This post is difficult to write. I’ve been putting it off for a long time, mostly because I’m in denial about leaving Paris in the first place.
Yes, I’m leaving. I’m going back to LA because… well, various reasons. My long-stay visa is up, my job wants me back, I have an apartment waiting for me, etc. etc. etc.
Right now it all feels like meaningless excuses. It’s so hard to leave, especially in summer with the long days and blue skies and flowers and the strawberries and cherries and tomatoes at the markets. It doesn’t help that I’ve been staying at the most charming AirBnb apartment I could ever imagine, a tiny chambre de bonne with an Eiffel Tower view. I am truly tempted to say, “screw responsibility, screw being an adult, I’m going to live the broke bohemian life here.”
But that’s not me. I’ve always been the safe one, who makes sure that the edges are all straight and aligned before sewing them together. And let’s face it, I couldn’t go to nearly as many good restaurants if I was living the boho life.
And but so, I’m leaving. My flight out of CDG is Wednesday morning. I will fly through Copenhagen and Chicago, to land in the city of my birth, to an apartment and a car and an office job, once again.
Yet hear me now, ye internets: I will be back. I never thought I would eschew LA for any other city, but Paris has gotten to me. I never would have believed it, especially in that middle bit when it was so cold and lonely. But then, something clicked, and now I can’t imagine not coming back. I’ll figure a way.
(But seriously, if anyone in Paris wants to offer me a job, get in touch. I’m excellent at a few things, and good at lots of things, and I will probably bring baked goods on a semi-weekly basis to whomever employs me.)
Rest assured, dear reader, this little blog will go on. It’s coming to LA with me. Will you come, too?