un brunch américan

For me, at this point, homesickness comes in waves. Mostly calm ones.

You may notice I tweet about New York regularly. I do--because I've fallen into a whole new kind of love with the city since moving an ocean away—yet I don’t necessarily long for my life there, at least not my former one. The hardest days, weeks, months never became blog posts, but they happened, and they sucked. It was a tumultuous post-college experience. I really struggled with figuring out what the heck I wanted out of this life (personally and professionally) and how the hell I was going to make it as such.

What made it infinitely bearable enjoyable, though, was the endless number of friends and family I had in such close, comforting proximity. I could text or call or see my favoritest people regularly, and that was so completely wonderful. I needed them then.

I still do, of course; albeit in different ways. Living abroad has forced me to be more sure of myself by necessity. It has also encouraged me to get out there and form new relationships, which although I was once intimidated by, I’ve also lovingly embraced. This experience has given me more space to be and flourish and for that I will always be grateful.

But I do miss home. I miss the warmth and friendliness of American culture. I miss family dinners and endless chats with friends. I miss those who truly know me, and love me unconditionally anyway. I miss pizza dates. And gosh, do I miss boozy brunches...

Then again, pretending to be Parisian is nice, too. I regularly buy bread from the boulangerie and produce from the marché, I wear black quite often, I get excited about new exhibitions, I don't make eye contact with anyone on the metro, but I always wish fellow elevator-riders a bon journée. I'm even adopting slang. And these are only the guidelines I've been easily able to pick up on.

Because, in the end, I am very much New York-born and -raised. (The state, not the city). And so, I've made expat friends here. Besides those I've met through blogging, there are also those from school, and another from serendipity. And when the latter hosts a brunch, I help her serve a spread of juice, coffee, tea, croissants, brioche, sliced fruit, smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, bread, butter, and jam. We even ensured there was champagne to be had. It's good to know I'm not the only one on mimosa-withdrawl ;).

I've said this once before, but home is more than a place, it's a feeling. I'm creating a home for myself in Paris with a flexible disposition, a few amazing confidantes, and a bit of familiarity--most notably peanut butter. Even on rainy days I've been making a concentrated effort to appreciate this time where such things are possible. One day, I hope, Paris will be one home of many.

Weekend plans: happy hour tamales, lunch with my French family, an afternoon at the Château Vaux le Vicomte, Nuit Blanche, Sunday at the races/laundry, and a Macklemore concert. Wishing you a lovely one, too, wherever you may be.

This post was inspired by Rachel's Expat Diaries.