french au pair – Darkk Horse Travel

6 of the Best Style Tips I Learned from France

Published on November 16, 2016January 10, 2017 by EmileeLeave a comment

A little known fact about me is that I have a degree in fashion design. I don’t usually talk about it because in the professional world I don’t use those skills as much, but I grew up making clothes and sewing and I’ve always loved style. I also grew up watching entirely too many black and white movies, so I have a soft spot for classy clothing and pearl earrings. 1950’s Paris *sigh*. When I lived in France one of the parts that I loved was seeing all of the beautiful European style. I would have loved it more if I was making any amount of money close to a salary so I could buy any of these clothes, but not having the income to splurge made me vastly more aware of the trends and how I would apply them to my own life, once I got back into a position to. Here are some of the things I’ve learned:

Simplicity is Queen
One of the most beautiful things about living in France was how simple the style and lifestyle is. Now it’s important to note that we’re not talking Scandinavian minimalism (although I’m sure there are houses that follow that) but the French have a clean, yet intricate, attention to detail that I absolutely adore. I love the minimalism, mixed with color and patterns and my heart was won over by the beautiful patterns that you can find in so many homes.

Pearls Solve a Multitude of Sins
Having a bad day? Not feeling like feeling you’re usual classy self? Throw on some pearl stud earrings! This is one of my favorite style hacks because it makes me feel like Audrey Hepburn on days when I’m feeling more like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. And who doesn’t want to look like Audrey? No hands? I didn’t think so. Not ready to throw down on real pearls? I’ve found some really great pairs of studs at Nordstrom that do the trick, while on a budget.

Mix and Max

You’re probably thinking that the French spend millions each year on clothing. And, of course, for some you’re probably right. But some of the classiest women I ever met taught me the very important lesson to mixing where you shop. This means you may have a designer wool peacoat, but your t-shirt is from Abercrombie. This lesson taught me that it’s not just about what you’re wearing, it’s about how you’re wearing it. And another key is to buy quality, over quantity. When you do splurge, splurge on statement pieces that are going to last you years. There’s a really great book I have called Paris Chic that does a great job of outlining Parisian and French fashion. Your wardrobe will thank you for the $1.99 you spent buying it.

Treat Yourself
The French know how to pamper themselves, and I don’t mean going out and coming back with a carload of clothes charged on their credit card. I mean lotions, bubble baths and perfumes. I mean those things that make you feel like gold – even with nothing on. Spending the extra dollars to buy quality skin care products is worth it. Treat yourself, and your body, by investing in some bath salts or some soothing lotions. You’ll be surprised how lovely you feel without even needing to spend money on clothes.

Scarves
If there’s one style tip that I’m so glad I learned when living in France, it’s the beauty of scarves. From light and airy to bulky and bold, scarves aren’t really something I invested in before I lived in Europe. But I’m definitely now riding the scarf train! A great scarf can not only double your options on a simple sweater, they’re a lot less expensive than buying a whole new wardrobe. And they’re warm. I’m all about the warm. I’ve found some of my favorites at Nordstrom (because, despite popular opinion, Nordstrom isn’t always crazy expensive, if you know the right places to look), but I also love to buy them at World Market.

Kids Wear
One of the cutest things about living in France was definitely the children. The child style goals I now have are insanely high. Like, I kind of want to fly to France yearly so that I can dress my future children. Yeah, that bad. The cute little animals, the cute little patterns. All of it. If you’re looking to replicate all the cuteness (or just see what I’m talking about), you can type in “French kids clothing” in Pintrest and envy away, or hop over to Petit Bateau which has a U.S. website but totally French kids style. J’adore.

Memoirs of A French Au Pair: 1 Year Back In The U.S.

Published on June 14, 2016November 8, 2016 by Emilee8 Comments

This time last year I was packing my suitcases and planning on getting the hell out of France. I was so over it. I was over my job. Over my living situation and over the idea that I had made the right decision moving there in the first place. In short, I was over it (and everything that ‘it’ encompassed).

If I sound like an angsty teen here, I apologize. And then I unapologize. Because life is hard sometimes, and we have a right to look up to the heavens and shout, “WHAT WERE YOU THINKING BRINGING ME HERE!?” There was a lot of that when I lived in France. And that’s okay. Because I don’t believe that God wants subservient robots and I strongly believe that he likes us having real dialog with him. Even when things are hard. Especially when things are hard.

When I moved to France I thought it was going to solve all of my problems. I was sick of seeing people get engaged/married or posting baby pics on Facebook and I decided to DO something with my life. So I quit my job, bought a plane ticket and went (way harder than that, but you get the point). Then the first bad thing happened… and then another. And another and another and another and finally I started to wonder if I had made the right decision? Had I done something with my life, or had I ruined the perfectly good life I had already had?

Risk.

I’m not usually a very risky person. In fact, I would go as far as to say I adore being comfortable and secure. I don’t gamble. I don’t really like taking chances. I’ve ordered the exact same flavor of bubble tea at the exact same place for six years. It’s who I am. I like knowing what I’m getting into. So when I felt the extreme push in my life to move to France, I felt so certain that it was a divine intervention. Let’s be real, it pretty much had to be.

Fast forward nine months and my little idealistic dream boat had been battered and thrown into the shoals. It wasn’t painted and glowing with idealistic promises, anymore. That shit (sorry, mom) was borderline Titanic-post-iceberg status. All I wanted to do was to run away. So I did. And I’m okay with that decision, but I what I did next was wrong.

I tried to ignore and repress and never ever ever think about France.

In fact, I can honestly say I’ve been almost entirely removed from my experience up until the last couple of weeks. It’s very rare that I’ll talk about my experiences there. In fact, I basically don’t talk about that year, at all. At first I told myself that it was because I was too busy or that I had too much on my plate. But the reality was that I didn’t want to have to think about the fact that I had failed at something (or, at least, my definition of failure). France was not magical, fun, beautiful, a fairytale or anything like Audrey Hepburn described it. That’s a tourists dream. Not this expat’s reality.

And at the end of it all I’m still not sure that I have an answer for, “What I learned.” I know that I’ve become a much different person, because I can see it in the reflection of the people who were closest to me, before I moved. Since those changes were gradual they’re much harder for me to personally distinguish.

But I have changed. And I can feel it.

This year back in the U.S. has been one of the most hectic and crazy that I’ve ever had. At times I’ve felt like I was drowning in an ocean, too overwhelming to overcome. Other times I’ve felt so overwhelmingly loved and supported. Overall, this has been a year of drastic highs and earth-shattering lows.

I can’t even believe that one year has already passed. On the one hand it feels like no time at all, and on the other I feel like five years has passed in the course of one. Such is life.

It’s taken almost the entirety of the year for me to finally start having some pieces fall into place. A lot is still up in the air, but things will hopefully click, soon. Over the past year I’ve been bouncing between more jobs than I can count, I’ve moved four times, and I’ve been dutifully pay off the debt (Paris is hella expensive) that I incurred while living abroad (halfway done!) in addition to my student loans (also halfway there). If there’s one thing I learned in France, it’s that I NEVER want to have to think about student loans again, and the sooner they’re gone the better. I hate how “normal” it is for people my age to have tens of thousands of dollars in debt before they really even start their adult lives. It’s basically nonexistent in so many European countries, and I cannot wait to be done with them for good.

The highlights of this year? I’ve gone to three conventions, which was something I had placed on my bucket list while I was living in France. I’ve taken one trip out of the country (Scotland, Ireland, England) and three smaller trips (soon to be four) within the U.S. I’ve seen Riverdance (twice!) and Lord of the Dance, I started a Star Wars painting that will someday be awesome, and I started the process of writing/putting together a comic book with one of my friends. All in all this year has been so incredibly hard, but I’m so thankful for the friends who have held my hand, wrapped me in wool blankets with cups of tea and given me comic books to help me through.

Moving back from France was a really hard decision. It was a hit to my pride (because I honestly didn’t think I would ever come back) and it was a life lesson in how much I actually do need others to make it through this crazy circus called life. Today I was looking at pictures from just two years ago and it’s insane to think about how different things are, now. I was a completely different person. From my ideals, to the way that I approach life, I can honestly say that basically nothing is the same. Maybe this transformation will prove beneficial in the upcoming year. Maybe it won’t. But the point of this long-winded tale is: Fail you might, but try you must.

So here’s to one year of making shit work (sorry for the swearing, mom). The past few years have been just about anything other than what I thought they would be. And that’s OKAY. I give you all permission to be confused, and angry, and elated and to feel torn in a hundred different directions. Life doesn’t have to be exactly what we plan, we just have to be ready to keep moving forward, not matter what is thrown our way.

Rome, Italy: Day 2

Published on April 11, 2015April 11, 2015 by Emilee1 Comment

Day two of Italy was such a beautiful whirlwind. I started out with breakfast (REAL DOUGHNUT) at the hostel and then headed out to find the metro. I was so happy to figure out that in Rome the metro consists of two lines, and each goes in two directions. That’s really all there is. Hallelujah. There was a direct route from where I was staying, so I hopped on the metro and headed to my first location: The Vatican.

While I was riding the metro I was reminded of how terrified I was of the tube when I made my first ever backpacking trip. I wouldn’t take it. I took buses around London for an entire week. And if you’ve ever been to London, you’ll know how incredibly insane that is. But here I was, sitting on the metro in Rome, Italy thinking, “Well this is easy.” Paris has changed me in a lot of ways. I had to smile when I thought about how “young” I seemed on my first trip, even though it was only a couple years ago. So much can change in two years.

The Vatican was as crazy as you can imagine. Going on Easter weekend was an absolute dream in most regards, to be honest. There were so many more benefits than negatives. But when it came to The Vatican, there was the single negative; it seemed like the entirety of Italy (and maybe everywhere else, too) was there. The line was wrapping around the entire piazza and everyone was buzzing with excitement. It was a pretty amazing experience. EVERYONE was there – from the elderly to tours filled with children. I didn’t wait in the line, because I knew that I had limited time to see the whole city, but I did take some awesome pictures of the surrounding area. So fresh, so clean. I love Roman architecture.

My next stop was the Castel Sant Angelo, which was amazing and absolutely enormous. I kind of wish I had gone in, but there was just so much to see and I was on a time crunch. I loved walking along the “Fiume Tevere”. The water seemed so clear in comparison to The Seine and since the sun was out and shining all day it was the best place to be.

Like I said, I really think I went at the best time that I could have. I had all the street vendors to myself and picked up some amazing “Roman Holiday” (Audrey Hepburn) prints, which I’m definitely going to get framed when I get back to the US. The Piazza Cavour was one of the most beautiful sights you could ever imagine. I’m so used to the (sorry France) gaudy Parisian architecture that it was refreshing to see the clean, but nonetheless ornate and beautiful, architecture of Rome.

My next stop was the Piazza Navona, where I bought some gelato and simply laid in the sun next to a fountain as a jazz band played next to where I was sitting. Sounds perfect, right? It was.
I stopped in on quite a few churches while I was in Rome. I loved how simplistic they looked on the exterior, but how ornate they were on the inside. I spent a lot of time just sitting and mediating in one of the smaller chapels next to the Piazza. Such beauty.
At this point I decided that I needed to see at least one actual museum so I jumped in the one that was nearest to me. Of course (because I can never escape France) it was the Napoleon museum, which was actually amazing and beautiful and I loved it. When I walked in, though, I walked straight up to the huge Napoleon painting and said “Well, I didn’t expect to see you here.” I’m pretty sure the security guards thought I was insane. Oh, well.

My next stop was the Pantheon, which was an absolute madhouse (in all the best ways). There were just SO MANY PEOPLE THERE. I loved being able to walk around amidst the beehive of people inside, though. The ceiling was one of those moments that seems like a cut from a movie montage. You just stand there and turn around and around. How did people build this so long ago? How is it still here? Why do I get to come here?

After the Pantheon I picked up some postcards and walked up along the Tiber River. I headed up to Piazza del Popolo where there was the coolest obelisk. That was another favorite thing about Rome, since I’ve always been in love with ancient Egypt (I dressed up as Cleopatra probably 5 Halloweens in my childhood). I loved being able to see these massive obelisks engraved with hieroglyphics. I mean, come on. At this point I was just thinking – what even is this life that I’m living?

NOTE: This whole trip I had to keep pinching myself. How was it real that I was there? How was I there? How was it real?

After the Piazza I made my way along the Via del Corso, which is pretty much just a huge extension of shop after shop after shop. I did buy a wallet, because I figured that going to Italy and not buying something made out of Italian leather would have been a crime.
Another thing I really enjoyed about Rome was that, even though it’s such a massive city, there are still live street musicians and artists. There were some absolutely incredible chalk artists on the streets there, and I could not believe how well they were replicating famous works of art.

The next stop on my adventure were the Spanish stairs – and I really don’t have much to say about them because my little introvert self saw that many people sitting in that one place, and ran for the hills.

Or rather, Trevi Fountain, which was under construction (the saddest thing ever) but was still lovely. Hopefully someday, when I go back, I’ll be able to see it with actual water in it. Wouldn’t that be nice?

The Quirinale was my next stop, and I arrived just in time to see the Italian version of the changing of the guards. The whole ceremony was pretty awesome, but I don’t think it’s publicized because there weren’t a whole ton of people there. Those of us who were there, though, loved every moment.

Phew. I’m getting tired just writing all of this out (and you’re probably getting tired of reading it) but just image that this was 12 hours straight of walking. Fun times.

On my way back to my hostel I found an old church (like all the churches in Rome are old, so I don’t know why I needed to add that), and wrote out the postcards I needed to send out – all while being surrounded by gold and renaissance style paintings. Think angels with outstretched fingers. That.

Piazza Republica was my next stop on my way back to my hostel, where I dropped off my postcards, and went back to the hostel to collapse. Unfortunately, it was then that I realized I had forgotten to get Spaghetti (I had checked off Panini and gelato already during the day) somewhere, so I dragged myself back out of bed and across the street for a plate. I will say this about that meal: I don’t think I’ll ever be able to enjoy bread anywhere, ever again, now that I’ve lived in France.

April 1st, 2015

Published on April 1, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

Happy April Fools Day, everyone!! Or, as we like to call it in France: April FISH DAY.

‪#‎ThisIsRealLife‬

Solitude & Surrender

Published on March 10, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

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.

Oceans

Published on February 12, 2015February 12, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

On the way back from school today, I was walking with my two youngest boys, and we came to a crosswalk. We stopped, looked both ways, and I stepped out first with them following. While they happily scampered across the street a car came speeding down the road, slamming on its brakes last minute when it saw me there, standing in the center of the crosswalk waiting for my kids to get across. I eyed the driver defiantly; because do or die, I was not moving until my kids were safe.

This isn’t the first, or the last, time that something like this has/will happened. As an au pair it’s my job to protect and take care of my kids and that’s what I do, even if it means risking my own safety in the effort. First and foremost it’s my job to make sure they come home safe and sound at the end of the day.

But, you know what? They don’t know that. In fact, I would go as far to say they don’t have a clue.
Sure they know I feed them, and pick them up from school, and that I take them to the park. But while they’re happily crossing streets, they have no idea there are cars narrowly missing them. And that’s okay. They’re kids and being oblivious to adult responsibilities is part of the package deal.

Today, though, I started thinking about how I cross my own streets in life, all the time, with God standing guard. I am the kid walking across with little to no idea of the protective measures going on around me.

The only difference is that my crosswalks are life choices – things that might seem scary or unknown, or downright insane. The other side of the road doesn’t always look like a nice and visible place to be. I get distracted by the fact that I can’t see what’s on the other side, or that I’m crossing alone and no one else seems to be walking in the same direction; I get nervous because I don’t have a plan after I cross, I don’t know who or what I will become when I reach that point – and that is terrifying. All I can think about is the other side of the street, but if only I would take the time to see the protecting guidance of my Father I would know better than to fear.

Lately I’ve had a lot of people ask me what it’s like to be an au pair. People have sent me messages saying they’ve thought about doing it, and they want to know if I think they should. I’ve been really careful replying to these messages, because I know giving “advice” on life altering decisions is very serious. And being an au pair IS a life altering decision. You will not come back the same.

And I don’t mean that solely in a, “you’ll have such a larger perspective of the world” way. Yes, you will gain amazing skills such as viewing people different from yourself, new friends and experiences and most likely have a more open mind. BUT you will also have battle scars and wounds from your time abroad. You will have situations that you wish you could have avoided, and problems you never thought you would overcome.

You’ll probably spend time crying – a LOT of time crying. You’ll wonder what the hell you’re doing there. You’ll feel like you’re wasting valuable time in your life, and that you could be doing something more significant. You’ll feel like you’re suffocating, like if you missed places and people any more your heart would implode.

That. That is what it means to be an au pair. And I don’t want to mislead anyone into thinking that you won’t feel like giving up on a regular basis. Because the reality is, it’s an extremely “unnatural” feeling to be living in a stranger’s house in a strange land with strange surroundings and nothing and no one familiar in immediate reach during your rough moments.
You don’t get to go home and vent after work – your home is your work. You don’t get sick days to stay home and marathon Netflix, you go to work every day, regardless of your state of health. Your schedule is not your own, you get woken up by screaming children and have to be quiet at night so you don’t wake them. Sometimes you’ll wonder if it’s worth it – or whether you should crank your music so loud the walls shake just so you’ll remember that you are there. And you are. Even though sometimes it feels like you’ve melted into an emotional pot the family has forgotten to stir – some kind of strange substance floating on the surface.

Let’s face it, sometimes a lot of the time you will want to give up. A lot of time I want to give up.

But I was raised to keep running a race until I reached the finish line. Whether I have to run, walk, limp or crawl there – I will cross it, and hold my head high.

Being an au pair is hard; it has stretched me in ways that I never knew I could be stretched. It has emboldened me in ways I never thought possible, and it has cut into my heart, replacing pieces I never wanted to admit were rotting. I’ve overcome things that I never would wish for anyone else to experience, stories I’ll never tell to anyone but those who are closest to me.

It has been painful and difficult and crazy and confusing.

But every now and then I’ll catch a glimmer. A faint light shining amidst the chaos that this life brings, and I’ll remember; the life I was called to, to run a good race, to push forward even when absolutely everything is pushing me back. I’ll remember that even the darkest rainstorms result in beautiful color pallets painting the skies.

And maybe that’s what this season is about. It’s a season of stretching. A season of building the muscles that will carry me across steeper roads, higher mountains and deeper canyons.

It’s not easy. Not one day since I’ve been here has been easy. But there have been times when I’ve smiled more genuinely than I think I ever have before. And I guess that is what truly marks a great adventure. Not that it’s a leisurely stroll. But that it’s a trek that leaves you scratched up, worn out and ready to drop at the end – but with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment.

We did it.

None of us leave this life unscathed or unaltered. The real question is whether the wounds we acquire have stories that are worth telling for generations.

La Femme En France: Broken Wifi, Superbowl and Planning For Ireland

Published on January 20, 2015January 21, 2015 by EmileeLeave a comment

Broken Wifi, The Superbowl And Getting Ready For Ireland from Emilee Morehouse on Vimeo.

You Know You’re An Au Pair In France When:

Published on December 16, 2014December 17, 2014 by Emilee3 Comments

Being an au pair anywhere is an experience in itself, but there are some things that just really strike true for being one in France. And since these aren’t things you would necessarily know if you weren’t in France, I’ve decided to share 15 of them with all of you lovely people. So here we go: 15 ways you know you’re an au pair in France:

Your children have at least 1 “doudou” which is a lapin (rabbit).

For gôute (snack) your kids want compote pomme (applesauce in a tube), crêpes, pain chocolate or brioche.

This.

The park is your best friend.

You’re frantic to get your kids places on time, because you know it ain’t no joke to be late.

You dread Wednesdays. All Wednesdays.

Life really is a musical…or that’s what your kids think.

Soups come in one form: Purée.

Turtle necks are the cutest/worst thing to ever happen to your child’s wardrobe.

Night life on a week day? What’s that.

Your child crying sounds like this:

Your children do some kind of extreme sport activity… for fun.

Your kids play some kind of instrument. And anything less than perfection is unacceptable.

You know who Tchoupi et Doudou (aka Charley and Mimmo) are.

World Cup theatrics are nothing compared to your day to day life.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvsuYssoTw0

Even Heroes Get Homesick

Published on October 3, 2014 by Emilee2 Comments

“But all night he dreamed of his own house and wandered in his sleep into all his different rooms looking for something that he could not find, nor remember what it looked like.”

Right now I’m making my way through the forever-favorite book, The Hobbit. I know, I know, all the rest of you read it in 7^th grade when you were sporting rainbow braces, but I was off busy doing something else, and never had the chance. With the movies coming out, though, I decided to make it my book for the summer (one of a few).

Obviously it isn’t summer anymore. So I guess I didn’t quite make my deadline…but I’m still determined to finish the book, and I couldn’t be more happy with my decision.

One of my favorite things about J.R.R Tolkein is that, when he writes, he doesn’t romanticize the struggles of the adventures (which, personally, I think kind of makes it more romanticized, in a way). Throughout The Hobbit, again and again and again, he writes that Bilbo Baggins is a hobbit longing for home. No matter where he is, how good or bad things seem to be going; he remembers the tranquility of his hobbit hole and longs for it.

I don’t know about you guys, but I often find myself reading books that seem to coincide exactly with the kind of encouragement that I need. Or maybe, I find the encouragement in the books I read, because I need it.

Regardless, if there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that: I love adventures. I love living them, I love writing them and I love hearing stories about them. I love holding my breath while watching adventure movies, getting caught up in narratives and being on the edge of my seat – eyes wide and ready for the grand conclusion.

This hasn’t changed from when I was a kid and I’d spend weeks reading stacks of books about people who took their circumstances and turned them into stories worthy of being passed down through generations. That’s what I wanted then, and what I live for now. I want my life to be a story I can read back to my children; something that will have them on the edge of their seats, anticipating the part when mom _________________ (fill in the blank).

Adventures aren’t just something I think are necessary, but essential for my life. I need to travel, explore and see new things. I need to have my breath taken away by landscapes and oceans, to meet incredible people and take my place among the millions of experiences the world has to offer.

But the perspective of an adventure can be pretty different when you’re in the middle of it vs. when you’re hearing it second hand. Hungry wolves chasing after you might sound exciting from the security of your living room, but while you’re actually running from them– breath staggering, panic stricken eyes wild with fear, it’s probably not quite the same feeling (although, I’ve never been chased by wolves, so correct me if I’m wrong).

As humans, it’s in our nature to romanticize the past. We tell embellished stories (especially in my family) of what happened, who was there and how many obstacles there were; a foot long puddle turns into a raging river, a 10-inch trout becomes a 60-foot whale.

The stories get passed down from one person to another and then to another and another, until nobody even knows, for sure, what the facts are. As the details trickle down, from one person to the next, details get lost and scrambled in translation – especially emotions such as fear or uncertainty; finally, we’re left simply with the grand tales of bravery – unaware that the hero or heroine was having panic attacks before they made their brave, life altering, world saving decision.

I know personally, when I look back, I have a habit of romanticizing my past.

Somehow things always seem better when they’re not in the present. Life seems so much more exciting in the future; so much more secure and certain in the past. But if I’m honest, I realize that just isn’t the case.

Right now, I’m struggling with a Bilbo Baggins mentality.

Maybe I don’t live in Middle Earth, but I would consider my life an adventure right now. I’m in a strange place, with a strange culture and language surrounding me. I have no idea what the next year of my life will entail. But, all in all, life is pretty great right now.

So why am I still longing for the past?

I love the family I’m working with, I couldn’t have asked for a better match in personalities, tastes, hobbies and general atmosphere.

BUT…here it comes: I’m homesick.

I don’t really want to admit it, because I thought maybe I would miraculously overcome nostalgia (and I did for about month) but this week the homesickness has been hitting pretty hard.

It’s not saying that I don’t love the adventure that I’m on. I’m making awesome friends, getting to try new experiences and generally loving life – but there’s still a part of me longing for my hobbit hole (aka Seattle).

I miss friends, I miss my routine, I miss my bike, being able to call people up to go watch the sunset at Golden Gardens, or to WOW to drink bubble tea; I miss speaking and hearing English, and I miss being able to effortlessly talk to random people when I go out.

It’s expected and normal for us to want what we had before, whether it was bad or good, it was known. And who wouldn’t want to be somewhere they know over somewhere uncertain?

But right now, I’m reminding myself of the beauty in learning to love something I’m uncomfortable with. And let me tell you – sometimes it is VERY UNCOMFORTABLE to be living in a country that is so different.

But that’s part of the adventure, right!?

I’m so thankful for all of you who have encouraged me, sent me mail (which seriously makes my week) and have generally uplifted me during this transition. I feel so lucky to have such an amazing community around me, and I’m excited for what’s up and coming in my life – even if it means missing my city a little in the meantime.

Seattle will always have my heart. And striking out into the unknown can be extremely intimidating at times. But I’m learning to accept the fact that even the greatest heroes and heroines sometimes find themselves longing for home.

10665711_10204172456965047_9015377252074158795_n — I found a beret at a Paris street fair. Needless to say: J’adore.

Chapter 2: We Will Overcome

Published on September 29, 2014September 29, 2014 by Emilee3 Comments

If you could have seen the man taking this picture on the ground…I love strangers, sometimes.

The weekend before I moved to Paris me and my friend visited Paris. Little did I know, it would be my home a week later. Life is a roller coaster and we never know what’s going to happen, but I’m ready for the next chapter and to see what beautiful things come out of this season. Paris 2014- 2015. Ready, set, go.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”

Ecclesiastes. 3:1