Saying Goodbye

Hello, goodbye. Let's keep in touch. Until we meet again. If we meet again. 

The thing about saying goodbye to friends abroad is that you're never sure when you're going to see them again. It's the same for anyone who's ever made a big move, but across continents to lands with different cultures and languages and rhythms, it feels extra heavy. More concrete. More like goodbye. Of course, those memories will remain close at heart, in a glass ornament brought out once in a while to reminisce the good times of that epoch in Paris, or wherever. But man, I'm really going to miss some of you.

Oh yeah, so some context. I'm moving back to the states in four days. For good (for now). OMG. Apologies for the lack of posts as of late, but this decision has consumed me and I've been traveling and... and... and you know how it goes. Anyway, this marks the end of my life in France, this pretty little thing that came and went so unexpectedly, so abruptly. Am I a changed woman? Perhaps. I drink sparkling water now, and am open to eating raw meat. I speak another language, and don't wear sneakers out in public. Though I doubt these habits will follow me home. Really, all I can think about at the moment is gorging my last croissants and what I'll be doing next. And prolonging the goodbyes.

People keep asking how I feel about leaving. Truthfully, I'm just excited for what's to come next. Sure, I'm nostalgic and will miss things: it's been glamorous, no doubt. I've seen places and eaten foods and experienced things that I never would have back home. Things that have opened my eyes to new ways of understanding people and governments and it's certainly changed my attitude towards America. A lot is wrong with the US, no doubt, obvious things like gun control and healthcare, and the amount we waste on food, light, litter, gas... it's really shameful. And needs to change. Some things are much better, more secure, in Europe, and I've appreciated them in my time here. 

But if I'm being honest, as a feminist who's loud and competitive and prefers smiling but loathes cigarettes and people who wear scarves when it's not cold out... France has been a terrible fit. Cheating ex aside, I've never been so frustrated with people as I have been here. To all the chauvinists who have told me girls can't play soccer, or that I'm too pretty to wear sweatpants, that I'm too ambitious professionally or that Americans are all racist... fuck you. Seriously.The doctors who prescribe without listening, those who hang up or close doors because my French accent isn't perfect, and everyone leaving problems unsolved because it's time for the two hour lunch break... I despise you. This country has a stigma for being unfriendly and cold and after three years I can't say I disagree. You're beautiful, France, no doubt, but the echoes of the complaining on every street corner can be a real drag. 

So thank you to all those, in spite of the debbie downers, that have still made it worthwhile. Made it fun. Made me happy. It's a little bit the baguettes and the cheese. The cheap wine and cheap flights. The chateaus and terraces. But mainly it's you, my soccer team, those special colleagues, roommate and friends of friends, and random encounters here and there on dance floors in metros at markets and over drinks... you are my Paris, my years abroad, my early twenties, my days and nights of not knowing what the hell it all means but moving along anyway. France was never in my agenda, but life throws curve balls like attractive men and job opportunities, and so I decided
to go for it. It's been a remarkable chapter in my life. I mean, I speak French now! I've visited over a dozen countries. I even dated a model (which I will be bragging about forever). And mostly, I've made friendships that are in for the long haul. And I'm truly thankful for that.  

It's come to an end now. Endings are sad, and I still have some goodbyes left that will no doubt be tear-filled and hard. You know who you are, and I'm writing this for you. It's funny how your excitement for me and what's next to come makes it that much harder to leave. Wish you could come away with me, along with all the things I love about my life here. The camembert and the fois gras won't make it past airport security, but I'll do my best to safely carry that little glass ornament of memories with me wherever life takes me next.