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Coucou, Paris – I’m at home!
My baby girl is sleeping next to me under the Parisian eaves, the ceiling windows are open and I’m waiting for my Jonny to bring up tradition, croissants et pains au chocolat (because he doesn’t just give me “Paroles” – geddit?)
The morning breeze is seeping in and the uncomfortable butterfly I had had in my belly for weeks had been magically subdued five minutes after my arrival back in the city. Bizarre because all the troubles I associate the butterfly to are still very much there and I’m by no means avoiding them.
11 days ago, one day after my boyfriend left London, I lay down in my bed on my own and I felt extreme discomfort, like my body was screaming from the inside. I tried to surrender my mind and stared at my open wardrobe facing the bed; my clear vinyl Hermès Kelly, surrounded by quilted Chanel bags, stared back at me and I thought: “Hey, I could live without all that! Guess what I couldn’t live without anymore? Myself: the true self I’ve been trying to deny for so long in the name of reasons and responsibilities”.
So I texted my son at his last student house in Bristol: “I’m contemplating moving to Paris. I don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but I don’t feel like I’m doing anything meaningful in London”, to which he replied: “That sounds pretty cool, doesn’t bother me at all, might move to Europe in a few years”. I was impressed, but not shocked, and proceeded to call my daughter who said, “On one condition: Jojo needs to fix the internet!”
That Jojo boy called me the same evening for me to reveal my grand plan. He, of all people, knows how hard our London-Paris separation could be for me, yet he was the first to understand that I wasn’t doing this solely for the relationship. He knew I was doing this for me and all that I heard from him was words of support and a couple of funny jokes. A couple.
Since then, I’ve been brainstorming with – actually more like I’ve been announcing to – important people in my life. My saddened yet incredibly understanding housemate; my ex husband who didn’t even blink and immediately said he thought I should definitely do it as if he had been practicing the response for months; my beloved girl friends and network of support over the years, who all thought I’d do great; and my cherished Parisian friends, who already welcomed me back home as if the visa (and the domain name for my new venture idea) would just fall from the sky – and they will.
I need a wee – this is all too exciting!
I’m back! Yes, let’s call it exciting. For the not so very first time, this Libra is going to decide and take actions before thinking instead of weighing all options for eternity minus a day. I’m done thinking, I’m done being on the fence and I’m done being slapped by the universe for resisting what resonates with my heart in the name of anything. Time to come home to myself, in the place where I feel most belong.
And it’s certainly time to send a raven to get breakfast delivered, get ready slowly to chill by and maybe take a dip in the Seine with my Katie and my babies. But before I wake everybody up, let me share a quote (by the French dramatist Sacha Guitry) I saw at a random car park the day I arrived in Paris to live here for the first time nearly a decade ago: “Being a Parisian is not about being born in Paris. It’s about being reborn there.” I am Parisian, et je suis chez moi.
paris, le 17 aout 2025
je t’embrasse!
d.o.
Imagined Paris 