, France wins. And it wins in a big way. Defeating everything you knew in the world and making you question how you've made it through twenty-seven years of life.
And just like that, I realize how much I don't know and at the same how how much I do know. And that's okay. Somewhere, I know a 50 year old woman is asking herself the same thing. And that reassures me a little.
This adventure is far from over, and my love affair with France has just begun, although some might consider it five years in the making and eight months of committed monogamy. I have so many little things from the past few months to share that I haven't found the words for until now. But for today, these pretty fall leaves and lengthy amount of inner dialogue will have to do.
Tomorrow is another day.
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