so where do we start?

🤗 hi.

there’s a clear truth in that the first pancake is always the worst, so in the spirit of this universal understanding, let’s reacquaint ourselves and get the first dud out the way.

without getting into too many details, i’ve been living in france full-time for almost two years. i *technically* moved for work. but by work i mean i took a job with a french entrepreneur in san francisco working on a startup with the intention of one day parlaying that into a move. a little more than a year later i didn't exactly have "permission" or a "business reason" to move, but i had my visa, valid for three years. 

i don’t know what drew me to france, and it's a question i get all the time from people who live here. "why would you leave san francisco for paris!?" "do you like it here?!" the french are always perplexed, and even a bit flattered, by my response "of course, yes, i love it here."

but france, especially paris, isn’t particularly friendly. it’s not easy to navigate their many systems (i still don't have a french bank account) and the language is a constant battle at best. but each time i visited paris, it felt right, i felt right. It’s a bit of an introvert's paradise, plenty of museums, cafés and hidden spots in which to get lost.

i was also desperately seeking balance. like everyone i knew in san francisco, we worked too much, most of us out of need (surprisingly, 350sq ft studio apartments aren't cheap), but in my case i’m a #controlfreakperfectionistmonsterTM strapped heavy with the puritanical belief engrained early in many americans—that our value as a human is derived through our productivity and work. 

so france, the land of 35 hour work weeks, lunches with wine and seven weeks vacation, would be the perfect place to learn how to set new boundaries and hibernate for a while. but a week after i moved we made big changes to the team, and i took on even more responsibility. despite my goal of giving myself “physical” distance from my workaholic tendencies, it turns out they’ll take the same transatlantic flight, move right into your apartment and quickly settle into their starring role as balance-blocker.

I've always had a difficult time asking for help (and still do) but after a year of the company starting and stalling, only to do it all over again, it felt like a personal failure. i let my life, emotions and self-worth get so intertwined with my job that i couldn’t find an option to back away slowly. rather, i needed a “clean break” which meant i'd have to blow up the bridge so there'd be no possibility of turning back. after a week of vivid dreams (interpreted using the women who run with wolves) and seeing my stress manifest itself physically (hello shingles, my old friend), i quit.

since then i’ve had the luxury of taking some “well-deserved” time off. during this ever-extending sabbatical i’ve focused on things i love--cooking, baking, photography, writing. i’ve brainstormed and workshopped ideas for companies and startups. questioned what i want in a job, but perhaps more importantly, become clear on what i don’t want. i've done my fair share of eat-pray-loving 🙄 drinking lots of wine (natural and from auvergne, plz) doing more yoga and meditation (headstand! yin detox! arm balances!) and trying to be nice to myself. which turns out to be the hardest one of all. 

over the past few months i started tasking myself with creative personal projects and realized i want to share them, as a bit of a release, and way to stay connected to friends. these ideas, photos and words do no good locked away in my brain. so i'm trying to find an outlet, my mind wants to hit send, and i love a good deadline.

so here’s to starting the practice of sharing. 

-x