It was my first week in Paris. A new chapter was about to be written, and it was up to me how the pages would be filled. The late summer sun teased me with endless sunsets in hues of pink and gold. I walked along the Seine wrapped in love, the kind that resides within and often takes years to discover. My journey had taken me around the world and back again, with Paris as my new backdrop, and a soulful Italian center stage.
My thoughts were only of the present moment. What I had lived and learned years prior was now part of my rich and varied history. This life that I had often dreamt about was my present. In all truth, a gift. The future yet unknown, filled with endless possibilities, was waiting in the wings to reveal itself.
Those first weeks quickly turned into months, as leaves fell and blue skies turned gray. My mood too, changed with the seasons as I tried to understand who I was in this new life. More accurately, who did I want to become? I spent those early days coming to peace with my ego and listening more acutely to my soul. Paris was the stage on which to set my dreams in motion, this I was certain of. The question remained, how?
Little by little I found my way, a stranger in a foreign land. Courage was my guide and humility became my teacher. I began to create a name for myself, to design my namesake handbags, to write a blog, and soon afterward to publish articles; to find my place and purpose. In so doing I became my truest self. And for this, I will be forever grateful to Paris.
I was probably a pre-teen when I discovered Alexandre Dumas's novels. I was an avid, indiscriminate reader, and I devoured them all, buying some, borrowing others, until there weren't any left.
When I first moved to Paris, I had a problem with the beauty of the city. I was both amazed and frustrated by it.