Oh, la belle France!

I feel like both my brain and my heart have vomited at the same time. You prepare for a move in so many ways. You get rid of all your old junk, you meet up with friends who you haven’t seen in ages, you prepare psychologically for the stress and anxiety a move inevitably brings, you motivate yourself and remind yourself that this is something you can do, and then something unexpected happens, and this adrenaline rush you have going on in your mind comes to a screeching halt. As it stands now, we’re not moving. I won’t go into the specific details. Those remain private between my husband and this company he was about to join. But I will tell you that I am filled with a sense of huge relief. This optimism I was feeling was forced and unnatural. I wasn’t ready to move. To be honest, I was frightened. My life in Dijon is just too good, my friends too precious, my job challenging and rewarding, and my son is thriving at the local school. I’d miss the pistachio macaroons. He’d miss the pain au chocolates. I’d miss the impeccably manicured city gardens. He’d miss the merry go round. I’d miss our kind neighbors. He’d miss the candy they always have ready for him. I’d miss our postman who loves to practice his limited English with me. He’d miss the postman who always rings his bicycle bell and waves when he sees us in the street. There’s no place like home and for the moment I glad we don’t have to redefine that term. Our home is France. Our home is Dijon, the capitol of Burgundy. And I love it here!