I'll Be Home for Christmas
The sun is setting at Orly, Paris airport, and I have my usual pre-flight glass of wine by my side. Once more, I've packed my bags, and I’m headed to the South of France.
The year is wrapping up and I feel a sense of relief.
Last New Year’s Eve I flew home from France, moved in with a friend, and started the year by officially ending my short lived marriage on an ice cold winter day in a busy coffee shop.
I had no idea how hard it would be. I'm glad I didn't. I barely made it through the winter months, ran away to LA, and left Toronto when it all became too much. Then it was Europe. I started in Berlin where I had my first taste of freedom and excitement for my new life. Then Northern Ireland, where I sobbed at my cousin’s wedding because it was still too soon. Then London. Then home in France. The beginning of my nomadic reality.
I’ve packed and unpacked my suitcase so many times year. Me, my big purple bag and my credit cards are worn out.
In a lot of ways it was a year of loss and leaving. I lost my love, my home, left my job and Canada. On two separate occasions I lost my passport, money and identification. On several occasions I lost all sense of self.
But the gains. The beautiful gains. So many great experiences, new friendships, places, skills, and maybe even a little happy weight gain from living so well. I’ve lived the way I always wanted to. I’ve taken risks. I’ve seen dreams realized. I’ve made more than one city my home. I remind myself of this when it hurts or I feel worn out from it all.
What now? I'm not sure. Maybe something more stable. Maybe I'll keep moving. I have to sort out the details and get some money in the bank.
First I go home, to France, to my loving parents and sleepy little village to celebrate Christmas.
I hope you're all warm with love and feeling excited about life. Whatever your year has been like, we've got a new one coming up, and I think it's going to be a good one.