It Begins (Again)

It’s my 23rd birthday – the age I’ve inexplicably been waiting for since I was a little girl. (Maybe this is the year I stop misleading people about my age. I doubt it.)

I didn’t know what 23 would look like; I just knew it’d be magical. I guess it’s fitting that it’s the day before a huge adventure – a return to France. It’s also the end of an era in my life: I have to say bittersweet goodbyes to mentors and colleagues, attend my last client meeting (which promises to be painfully exciting), and part with friends I’ll miss terribly overseas. These people and activities are my everything right now. How different France will be.

Am I expecting the same exciting adventures of 2005? The greatest thrill of that move was that I didn’t know anything or anyone. I was entirely out of my element; immersing myself in the strange surroundings of St. Tropez forced me to grow, adapt. But I succeeded; it’s familiar now. And since my return to the United States, I’ve adapted to a new life – one that includes constantly being connected to news and politics, to intellects and friends. I’ll have no such connections in Camarat, not enough language skills to debate anything intellectual, and hardly any friends – all without the excitement of the unknown.

I will, however, have the smells and colors, the beach and the rosé, the place I love more than anywhere else in the world. I’ll have my heaven.

For better or worse, I can’t process it right now. I can’t even think about it. I’m going through the motions of packing, wrapping up work, saying goodbyes and prepping my dog for her trip home. But I’m not excited or scared, sad or happy. I’m won’t be until I’m there with Tequila, looking at the Mediterranean with a glass of wine in hand and sand between my toes. Then I’ll know I’m starting a new chapter.

But for now, I still have things to take care of. And, at some point, I’d like to sleep.