Sorry for the radio silence. I thought about you, though. I was buried in work in London, then went to Paris for almost a week. All with my lover. I attended my 10-year high school reunion and saw an incredible number of friends and family. It was so much, yet at the same time, so little.
To be the daughter of an immigrant in Los Angeles — in my case, Italian and French — is a wonderful experience. Everyone in the United States, especially California, is from somewhere else, and incredibly proud of their roots. It’s starting to feel like home. This divorce is tainting that feeling somehow. It reminds me that I was never really from here because I did not choose (alone) to come here, yet I want to cling to something I fought so hard for and built.
I attended a one-year law program just to transfer my credentials so I could attend law school in the U.S. That alone took months of applications. Then I had to get accepted. Once accepted, I had to fight. I took the bar twice, mind you, in my second language. No employer knew my credentials here, and on paper they looked far weaker than any other JD student’s. I did a couple of informational interviews a week, securing them first, then preparing for them, every single week for nine months. I lined up four interviews (two of which I flew to LA for from the Bay Area) and got two offers. I want to make this mine.
But then I return to France, to Europe, and I’m faced with the reality that this is, or should be, home. I only lived in France for two years total, but it should feel like home. I feel good there. I reunite with old, dear friends, the food makes me feel better, and so does the pace of life. I miss France a lot, but I know living there would be a fantasy. I know it wouldn’t be what I expect, and that, overall, I should stay under the palm trees.
I’m back now, dazed and confused with jet lag. I am caring for our dog (co-parenting with my ex-husband), and having her back in my life after two months of missing her is wonderful yet scary. Getting back into the swing of things, and for me, that’s always bittersweet. I’m leaving behind a life I knew and loved, and I need to keep building a new one, across the Atlantic.
Paris – coffee, lovers, & kisses.
