You may notice I tweet about New York regularly. I do--I've fallen into a whole new kind of love with the city since moving an ocean away—and yet I don’t necessarily long for my life there, at least not my former one. The hardest days, weeks, months never became blog posts, but they happened, and they kinda sucked. It was a tumultuous post-college experience. I thoroughly struggled with figuring out what the heck I wanted in this life (personally and professionally) and how the hell I was going to make it happen.
What made it infinitely
I still do, of course, albeit in different ways. Living abroad has forced me to be more sure of myself by necessity. It has also encouraged me to get out there and form new relationships, which although I was intimidated by, I’ve also lovingly embraced since. This experience has given me more space to be and flourish and for that I will always be grateful.But I do miss home. I miss the warmth and friendliness of American culture. I miss family dinners and endless chats with friends. I miss those who truly know me, and love me unconditionally anyway. I miss pizza dates. And gosh, do I miss boozy brunches.
Then again, pretending to be Parisian is nice, too. I regularly buy bread from the boulangerie and produce from the marché, I wear black quite often, I get excited about new exhibitions, I don't make eye contact with anyone on the metro, but I always wish fellow elevator-riders a bon journée. I'm even adopting slang. And these are only the guidelines I've been easily able to follow suit with, ha.
Because, in the end, I am very much New York-born and -raised. (The state, not the city). And so, I have American friends here. Besides those I've met through blogging, there are also those from school, and another from serendipity. And when the latter hosts a brunch, I help her serve a spread of juice, coffee, tea, croissants, brioche, sliced fruit, smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, bread, butter, and jam. We even made sure there was champagne to be had. It's good to know I'm not the only one on mimosa-withdrawl ;).
I've said this once before, but home is a feeling, not a place. I've created a home for myself in Paris with a flexible disposition, a few amazing friends, and a bit of familiarity--most notably peanut butter as of late. Even on rainy days, I've been making a concentrated effort to appreciate this time where such things are possible. One day, I hope, Paris will be one home of many.
Plans for the weekend: lunch with my French family, a visit to Château Vaux le Vicomte, a night of Nuit Blanche, a potential Sunday at the races, and a much-anticipated Macklemore concert. Wherever you may be, I'm wishing you a lovely one, too!This post was inspired by Rachel's Expat Diaries.
