I said I wanted to be back in France within a year….and the day I said it was about six months ago. And I am leaving in exactly 6 months. I have a date circled in my planner. I’ve saved…just over half of the money I’ve budgeted on. Last night I told my boss at the bakery I’m working at now that I’m moving in the fall. (Better I give him a lot of warning, than he stumbles over it in my social media, you know?) I’ve gotten rid of half my books, and clothes, and a fair bit of assorted other junk.
This is feeling awfully REAL, suddenly, and all is a jumble of excitement and anticipation and–abject terror.
I have so many things to do, but it’s still a bit too early to start some of them.
My french is improving but really, it’s still crap. J‘ai peur. How do I speed this up?
I have talked to some lovely and very kind people in Lyon and Paris (And also a couple of random Provençal villages, because pourquoi pas?), but I haven’t found a job. (Yet. I haven’t found one yet!) I knew this might happen. You don’t hire bakers without a stage first, a trial run to know they can do the things they claim for themselves. Which means I am truly flying into the unknown. Once I am there, even if someone wants to hire me, will they be willing to wait for all the legal stuff to be processed for this little pâtissière canadienne, or just–move on to someone easier?
BUT. What if, like a miracle, absolutely everything works out?
Please, Universe. S’il vous plait.