I just realized that I never told you guys about my day trip adventure to the Women’s World Cup! Only a few weeks after getting back to the U.S. I got the awesome opportunity to grab my passport and road trip up to Vancouver, British Columbia. The whole vibe of the city was absolute magic and getting to see a home semi-final game (Canada vs. England) was definitely one of the coolest experiences I’ve ever had. Here are some shots from my day! 
Can I just say: I love being back in the U.S. Will I always live here? Probably not. But at the moment I am having a pretty splendiferous time of it. Coming back to Seattle was not an easy decision. There were a handful of people who thought I should stay in Paris, and others who thought I was crazy for choosing to move back from Europe at all.
But in the true middle finger to the world approach I adopted from my time in France, I could care less what their opinions are.
Because, when it comes down to it, this is my life. My decisions. And I’m the only one calling the shots on which direction I go. I would definitely encourage those who feel like Paris is the Mecca for happiness to move there themselves. (It was not, and never could possibly be, for me.)
ANYWAY…Being back in the good ‘ole US of A has been so much more of an adjustment than I ever thought it would be. It’s funny, but you don’t really even realize how many things you get used to when you’re living in another country. Like bananas.
French bananas DO NOT taste the same as the ones we get here (or fruit in general). And at first that really bothered me. But over the course of 10 months I guess I got used to it, and I wasn’t even aware of the fact…until I got back to the now watery tasting ones in Seattle.
Beyond the fruit revelations, I’ve also experienced so many levels of culture shock from being back. And as weird as it sounds, one of the hardest things I’ve encountered is keeping up with English/English speakers!
While obviously I haven’t forgotten how to speak English, I do have quite a bit of difficulty (still, after 3 weeks!) of finding the correct words for sentences, or speaking conversationally. There are a couple of reasons that I think are to blame for this. On the one hand, I obviously didn’t speak English in France, unless I was with one of my friends or the family I lived with. But on the other hand, I just didn’t really speak that much in general! Now looking back on the past year, I’m realizing just how incredibly silent I became. It feels so odd to be able to express myself without checking my vocabulary for the simplest form of a word and I keep having these moments when I think “Wow! I can read/respond without thinking to that!”
Is forgetting you’re fluent in a language standard after living in a country where it isn’t primarily spoken? Maybe it’s just me.
While I was living in France, I also didn’t have a phone for pretty much the entirety of my time there, so having the ability to call/text/use my smartphone outside of a Wifi zone is the oddest feeling. To be absolutely honest, I still kind of get freaked out when I get a text or phone call.
And despite the general joy of being back in my hometown, there are some things that will NOT be being reintroduced into my life, one of which will be Netflix/Hulu. Both of these sites were absolute addictions prior to my moving…and I guess that makes sense – I love movies, and I always have. BUT the mindlessness and the numbing effect that comes as a package deal is not okay.
In fact, that is one of the biggest things I’m observing and trying to keep from slipping into while in the U.S. Numb distractions.
I never noticed before how much over stimulation there is in the United States. Let’s all take a step back for a second and observe a few: There are more TV shows than we could ever hope to watch (but you’re expected to keep up with all of them), there are more activities than you’ll ever have time to do (how do you not run, do yoga, rock climb and go on a 10 mile hike EVERY DAY!?), more food options than you could possibly choose from, and more technological (sorry, mom) shit than you could ever possibly need. For instance, my iPhone 4s is like six generations behind, and I’ve only been gone for a year!?
Clarification: it still works fine. It still calls, texts, connects to Wifi and my data plan and takes decent photos, and yet…since I’ve been here all I’ve heard about is the latest smartphones and people calling generations that came out two months ago ‘ancient.’
The craziest part is that in spite of all of these 5 million things to keep us occupied, every person I’ve talked to since I’ve been here hates their job, and is constantly trying to escape through said distractions. And don’t even get me started on how messed up the whole, by age 22 most of us are in more debt than we’ll be able to pay off for 20 years, thing.
Okay, I’ll stop ranting. Like I said, there are so many amazing things I love about the United States, also. But one of the biggest things I’ve had to start doing since being here is simply saying no. NO NO NO NO NO. I don’t want to engage in this frothing at the mouth competition to impress people I don’t like in order to create a life where I’m constantly plugging in to something to forget I hate it. NO!
Because if there’s one thing I DID learn about living in Europe, it’s that my true friends love me when I have absolutely nothing to give, nothing to share, no way to repay and nothing to contribute. I am loved as I am. I don’t need to impress anyone, and I don’t need to be running around trying to keep up with whatever the next trend to hit the streets is.
Because when it comes down to it, these are distractions from what I really want to do with my life. These are things that kept me, for many years, from really pursuing things I was passionate about. They are pop up signs, advertisements and shiny gadgets that will not make me happy. And while each, in itself, is not necessarily harmful, the amassed collection is turning us into a nation of ravenous hoarders (of wealth, of technology, of perfectly filtered Instagram photos), blind to how blessed we already are.
Last weekend I took one last (for now) trip over to Ireland, so I could meet up with some of the awesome people I’d met on my last adventure there. While originally plans were to travel up the coast to Belfast, we ended up taking a day trip to this little fishing village called Howth, instead. The little town was lovely (if, extremely windy!) and would definitely be a place I would suggest to those of you headed over to Dublin (only 20 min train ride from the city center). We even saw seals! Overall it was a such a lovely day!
Is it possible to travel too much? Some might say a resounding no. But today I found myself shooting this question around in my mind.
You see, I’ve been gone from the US for almost 9 months, now. And as odd as it sounds, the best way to describe my longing for home is that I’m just so tired.
Something to recognize here is that being tired doesn’t necessarily mean anything is wrong. Sometimes being tired just means you’ve toiled so hard at something that all you want to do is find a place to rest.
I think the biggest thing I took for granted when I was in Seattle was the ability to have a launch point, or to have a place I could call “home.” What I wouldn’t give to be without the homeless feeling that sometimes just settles into the pit of my stomach. Paris is not my home. These places I travel to, while temporarily lodging me, are not my home. Even Seattle, which I love so incredibly much, is not my home anymore. I am, in essence, a homeless wanderer. Lots of temporary places, but no place where I feel at peace.
Then I come to Ireland. And call me crazy, but somehow an entire country feels more like home to me than the bricks and stones that make up my house of residence. I am, and always will be a firm believer that every person has that place/city/country where the just feel a deeper connection than anywhere else, and that’s how I feel when I’m in Ireland. Which is probably why I just keep coming back.
This week has been Spring Break for me so I had made plans to go from Germany to Dublin to Copenhagen to Oslo all in 2 weeks. I made it to Germany and had a great time, then came over to Dublin…and accidentally fell in love with the city. So much so that I threw out my plane ticket and stayed.
And while I wouldn’t necessarily suggest doing this, for obvious financial reasons, it was something I thought a lot about before coming to the conclusion that it was necessary. See, 5+ years ago I was flying back from India and landed in Heathrow airport. Since some of my group decided to stay there before returning to the US, I had a bit of a split second decision of whether or not I would stay there too. My heart was pulling me toward the city, but it was the first time I had traveled internationally and I was terrified. So I got on the plane back to the US…and I’ve regretted that decision ever since.
Sometimes we have to take risks. Sometimes we have to ignore the “rules” and follow our gut feelings of what the next step in our journey is. It’s not always the safe route, and the outcome is often unknown, but as we strike out on these paths, pioneering them as we go, we learn that following the plans that others have written doesn’t always result in our own happiness.
A man in my hostel yesterday, who hardly spoke English, perhaps explained it the best when he said, “Can I tell you a secret? You’ll never see ‘enough’ [of the world].”
Travel is beautiful and wild and untamed. It draws us out of our comfort zones and refines our deepest selves, BUT it is not the answer to happiness. And that’s something I’m starting to understand. We can visit every beautiful location, we can check off every major city, but when it comes down to it, it’s the people who we love and who love us that create the essence and fulfillment of belonging.
Because home isn’t the place where we grew up, or live now. It’s not a building or an address or a city. It’s where we feel loved, where we feel accepted and where we feel whole. Home is our place to be unapologetically ourselves. It’s where we find rest. And while you can see all the monuments and glories the world has to offer, finding that place starts with acknowledging that it might be right where you’re already standing.
Happy April Fools Day, everyone!! Or, as we like to call it in France: April FISH DAY.
Life in Paris isn’t all crepes and picturesque walks along the Seine. But sometimes they are, and I think it’s fun to share with all of you darlings what one of the fun outing days of my life looks like! This time the feature was the Picasso Museum along with some other beautiful spots in Paris.
We started off in the 3rd Arrondissement, which is the most “hipster” spot I’ve found in Paris (so far). There are lots of little shops, chic cafes and art shops and galleries. If you’re looking for a more low key artist vibe while in Paris this is the spot to head to.
Our first stop (because rule #1 is never go to a museum hungry) was a sweet little cafe located near the Picasso Museum named Royal Bar. This little cafe was the quintessential Parisian experience. It was filled with art and made me feel like I had been transported back to the Paris of Hemingway. The tea was lovely (although, fair warning – when you order you’re ordering a pot, not a cup, so it’s a bit more expensive) and the man working there gave us some of the best lemon square type deserts I’ve ever had. It was sublime.
After we had had some caffeine and some little desserts we headed over to see Picasso, because if you’re in Paris and don’t see Picasso what are you even doing with your life? It has kind of become ridiculous how many original pieces of classical art I’ve seen since living in Europe. It’s like my history books have jumped off of the pages, and it’s pretty incredible. Picasso hasn’t really been a favorite of mine, in the past, but I’m a strong believer that seeing work by “The Masters” makes an artist more rounded.
The museum was such a beautiful building, I loved being able to see the amazing architecture and I fell in love with the floors. Yes, the floors. There’s something about black and white checkered floors that will get me every time.
After we’d tipped our hats to Picasso, Cezanne and Matisse we headed over to walk along the shops surrounding. We found this absolutely beautiful shop called Papier Tigre. I loved the geometric feel of their designs and the minimalism. If I wasn’t a broke expat I would have bought the whole store.
Our next stop was for some yummy drinks and the best wall decoration any place can have – books! This was actually our second time at this Merci cafe because the first time we went we made the mistake of going on a Saturday. In case you don’t know about Paris, some of the best advice I have for actually getting into places is to not go on Saturdays. Go any other day of the week, but Saturday is the “going out” day (while Sunday is more for staying in with family) in France. My partner in crime ordered a Pear flavored alcohol and I grabbed a banana, apple and kiwi smoothy which was just so good (even though it sounds awkward). It seemed fitting to end our day with a such a lovely cafe. Our day was so lovely and I love finding new spots that make me feel a little less like a stranger in Paris.
I absolutely love Saint Patrick’s Day because it’s a day when I get to celebrate my family’s heritage and one of my favorite places on earth – Ireland! My family traditions are no joke when it comes to Saint Paddy’s Day, right down to the green breakfast and the corned beef dinner. So, it’s been pretty interesting to be in a country where there is the exact opposite of celebration happening in most places.
It has been an absolute impossible task to explain to my au pair family the significance of this day. In fact, my nine year old informed me that since it’s not a French holiday, it isn’t a real holiday at all.
But, after 7 months, I’m used to the realization that the general French population doesn’t accept things that seem normal or even second nature to me. I still celebrate, anyway. And yes that means giving my kids green baths, baking green cookies and listening to Celtic music. The celebration must go on!
And being in an expat state of mind, today, also reminded me of something else I love celebrating: identity. What makes us who we are? As someone who comes from a biracial background my own identity has been quite the journey to come to terms with, mostly because, growing up, I never felt like I was entitled to it.
But through the years, I’ve slowly begun to unravel the tangled ball of self-identity that we all have to face, in one way or another, at some point. We all are faced with the questions of who we are, and who we want to be.
When I first moved to France I had a really hard time adjusting to the craziness of suddenly having absolutely nothing to define me. I no longer had my friends, my job, my apartment, my family…in short I had nothing. I didn’t even have a phone.
Actually, I still don’t have a phone.
I stood in this foreign country knowing 50% of the language, having no idea what was surrounding me, and wondering what I was thinking when I stepped on the plane that brought me there. I was so scared. I cried so much. I wanted to go back home more than anything in the world, not because I was homesick, but because I was felt so hopelessly lost.
Who was I?
Right about this time, I had a friend who sent me a message that just meant so much to me, and I don’t think they probably even know. It reminded me that I had people back home who loved me, people who supported me and who cared about me. And as simple as that seemed at the moment; those words have circulated in my mind for the past 7 months, again and again.
I have people who love me.
If there has been one theme from this year it has been the love and support of the people back home. I’ve said it before, but I just have no idea how I got so lucky. Maybe it was my Irish blood (Just kidding. Every Morehouse knows our Irish blood is cursed with bad luck).
When I moved to France it was because I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere. I felt like I needed to “do something with my life” in order for me to figure out if it was worth anything. In short, I felt like I needed to prove myself.
And I intended to – prove myself, that is. I fully intended on this year being the best year of my life. Of everything going beautifully and me then having triumphant tales to spread far and wide for all to hear.
Then the first blow came. And the second. And the third, and fourth and fifth and sixteenth.
And all I could think was “Wait!! This isn’t how this was supposed to be!”
And maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.
I don’t have a crystal ball showing me what direction my life is going in or why things happen. But I do know that when these things happened to me, they pushed me closer to myself than I’ve ever been before. Why? Because when everything else is stripped away, when you have nothing left and you’re just sitting there, you realize what actually matters in the grander scheme of things. And here’s a hint: It’s not a smartphone.
Over the past months I’ve realized just how much my identity is reflected through the hearts of the people who love me, and love well. The people who have laughed, and cried and sent me words of encouragement, even though it was in no way convenient for them to do so. They gain nothing by being the best friends a girl could ask for. But I guess that’s the truest test of love when it comes down to it – selflessness.
Who am I? I have no idea. But I know that each day I feel like I’m getting to know myself a little better. And maybe I’ll never reach that point of really knowing. Maybe I’ll forever be searching out this person who can be defined by a label or a category.
But, for now, I am just me: a writer, artist, geek, class clown, adventurer, leader, fashionista, sporadic, camera obsessed, storyteller traveler who thinks of impossible things and jumps at the chance to take on new experiences. It’s not a perfect identity, and it sometimes feels like I’m being pulled in fifteen different directions, but I am me. I am both a dreamer and a doer, an academic and an artist. I sketch pictures of superheroes and modern fashion trends. I live in the present, but I’m in love with the past. I’m a reader and a writer. I am of Africa and I am of Ireland.
But most of all, I am loved.
More than I ever knew before. More than I ever could have imagined.
And that, is the greatest part of my identity that I ever could have discovered.
(Also, I’m going back to Ireland in a month!! I’m so excited!)
Being in Paris can feel REALLY isolating, sometimes. You would think, in a city with 7 million people, that it would be easier than a lot of places to make new friends, but living in such a huge city means having a lot of other obstacles, as well (not to mention a language barrier). One of my goals, since being here, has been to make more Parisian friends, though, so I’ve really been trying to be intentional about going out and meeting some new people, despite my desire to sit inside all day and read.
Last Friday I took up the challenge, though and headed over to Coutume Cafe. It was such a fun time because I got the opportunity to meet up with some absolutely delightful women (and one guy!) who all live in Paris, all through our mutual Twitter followings! I know, I know, you’re all thinking it’s weird that I went and hung out with random people from Twitter – but it wasn’t! It was so much fun, and already having the basis of being travelers, Twitter peeps and bloggers (some of us) made it even more fun to meet up!
I went by myself, so it was a little bit intimating at first, but I ended up meeting some amazing people and finally making some new friends in this enormous city. It just goes to show you, stubbornness is a key factor in getting things done when you’re living the expat life. Here are some of the lovelies I met, so you all can follow them too!
Ami Cadugan @amytakesonparis
Elodie’s Paris @Paris_by_Elodie
Mama Loves Paris @mamalovesparis
Catherine Nicholson @ACatinParis
Laetitia @Thebestinparis
Zheng-Hao Chen @TeddyCHEN
Paula Schuck @inkscrblr
Pola @jettingaround
This little darling cafe feels like you’ve passed back through time when you walk through the doors. While feeling like I should have been writing the next great American novel about the war torn past I never had, I enjoyed a pot of the most delightful tea and nibbled on lemon squares that were out of this world.
The space is small and intimate, so I can imagine it could get crowded quite easily during rush hours, but when we went it was just simply us, one older gentleman and the server – absolute bliss.
Ordered: Black Tea, Lemon dessert
Where: 19 rue du Parc Royal 75003 Paris, France (Marais Nord, 3ème, Marais)
Went: Friday, March 6th, 2015 around 10am
Wifi: Nope. In fact there’s a sign that says to leave your computer
I was Facebook messaging a friend this past week when the topic of the two of us having millennial long conversations, when I get back to Seattle, came up. See, this particular friend is quite special in that she and I have (more than once) spent most of the night talking about nothing, and after a year – there will be a lot more than a little something to talk about upon my arrival back in Seattle.
But, as we were messaging, I had a thought that I really hadn’t considered before: When was the last time I had talked to someone?
You know, like not a “hello” or talking about work, or being afraid you’re keeping someone up due to the time difference, or being told that one of the kids might be sick so watch out for vomit when you pick him up from school – but actually TALKED to someone.
You know, like sit down and talk about how you’re actually doing, opening up and fully “talking.”
I realized it had been a while.
Don’t get me wrong, I have awesome friends in France (and duh, we talk), but the reality is that I’ve spent more time alone over the past 7 months than I ever have before. I know, I know, all of you extroverts are yelling at the top of your cyber lungs that I need to go out and party more, MEET PEOPLE! And all of you introverts are thinking, “Wow, I could use some of that. Alone time sounds blissful.”
But I don’t think it’s as easy (or fair) to chalk this occupational hazard/perk to strictly being a “bad” or a “good” thing. There are both benefits and detriments to having so much time with myself. For one thing, me and myself know each other quite well, now (please read that in as sane a context as possible).
The reason being that when you have a lot of time to yourself, you have to face your good and your bad, your greatest accomplishments and your biggest fears. In those times of silence you have to find balance with yourself because there is no one else to help you. And you have to make real actual decisions, rather than burying holes to “deal with them later.” In short, you have to get to know yourself.
And let me tell you, it’s not always comfortable.
But facing your fears, anxieties and inhibitions never is – and, of course, it’s something we all must (or, at least, should do at one point or another. So whilst I’ve away in France, I figure, now is as good a time as any to get some of these insecurities out of the way.
Exhibit A:
I remember writing a post a while back about how I “couldn’t draw” (the reason being that I never felt that I could be good enough to even try, since my older brother is the superior artist in the family).
Well I’m facing that demon, and I’ve been forcing myself to draw every day for the past (almost) month. And you know what? I’ve discovered something that I never never never never thought I would: I really like drawing.
I’ve also discovered that being committed to doing something every day doesn’t mean you won’t feel so nervous you’re shaking, when you start a project, or that you won’t feel like throwing up when you show people the finished product – convinced they’ll spot every flaw your own eye is magnifying x1000.
But I’ve always liked to think that an artist isn’t someone who is somehow superior in the arts to the rest of humanity, but just someone who has learned to push past those specific demons and create despite their taunting inner voices.
Because, when it comes down to it, I think some of the biggest battles we face in the journey to creating ourselves, are the seemingly invisible and silent ones trapped within our own minds. And over these past months, I’ve begun to learn what it means to challenge the things that I‘ve had holding me back.
In the silence I’ve found strength.
These past 7 months have proved to be a time of more battles than I ever thought I could face. Now, looking back to the person who stepped on the plane to France, I feel like I was a hundred years younger; again, a good and bad thing.
But, if I had to assign one word to the past months, it wouldn’t be a negative one (compared to a couple months ago, since my life literally felt like it was going up in flames). But, instead, one that I’ve felt like God has been whispering over my life the past few weeks, specifically: Surrender.
Now don’t get this wrong – surrendering, in this case, does not mean giving up on a mission. It doesn’t mean stepping away from the cause, or breaking down.
If anything, it means the exact opposite.
It means realizing that I have something to fight for that is bigger than myself; and that I have people around me to help me along the way. It’s completely out of my nature (and SO hard) to admit that I ever need help. Help has always equated to weakness in my past.
But it has been such a journey the past months to see how weakness is not what has been shown through the actions of others, but how incredibly strong I am because of the people who have held me up in my times of need. And beyond that, a heavenly Father who hasn’t left me at any point along the way.
Life has not turned out as I expected. Things have not gone the way that I wanted them to, or that I planned them to. But that’s okay. And realizing that has been a journey of its own. But I know there’s a greater purpose for the fire that refines us.
And even though it’s not always the easiest or the most convenient, sometimes the thing we need to hear the most, in the silence, is the whisper of our Creator to take courage, and to keep moving forward.
Darkk Horse Travel 
