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An American In Paris

A new year. A new beginning. A blank slate.

I’m not sure it’s possible to begin again. I think, instead, we live in a spiral trajectory — circling but never quite touching the familiar place we were. From the moment we’re born, we collect data impressions which color and shape everything that comes after. Like any computer reboot, when we “start over,” there is a shadow of what came before that lingers and stains — for good or ill — the purity of whiteness on our clean slates. The hint of patterns is still visible through even the thickest of whitewash.

This past year, for me, has been a reboot, of sorts — a willy-nilly, pell-mell tumble and leap into a new life in Paris. It will have been a full twelve months, come January 30, and this is my first New Year celebration in my new home. It is bittersweet. As with most expat experiences, I have no idea of the true permanence of this move. And I counter that sense of instability with an awareness that there is no true permanence guaranteed in life, period. We just trick ourselves into thinking things are forever and unchangeable.

I haven’t written publicly through the first eleven months, except occasional revealing snippets on my Instagram feed. The changes have been too deep and nuanced to put into words. Sometimes, earthquakes happen in silence. And, yes, the ghosts of yester-years are traceable in the present.

As I move into my second year here, I’m ready to share more of my discoveries with you. I hope you find my musing entertaining, or soothing, or inspiring. As I continue to journey deeper into purpose and play, framed by my awe-tinged passion for this city of lights and love, I look forward to greeting you often along the way, and hearing about your own seeking and travels.

with pleasure,

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