What drives Americans to leave home and settle elsewhere? That question has been on my mind for many years. This series, Leaving America, seeks to uncover the multitude of reasons and lessons learned—beginning with Americans in and around Paris. Become a paid subscriber to access this newsletter’s archives. You can read more of my thinking on this topic in this reported essay.

Few of the Americans in Paris I’ve come to know have a linguaphile love story as similar to my own as Alexander Hurst’s. Where we differ, however, is in our approach to financial risk. Broke and living in a cramped apartment in Paris in 2020, he took a massive gamble and invested what savings he had in high-risk options trading. He saw his earnings skyrocket before, well, they plummeted, costing him everything. His tale first appeared in The Guardian before it became the crux of his memoir, Generation Desperation, released earlier this year. He’s bounced back, however, and now covers politics and culture as a columnist for The Guardian as well as other international publications. What role does Paris play in the life he is carving out for himself? Find out below.

Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.?
Kind of a split between Cleveland, Ohio, where I grew up and where my parents still live, and so where I have the strongest ongoing connection, and Amherst, Massachusetts, where I went to undergrad at Amherst College, which is the last time I really lived in the US, versus just visiting.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
I left for France (Strasbourg) at the end of undergrad in 2012 with the idea of genuinely learning French, going to graduate school in France, and more likely than not having some sort of international life.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
The year after I lived in Strasbourg, I went to southern Chad to work for an NGO. A few months into that experience, I was sure enough that I wanted to go back France that when I started applying to graduate schools, I decided to counteract my indecision by applying to only one graduate program (a dual Masters between Sciences Po and the London School of Economics), so that I would have nothing to choose between, and thus nothing to regret.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even if as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I had the absolute privilege of parents who had persistently squirreled money away into an education account, no loans from Amherst (which was one of the first colleges in the U.S. to remove loans and switch to grant-only funding in its financial aid packages), and on top of that, grants for graduate study from Amherst. That made the LSE year possible. Without that, I would have gone only to Sciences Po, which, even as an international student, is far more affordable than comparable institutions in the U.S.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
22, which was great for actually becoming deeply fluent in French, even if learning it as an adult still means always having an accent.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
Do we ever really know, for sure?

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
France is over-centralized in a way that’s not-so-beneficial for the country as a whole, but that makes Paris practically unparalleled as a city. There are really few places in the world that are at the center of almost every scene: academics and research, conferences, policy and government, music, cinema, literature and publishing, fashion, art, tech, healthcare, museums, food, outdoor festivals… The only thing Paris is missing is a coast, and deep nature. London is dense in this same type of way, maybe.

But in Paris, my life is truly bilingual. I have this (probably annoying) way of really using both languages in conversation, but it’s because I think I need both of them to feel like a complete person. French might not be my native language, but it is my language now. I can’t imagine living somewhere where I wasn’t debating politics in French, browsing through French books in bookstores, sitting on terraces at sunset with conversations happening in both languages, going to English and French standup comedy.

Losing French from my life would feel like I was being stripped of the most life-altering decision I ever made. I’m amused when I think of some early mistakes I made my first year of language courses in Strasbourg, like being at a restaurant and ordering “La salope de poulet” instead of “l’escalope de poulet”. (For the non Francophones, I tried to order “the slutty chicken” instead of the “chicken cutlet”). And then my idea of reaching the top of language fluency has kept progressing.

My bar for ‘final boss level’ of language integration used to be getting 90% of standup comedy in French without needing to ask a friend to explain a joke, because that requires social, cultural, and historical fluency as well as linguistic fluency; now I think the ‘final boss level’ might be the one I beat last summer (live panel discussion about US politics and Trumpism at Le Monde’s Festival International du Journalisme) or in January (discussing ICE and the rise of fascism in the US on a live-broadcast roundtable for a show on France 5, called En Société), but maybe it’s the one I’m currently at: writing a longform piece for a French magazine, La Revue21, organically in French.

Or maybe the only one that I can imagine coming after, which would be pulling the full Kundera and writing a book in French?

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris?
Lowest: Paris has certainly seen me heartbroken more than once, and in those moments I’ve told myself that maybe there’s something artistic about letting this city absorb yet one more broken heart.

Highest: Refreshing the Journal Officiel de la République one day in late August, 2022, and seeing that I had officially become a French national. (And then going to pick up my passport).

But, you know Lindsey, one of your recent Instagram videos — where you mention Paris being a real place, and not simply a tourist’s sojourn — made me think twice about that. In my memoir Generation Desperation (ok, plugging my book, uhuh uhuh) I write about really struggling in my late 20s in this tiny, cramped flatshare, with the same financial and existential life problems as a ton of Millennials in major urban centers in the US have certainly experienced. With an early draft there was this bit of editorial feedback from someone in the U.S. whose reaction was, more or less, that the struggles that pushed me to all kinds of desperate financial behavior couldn’t really be that sympathetic because I was in Paris.

And I remember thinking, well, would that be the reaction if I were writing about how tough it was to find my footing in Brooklyn?

No doubt, Paris is this dream place for so many people. But it’s also just…a city. It’s a real place, where people are frazzled and busting their ass and exhausted on the horribly screechy line 13 at the end of an infuriating 300th day of metro-boulot-dodo (commute-work-sleep), and where far too many people are scraping by on salaries that most Americans would raise their eyebrows at (and not in a good way). The fact that it’s so romanticized in cinema and literature and in New York Times articles makes it hard for a lot of people to also think about it as a place that sometimes you can’t wait to get away from for a bit.

In a sense it shouldn’t be: just think about Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London. But even the idea of struggling in Paris has this compelling, la vie en rose tint to it. Whereas Paris, the real, non-touristy version, is an onion, and as incredible as it is to peel away new layers, sometimes it also makes you cry.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?
I miss the ease with which Americans are always striking up conversations with each other. Every time I wait at the gym for my HIIT class, people are waiting in relative silence and I always find myself thinking, “if this were Cleveland, there would be a lot of chit chat going on.”

What book or movie do you most associate with the American experience abroad?Hmm, it’s not necessarily the American experience abroad, but L’Auberge Espagnol had a lot of intersections with my own experience in Paris as a student.

If you had to narrow it down to one, what is the greatest lesson living abroad has taught you about yourself and the world?
That there really is an ‘Anglo-American’ way of thinking about the world that a lot of Americans assume (without even realizing it) is simply the way of conceptualizing the world. It’s not, it’s one of many.

Have you ever considered going back? (Why or why not)
No. Even if I wanted to move back to a disintegrating former democracy and live under a corrupt oligarchy in the making, being able to afford life as a writer in the U.S. seems inconceivable. Healthcare alone would eat up like half of my income.

For those contemplating leaving the U.S., what do you suggest they consider most about the decision?
The more you’re able to swap U.S. ways of operating for local ways of operating, the better your experience will be. For example, I had a friend who, years ago, kept complaining that he couldn’t find good produce here, which blew my mind because my own experience is that produce in much of the U.S. is giant, blemishless, and bland, compared to the explosively real taste of things in France. And eventually he told me that he did all his shopping at Monoprix (a big-box grocery store chain), instead of going to the green grocer, or taking advantage of the farmer’s markets that pop up in each Paris neighborhood at least once a week. And while some artisan stores of bio épiceries can absolutely be a bit pricey, I don’t find that to be the case with the local pop-up farmer’s markets. Certainly not in the northeast of the city. Especially if you’re eating seasonally.

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If there is anyone I credit with soothing me after submitting my manuscript for The New Parisienne, it’s Elaine Ng Huntzinger. I had known about her work as a TCM practitioner and acupuncturist through a dear friend who booked me an appointment with Elaine as a hurray! You finished that beast of a book! Now, please, let someone help you relax gift. She absolutely helped me and talked me through how acupuncture could, long term, help me manage my Tourette Syndrome. Her guidance was a gift in more ways than one. We also share a connection to rock climbing— she is an avid climber and in a household of climbers; I am married to one. Today, her work also includes facial rejuvenation, making her one of the toughest specialists to book, for good reason. But what led her to France in the first place? Keep reading.

Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.?
San Diego. I had just finished acupuncture school and had been teaching pilates. I met my husband rock climbing in Greece when I was teaching pilates (in Paris) for a few months. I had taken a break from school to hang out in Paris and work and met my husband in that month. He later moved to San Diego with me for a year while I finished my studies.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
I intended to leave permanently. I knew intuitively that I was probably never going to return. I had been in and out of France for a while and this time, the conditions were perfect to move there permanently.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
My husband’s father was diagnosed with cancer and he abandoned his green card process as a result. He wanted to return to France to spend time with his father. I had been on the fence about whether we should stay in California or move to France. I saw this as a sign that it was time to move back to France.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even if as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I think you either need to have some savings or be with a partner who is able to work in France. You also need to think about what skills you have that could translate into working in the country. We initially moved to Annecy because my husband was working in Geneva. I got bored just hanging out and decided to cold call pilates studios in Geneva. I got a job teaching there and then opened a small studio in Annecy where I also practiced acupuncture. A year later, we moved to Paris where I started working as a pilates instructor. I had started practicing acupuncture while I was teaching pilates in San Diego and essentially translated that model into building my business here.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I left at 35 years old. I think it was the perfect time. I had acquired skills that I could translate into work and I was adult enough to hustle for the long term.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
It took a few years, but I think giving birth in a very supportive environment without going broke really showed me I was in the right place.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
Paris is visually stimulating and is always changing. I love that culture is a priority and every day you hear about a new exhibition, a restaurant, or a new trend that is emerging. There is enthusiasm for newness with substance and history that San Diego definitely did not possess. Also, I find the quality of food in France is so far superior to anything you can find back home.

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris?
The highest was probably when my daughter was a newborn and we took her to Versailles for the Murakami exposition there. I was amazed that I was able to participate in an art expo in such a historical environment with my child who would be brought up in a world full of culture and beauty.

My lowest was walking home from dinner and seeing people fleeing the Bataclan during the terrorist attack. We heard shots and sirens the entire night. We lived very close to the Bataclan back then. The heaviness in the city was palpable for months after those attacks.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?
I miss the efficiency and friendliness of most people in stores and restaurants. It is often easier getting things done in the States than in France.

What book or movie do you most associate with the American experience abroad?My first long stay in France, I lived in Aix-en-Provence. The book Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald reminded me of how I felt when I was driving around in the south of France. The film Before Sunrise embodies the feeling of being in Paris for the first time and also the yearning for spontaneous experiences.

If you had to narrow it down to one, what is the greatest lesson living abroad has taught you about yourself and the world?
If you have a clear vision of what you want, you can achieve your goal as long as you remain flexible. You are going to have to modify, tolerate, and adapt to the social norms, laws, and culture. Also, you need to learn the language.

Have you ever considered going back? (Why or why not)
Not since having a child. She has had a great private bilingual education here that is very affordable. Also, the health care system here is accessible and efficient. After being here for more than 20 years, I can see how France, despite many social issues, still chooses to take care of its citizens versus serving only the privileged class.

For those contemplating leaving the U.S., what do you suggest they consider most about the decision?
Make sure you really understand why you want to leave. I would not cut ties 100% with your home country, at least for a few years, in case you want to go back. Just like home renovations, life renovations will take far more time and patience than you realize.

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Click here to read all previous Leaving America questionnaires. If you think a friend would enjoy The New Paris Dispatch, gift subscriptions are available here.

A quick note: As you may know by now, this Leaving America series emerged from an obsession with understanding and documenting ever-increasing American migration that I initially envisioned as a new book. That didn’t happen but I’ve so enjoyed hearing from adopted French residents in this format. My original idea was never meant to be confined to French borders, however, so I was overjoyed to have the opportunity to go deep and broad on the idea of leaving with a reported essay in the new issue of The Bitter Southerner, a remarkable independent publication based in the American South that doesn’t shy away from the painful but necessary conversations we all need to be having. The piece is now online, it would mean the world if you’d take the time to read it here.

I’m always impressed by Americans in France who find themselves pursuing unconventional career paths or deepening their expertise, disconnected from the corporate world. David Simonson is on such American. A California-born landscape architect and garden designer (or, as the French would say, paysagiste), very much in love with a French woman, he landed in Paris more than fifteen years ago with a landscape degree in hand and the swift realization that he’d need to start over. That was hardly a significant setback. He launched his own studio in 2015 and has subsequently worked across Europe and the Mediterranean, winning numerous prizes, notably at the Chaumont-sur-Loire and the Côte d'Azur Festival competitions.

Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.?
On the corner of Haight and Ashbury in San Francisco. Janis Joplin had lived in the same apartment at one point, which gave it a certain mythology. I shared it with an older gay man named Larry, who had moved in back in 1972. He was full of stories, many of which began with, “This guy I knew…” and often ended with the reminder that the person had passed away. Having lived through that era in San Francisco, and having escaped the worst of the AIDS crisis that devastated so many around him, he carried a remarkable memory of a vanished world.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
I met a French tourist while living on Haight and Ashbury and found her irresistible. I did not plan on coming back to the U.S. I moved to Paris with everything I owned packed into two suitcases, along with some fishing poles and a skateboard. I told myself I could always head back if France didn’t work out.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
I graduated in 2008, at what felt like one of the worst possible moments to be looking for work in America. Even with a five-year degree in landscape architecture, I was working at a chocolate shop. Around that time, one of my mentors told me to get out of the States and go to Europe, even if it meant sweeping the streets just to get started. That advice hit me hard. I also think I had always known, on some level, that the less conventional path was the one that suited me best.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even if as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I arrived in France with only $1,200 in my account, so I was definitely not operating with a large financial cushion. I was going with the flow more than anything else. Fortunately, I found a small job at Rose Bakery for a few months before landing a gardening job with a landscaping company in Saint-Germain-en-Laye. In the end, drive and a willingness to start wherever you can will go a long way.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I was 27 and very much in love with my French girlfriend. I can be impulsive, but there was a real connection between us, and I chose to trust my instincts rather than logic or caution. Looking back, the timing felt right. I had just graduated from Cal Poly with a degree in landscape architecture, so studying French at the Alliance Française and the Sorbonne felt like a natural extension of my education. Later, I went on to earn a second degree in garden design in Versailles, so, in hindsight, the move became the foundation for my future as a landscape architect in France. The transition was much more demanding than I had imagined, but it was necessary in order to build a lasting life for myself in this country.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
Definitely no regrets. I felt I had made the right call when I was accepted to the École Nationale Supérieure de Paysage in Versailles. That really confirmed for me that I was in the right place and that things could work out in France as a landscape architect. Being able to study garden design was the perfect complement to my earlier training in California. The cherry on top was winning the competition at the International Garden Festival of Chaumont-sur-Loire in my graduating year.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
I grew up in Encinitas, a small coastal town in Southern California. I still love my hometown—its beaches and its desert landscapes—but Paris has given me access to a depth of culture, food, art, and historic landscapes that has been incredibly enriching and deeply satisfying. It has also opened the door to creating gardens in France, across Europe, and internationally, which has been a real advantage as a native English speaker. Just as importantly, raising a family in France feels like a gift. I find the French way of life more balanced than the American one, and I feel fortunate to be bringing up my children in a democratic country that still places real value on liberty, equality, and fraternity.

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris?
My lowest moment was probably having my application to the landscape design school in Versailles rejected twice. It finally went through on the third attempt, and luckily, I’ve always been stubborn and persistent. In a full-circle twist, I now teach at the university and have done so for several years, alongside running my own garden company. My highest moment was, without question, the birth of my children.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?
I miss the waves in Encinitas, though I still make it to the ocean whenever I can. I also miss speaking English and spending time with my old friends in California, whom I usually see during my summer vacation. That said, I’ve been lucky to build a small community of American friends in Paris, which has helped me keep that connection alive.

What book or movie do you most associate with the American experience abroad?

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For the last edition of this series for 2025 (more than a year after I started it!), I’m thrilled to speak with Farah Alimi. The Damascus-born, Paris-based artist ultimately left the United States for a reason that hasn’t yet been discussed here: to inch closer to her homeland. I first met Farah at Sobremesa, a wonderful wine bar in the 18th arrondissement that has regularly hosted her friend Shan Rachel Jiang as a chef in residence. Then, I kept running into her at Paramaz, a leather goods workshop-coffee shop-boutique we both love. Today, she joins me here to offer her story of leaving the U.S.

Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.?
Greenpoint, New York

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
I always knew, deep down, that New York was never meant to be my final destination. As painful as it was to leave, I understood when the moment arrived that it was time. The decision didn’t come all at once. I needed to test the waters first, to breathe somewhere new. Marseille was that threshold. I had visited the south once before, and my last stop was Marseille. The moment I stepped into its streets, tears slid down my cheeks, it was an indescribable feeling, as though I were visiting Damascus. I felt at home. The chaos, the humbleness of the city, it all resonated with me. I fell in love right then and there and promised myself I would return and stay for a while.

At the time, in 2016, Damascus, like the rest of Syria, was in a heartbreakingly fragile state, so the closest and most familiar city for me was Marseille. I was grateful to have found such a place. It felt like a gift, a moment that taught me patience and prepared me for the time I would eventually return to my birth city. Even now, I can still feel the quiet weight of that experience and how profoundly it shaped me. I knew I had to be in the south before making my way to Paris, to inch closer to home. That, more than anything else, was the reason.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
Yes, absolutely. I needed to live, to truly enjoy my time, instead of constantly working and hustling while life rushed past me. I was craving a life of quality. I didn’t fully know what I was stepping into then, but I chose to go for it anyway.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even if as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I was privileged to have had steady work that allowed me to save a solid amount of money before making my big move. Before fully committing to the decision, I took two important steps. I spent three months in Marseille during the holidays, from Thanksgiving through mid-January, to see if I was strong enough to handle being completely on my own, without family. I also took time to understand the financial reality of Europe, which was, and still is very different from New York. In many ways, life here is far more affordable.

Prior to COVID, I began working in wardrobe for film and television productions in Marseille, primarily on American projects. I continued working in wardrobe there until late 2021, after leaving fashion and New York behind, when I was still figuring out my direction. What eventually brought me to Paris was a job—ironically, a show that somehow connected back to fashion: The New Look, about Christian Dior, Coco Chanel, and Dior’s sister Catherine, a resistance fighter. I owe so much to Allyx Seaman, Thomas McCarthy, Rae Baron, and Karen Miller Serreau, whose guidance and support helped make a career like this possible for me.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I left at 27, nearly nine years ago. It was the right time to make the move, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. I’m truly thankful.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
Despite missing my family and friends, and despite how difficult the first two years were, I quickly realized it was the right call. I was learning a new language, discovering a new culture, and living in an almost 40m² apartment with rent so low it would be impossible in the States, all just a short walk from the Mediterranean. Even then, I was a happy camper, always grateful. And of course, moving to Paris after four years was the cherry on top. I moved for work, and I couldn’t have been happier to start a new chapter in a city I had always imagined would be a part of my life. Funny how life works.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
I was just thinking about this a few weeks ago. Paris is charming in many ways, but one charm I especially appreciate is how, no matter how fast-paced the city can feel, it always makes time to pause and relax. It nudges you to slow down and savor life. At first, I found it a bit strange, like the unhurried pace at restaurants, but then I realized it was for my own good. Another thing I love is the accessibility of fresh produce and healthcare.

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris?
It’s hard to pick just one highest or lowest moment, so here’s a glimpse of a few that stand out. One of my highest moments was having my art show, Before and After Damascus, this past April with Atelier 505. It came shortly after a trip to Damascus, my first in twenty years, which may very well be another high point in itself.

Another incredible high point was collaborating with PARAMAZ, painting directly on their leather. It was such a meaningful moment to work with a brand that shares the same values of traditional craftsmanship, offering their leather for me to paint on, and eventually to have those pieces incorporated into their gorgeous bags. That opportunity was both humbling and inspiring, and it remains one of my proudest achievements.

I’ve also had two particularly low moments. The first was when there was an issue with my carte de séjour during the renewal process. I couldn’t leave the country for months, and after a long period of uncertainty and back-and-forth, I finally received it for ten years, which, of course, became another high point. The second low moment came in Paris, when I struggled to find an apartment. It was an incredibly challenging time, but with the help of friends, I eventually found a solution that worked.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?

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I don’t know how many Americ…

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What happens when you’ve spent more than a decade in an adopted home, decide to start splitting time in the U.S. to be closer to loved ones, and homeland turmoil shifts everything? Shepherd, a former English teacher who now focuses full-time on her luxury shopping concierge business and consulting American women, particularly Black women, on establishing residency in Paris (and thriving once they arrive), is currently experiencing that very existential crisis. Below, the creator of Paris Chic Code shares her highs, lows, and current uncertainties.

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Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.?
New York City.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
I intended to move for 6 months to a year. When I first arrived in Paris, I sourced a teaching gig on Craigslist—remember them? I taught conversational English classes for €400 a month, if you can believe that. That little side hustle eventually became a full-time cadre CDI (full-time contract) at a Grande École. It took me nearly two years to earn that CDI. I started working under the table, then graduated to a CDD (temporary contract), and finally secured the stability of a CDI with the same company. I stayed with them for eight years.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
There wasn’t one defining moment. But after spending a year in Paris, studying French and working, I realized my life felt lighter than the constant grind of New York. Growing up in the Bay Area, I had been sheltered inside a liberal bubble. Moving to New York exposed me to harsh realities—stark inequality, classism, and the sharp divide between the haves and the have-nots. Paris gave me a different kind of ease.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even if as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I had nothing saved, and I still made it work. I figured it out along the way. For my clients, I always stress that it depends on their lifestyle. When I moved to Paris at 33, finishing my degree, I didn’t need much. Now, at 45, my needs and standards are higher, so I would approach it differently. But the truth is: moving to Paris is absolutely possible without a massive savings account.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I moved at 33. In hindsight, I wish I had shifted my timeline earlier. I should have moved to New York at 21 instead of 28, Paris at 30 instead of 33, and back to the States part-time at 40 instead of 44.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
I knew I had made the right call when I recognized the privilege I carried as a Black American woman in France. For the first time in my life, I was simply an American—not a hyphenated Black American. In France, I experience the same global privileges afforded to white women. I can just be. I can take up space unapologetically. I also recognize, though, that my experience as a Black American woman is not the same as that of Black French women, who do not enjoy the same privileges.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
Everything I mentioned above, plus: job security, universal healthcare, six weeks of vacation, and the South of France.

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris?
My highest moments have come through my work as a personal shopper—being invited to exclusive events and treated with a level of respect and privilege that comes with a cost in the States. Walking into luxury boutiques, restaurants, or cafés, the red carpet is often rolled out for me. Once, while shopping with a client, she pointed out how respected I was everywhere we went. She was right—it’s a different reality. In the U.S., Black Americans are too often dismissed, ignored, or treated as nuisances.

About five years into my life in Paris, fresh from a breakup with the man I thought I would marry, I created Penniless in Paris. It was a blog about finding my footing in the City of Light, highlighting my single life and my attempts to figure it all out. During those early years, one of my biggest mistakes was not building a network for myself. All of my friends were my partner’s friends, and when the relationship ended, so did those friendships. Not creating my own community remains one of my biggest regrets. I’m an extrovert; meeting people comes easily to me, but back then, I failed to do it until I had no choice. So some of my lowest moments were the times I felt the loneliness of Paris, without my family or the close friends who ground me.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?
Black Americanness. Black women. The Black church. My family. Life abroad can be deeply lonely. While I have an American community in France, I need the presence of Black Americans. I can’t do life without them.

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It's Not Just You

So, you want to leave the U.S.?

Hello! It’s Not Just You is a free weekly(ish) newsletter which I write from Paris, but not always about Paris. A warm welcome to all you new subscribers…

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a year ago · 47 likes · 33 comments · Susanna Schrobsdorff

One way many Americans have landed in Paris, at least since the early 20th century, is through teaching. Janet Skeslien Charles was an English teacher and teaching assistant in France long before she became known as a bestselling novelist with titles such as The Paris Library, Miss Morgan’s Book Brigade, and her latest audiobook, The Paris Chapter. It hasn’t been an easy road, as she so honestly tells it below, but it has been rewarding and filled with community.

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Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.?
I last lived in Missoula, where I took graduate classes and taught French 101 at the University of Montana. I’d just returned from Odesa, where I’d taught English at a local high school from 1994-1996. It was an incredible experience, and I missed my friends and the excitement of living there. As a full-time teacher in Ukraine, I’d made $25 a month. It wasn’t exactly a viable future, so I returned home to Montana. I was 26 years old and had no idea what I was doing with my life.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
In 1998, I came to France for a school year. I’d applied to a French program for teaching assistants. (This program started in 1905 and is still open to people aged 20-35 today.) I was offered a job in Mulhouse, in Alsace. I booked a ticket to the local airport, but that flight was canceled because of an Air France strike. I was put on a plane to Charles de Gaulle Airport. That first day in Paris, I met Eddy, my future husband.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
In rural Montana, I always felt that my life was out there waiting for me. The things I wanted were different than the things that the people around me wanted. I wanted the big city, lots of choices, noise, and cultural activities. I wanted to travel and to speak foreign languages. Now that I’m older, I long for the quiet of the countryside; however, I could not have written my four novels if I had not moved abroad. As a writer, at heart, I am interested in journeys, the transitions we go through, the way that we react to change, whether it be marriage or divorce, a new job or getting fired, having children or not, breaking up with a friend, having cancer or Covid, or moving to a new country.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even if as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
Back in Montana, a coworker and I were both accepted into the French teaching assistant program. He had a chronic health condition and decided not to take the job because he worried about medical costs. (If only we’d known that he would have had coverage through the job.) All this to say that I was fortunate not to have considered medical issues.

My monthly salary for twelve hours a week in Mulhouse was $750. To supplement this income, I gave private lessons.

A French student, a German teaching assistant, and I shared a small apartment with no living room, only a communal kitchen. It was well maintained; the landlords were a lovely retired couple. My roommates and I only had a landline phone. We didn’t have a television or a car. We rarely ate out. I grew up reading about Simone de Beauvoir, who lived in small hotel rooms in Paris, and Christopher Isherwood, who rented a room in a woman’s Berlin apartment. So with my living arrangement, I felt like I was following in their footsteps. It was a special year. I loved my roommates, students, and coworkers. We could take the bus or train to Germany or Switzerland for the day.

I moved to Paris in 1999 and got another job as a teaching assistant. It was a short-term work contract (CDD) instead of an open-ended one (CDI). When Eddy and I applied for apartments, my income was never considered, as if I didn’t even exist. It was frustrating.

To be a teacher in the French system, you must pass a difficult competitive exam, which includes translating from French to English and English to French. In 1999, exactly 6027 students signed up to take the exam, for only 1270 available positions. (The French keep excellent statistics.1) I didn’t think I could have passed, so I continued as an assistant rather than a teacher, and wrote stories about Odesa. This seems normal. Most creatives I know have two jobs. Tour guide and journalist. Website designer and editor. Writer and teacher. Bookseller and author. Thankfully, my superpower seems to be taking low-paying jobs and turning them into bestselling novels.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I arrived in France when I was 27. It was a good age because I was still very optimistic and energetic. I’d had some work experience and had enough confidence in myself.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
When I realized I had married someone who understands how much work it takes to write. Long before I was published, he treated my writing like a full-time job, not some hobby. Second, when I met my writing group, I finally felt more at home in Paris. That made all the difference.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t
Choices. There are so many choices. Maybe it is not so much a difference between America and France, but between rural and city.

A glass of champagne in a corner café.

People here can debate and still get along. I’ve seen my husband and brother-in-law have loud arguments one day, and the next, they are able to talk and joke.

As a writer, I pay attention to words. Here in France, you often hear the word solidaire. I appreciate how people come together here and have empathy for others. I’m sorry to say that in America, we do not often talk about “solidarity.” Unfortunately, many people didn’t have a problem with Trump until they were personally affected by his decrees. I am heartened by the recent protests.

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris?
Lowest professional moments: I had trouble getting a long-term job. Despite my best efforts, I remained a teaching assistant for seven long years. My coworkers viewed me as someone who would only be here for a few months, so they weren’t interested in getting to know me. Each year, I worked in three schools (often in different arrondissements) and gave countless private lessons. I spent more time below ground in the metro than above ground. Commuting and being on the run almost every hour of the workday was exhausting. I spent my spare time writing my novel and applying for jobs.

Since I was in my early thirties, French interviewers often asked about my plans for having a family. One even told me she wished I were “past the child-bearing years.” Finally, I landed an interview for the advertised role of Public Relations Coordinator at an American organization. During the meeting, I was informed that the position title had been changed to PR Assistant. I howled, “I cannot remain an assistant forever!” No surprise, I didn’t get the job.

Happy professional moments: When my first novel was published in the U.S. and UK, and when it was translated into French. I so enjoyed working with the editor and translator. The book won a few small literary prizes here and in England, and I was invited to several literary festivals in Paris, Bordeaux, Macon, Cognac, and even Tahiti. My husband and I did a literary tour de France. It was a great way to see the country.

This spring, I spoke at the Belleville library founded by Jessie Carson, the real-life heroine of my latest novel. In northern France during World War I, this NYPL librarian was hired by the American Committee for Devastated France to create libraries for families who’d lost their homes and livelihoods. At the time, books were the only form of entertainment or escape. After the war, Jessie transformed ambulances into bookmobiles. It is an incredible honor to share her story and to present my work at the library where she once stood.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?
I’ve missed many milestones of loved ones, and wish I could have been there for them.

On a day-to-day basis, I miss moments of small talk, warmth, and connection with strangers. I miss the creativity and openness. In France, there is often only one perceived way to do something.

I also miss good customer service.

What book or movie do you most associate with the American experience abroad?
Lost in Translation with Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson. It conveys so well the feeling of being lost in life and feeling like you don’t understand. It also shows the tight friendships that form when you are out of your depth.

If you had to narrow it down to one, what is the greatest lesson living abroad has taught you about yourself and the world?
Even though I speak French, I have struggled here, personally and professionally. I try to remind myself that we can take things easy or we can take them hard. We have to be patient with ourselves. So much comes down to chance. An Air France strike changed the trajectory of my life. There is so much that we do not control. We just have to do the best we can, with what we know, at any given time.

Have you ever considered going back? (Why or why not)

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I often wonder how my life would have unfolded if my physical exposure to France had begun earlier than late adolescence. Would I have chosen Paris? Would I have applied to university here, right from the start? Would it have changed anything other than create an even older and more enduring connection to the country? These are some of the questions that came to mind when I was reading about journalist and Becoming French author Phineas Rueckert’s experiences, below.

Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.?
Brooklyn, New York.

I was born in New York, and grew up between New York and Washington D.C. I spent childhood summers in Paris while my mom taught a study abroad course for Hunter College so I spoke the language and was introduced to French culture from an early age. After graduating from college in 2015, France was a natural choice for me. I moved to Toulouse, in the south of France, and taught English for a year as part of the TAPIF program. There, I saw a different part of the country and experienced France on my own for the first time. At the end of the school year, I returned to New York and worked for a couple of years, but my eyes were set on returning to France. Soon after, I applied to graduate school at Sciences Po, and in 2018, I moved here again– this time for good.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
Technically, I moved to Paris for a two-year graduate school program, after which point I was supposed to move back to New York. But I think in my heart I knew that I wanted to stay in Paris; I was just in denial.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
I’ve recently been reading through old journals. In the summer of 2019, I had just spent a couple of months in New York for an internship at a local newspaper and had arrived back to Paris for my second year of graduate school. It was a difficult time for me. I had just ended a four-year relationship, and spent my summer couchsurfing in one of the most expensive cities in the world. I returned to Paris in early summer, and in that moment, I felt like the weight of my existence had shifted, away from the States and towards France. I wrote at the time: “We seem to have this misplaced notion that your real life has to be lived where you were born. For me, it doesn’t feel that way. My real life is where I [chose to live]…This whole summer, it was New York – and not Paris – that felt like the interlude.”

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even if as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I moved to Paris with a few thousand dollars in savings, a few steady freelance gigs and an academic scholarship that significantly defrayed my university costs. The first year I lived at the Cité Universitaire in the 14th arrondissement and must have paid around 500 euros in rent. My window didn’t overlook the Seine, but the péripherique ring road, and I shared a kitchen with messy undergrads, so I was immediately dispelled of any romantic notions of life in Paris.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I left New York a few weeks after my 25th birthday. I think it was the right time for me. Sometimes I wish I had moved to France for undergrad, but I’m happy to have had the traditional American liberal arts college experience (at Macalester College in St. Paul, Minnesota). I’m also glad I lived in New York for a couple of years as an adult. Throughout my life, Paris and New York have always been jostling one another for position. I recently saw an old high school friend, and she reminded me that as a teenager in DC I was always saying that my dream was to live in New York. New York gave me life skills, experiences and friendships I couldn’t have had in Paris, at a time (my early 20s) when I needed them, but towards the end I was gasping for air, exhausted by the noise, the dirtiness, the constant social life and the outrageous prices.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
I very vividly remember walking across the Pont de la Tournelle on one of those late August nights when I first arrived in 2018, looking down at the yellow lights of the city reflected onto the jet black river and feeling completely at peace in a way I never had in New York City or Washington D.C. In that moment I knew that I had made the right call.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
French people often scoff at me when I say this, but Paris offered me tranquility. I love that you can spend all afternoon at a café nursing a small coffee while reading a book. I love the parks and the quays of the river—these spaces where all of Paris life comes together. Paris is a walking city, and walking is how I process my thoughts. In the book I’m currently reading, Walking on the Ceiling by Ayşegül Savaş, the two main characters strike up a friendship and deal with grief over walks through Paris. In New York, you can walk for an hour and you’re still in the same neighborhood. In Paris, you can walk for an hour and end up in a different world, or a different century.

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris?
I haven’t spoken much about my day job, but I’ve worked as a journalist for the past five years at Forbidden Stories, a French journalism non-profit focusing on press freedom issues. For much of the spring of 2021, I worked on a top-secret investigation into spyware abuse. I couldn’t tell my partner, my parents or my friends about what I was working on for those months. In July 2021, we released the Pegasus Project a day before my 27th birthday. The investigation revealed how the phones of top French politicians, including Emmanuel Macron and several ministers, were allegedly tapped by the Kingdom of Morocco. That week was crazy for me: suddenly, our work was on the front page of Le Monde, The Washington Post, The Guardian, and so on. I was interviewed on both French and Indian national television. By the end of the week, my colleagues and I were sleep-deprived, exhausted, and unimaginably wired so we meandered down to the Seine on a Friday evening. It was the first real week of summer, and the first real summer since the COVID-19 lockdown, and an impromptu dance party was in full swing on the quays. We joined the party and danced until late in the night, feeling young and free for the first time in a long time.

That rambunctious energy contrasts with the months-long depression that was the previous winter. While France fully locked down between March and May of 2020, during the winter of 2020-2021, authorities installed a 6 p.m. curfew across Paris. Workplaces were open, but bars, restaurants, art galleries, and other cultural institutions were not. My partner and I would stand at her window on the rue de Charenton in the 12th—usually a bustling area—and stare out at the empty street while sometimes sharing a sad cigarette. While it was the perfect opportunity for catching up on EVERY SINGLE French cult film (Asterix & Obelix: Mission Cleopatra, La Chèvre, Les Bronzés Font du Ski, etc.) it wasn’t the stimulating, culturally rich Paris I had come to know and love.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?
Apart from bagels, which is mostly a New York thing, I do miss the openness of America and Americans. I mean this in both a physical and an interpersonal sense. I went to college in the midwest, surrounded, to the south, by the golden cornfields and enormous skies of Iowa and, to the north, the endless pine forests of northern Minnesota. When I go back to the United States, I feel small. Sometimes, this smallness is overwhelming, but in other ways, it’s liberating: you can feel yourself expanding with the space.

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When I started this series, I knew I wanted to feature two of the whip smart writers that I had the chance to spend time with in the fall of 2023 when we were all speakers at the inaugural Angers Literary Festival. That started with Jake Lamar and continues today with Kate Gavino, a talented writer and illustrator whose dry-wit humor makes me want to read everything and anything she puts out into the world. The new book she’s working on is, in her words, part rom-com, part ghost story. It's a graphic novel about a woman who meets her mom's ghost on the New York subway, and they strike up a friendship as her mom's ghost helps her navigate her love life. I’m sold! She has been writing this book from her perch in the 15th arrondissement where she lives with her husband and two young kids— as you’ll discover below.

Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.? 
Brooklyn, New York. I grew up in Houston, Texas.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
I moved here in 2018 after Dustin, my then-boyfriend-now-husband, got a job at a French start-up. Paris was the only city we could agree on living in together. I loved New York; he hated it. He wanted to live out in the country, surrounded by nature; I considered any city without at least three dim sum options too provincial. So Paris it was—and we had no immediate plans to move back or anywhere else.

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
No. As a kid, I had dreamed of living in New York the same way some people dream of living in Paris. I can’t roll my eyes at any would-be Emilies in Paris because that’s how I felt about New York in my twenties. (Yes, I did indeed read that Joan Didion essay at an impressionable age.)

But I think everyone hits a point, even in their dream city, where they think, “What am I doing here?” And suddenly every negative thing about your city intensifies to a cartoonish degree. I remember I was having a bad day at work, and while leaving the subway, a woman (for no reason) smacked me in the head. I came home and dramatically declared, “Okay, let’s get the hell out of here.”

I enjoy living in Paris and consider it my home, and at the same time, I really miss New York. I think the older I get, the more normal it becomes to want two opposing things at the same time.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I always had a full-time office job, but I quit that to move here. I had just received my advance for my second book, and I had a steady freelance social media gig that (most importantly) always paid me on time. I also began doing freelance illustration when I moved here, reaching out to every single person I have ever interacted with for work.

I couldn’t deal with the hours of freelancing where I had to simply wait for emails, so I began walking dogs as well. For a while, I was walking three or four dogs a day across multiple arrondissements. This also led me to becoming a nounou for a time. The kids were sweet, but honestly, I preferred the dogs.

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I was 30 when I moved here. For me, it was a fine age since I was more than ready to be somewhat of a hermit, working on my books all day and just moving slower in general. However, I didn't take into account the constant stress regarding making money and learning a new language, so that idyllic writer's life didn't exactly pan out. Oh, and there was also a global pandemic, so yeah, I had to adjust that plan considerably.

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
If you can't tell from my answers so far, I have a fraught love-hate relationship with Paris. But all my garden variety complaints about the city don't change the fact that I chose to live and start my family here, and I do feel grateful for that privilege.

In 2022, my third book came out shortly after my second kid was born. At the time, I felt like I had been a shut-in for so long, having spent most of lockdown and the pandemic twice pregnant and too scared to leave the hermetically sealed bubble of our apartment. I had forgotten how to be out in the world.

Despite this, I still had a book launch event at Red Wheelbarrow Bookstore. It was a cozy, delightful afternoon, and when I looked out in the small crowd and saw my husband, two kids, my parents who were visiting, and my friends who I have made since moving here, I felt like I was a part of the city, a part of the world again, for the first time in a long time.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
It's a wonderful city in which to be pregnant and have a baby. For both of my pregnancies, I got excellent care at Port-Royal and Necker. I got lengthy (from an American perspective—don't come at me, Danes) maternity leaves from my office jobs at the time. I got a free breast pump and at-home visits from sage femmes. I’d sit at a bench in the park to awkwardly breastfeed under a scarf and see three other moms, tits fully out, doing their thing, too.

Did all of those amazing benefits suddenly make the post-partum depression or existential despair that comes with motherhood disappear? Nah. But did I mention the free breast pump?

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris? 
Highest: After our first kid was born, we gathered our things from our week-long hospital stay and went down to the admin kiosks with all our paperwork. We diligently filled each page out, flashing my newly acquired social security number (obtaining that was a task of Herculean proportions, but I digress). We completed and signed everything. All was in order. The bored woman on the other side of the kiosk window looked at our expectant faces, confused. Why aren't these Americans leaving?

The standoff lasted for another good five seconds or so before we realized: Oh, we don’t have to pay for anything. So we took our baby and left.

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?
A good bagel, tapsilog, Tex-Mex, crawfish, kolaches, cannoli, the Flushing Mall food court, egg creams, a Whataburger honey butter chicken biscuit, breakfast tacos, queso, mala dry pot, Blue Bell Ice Cream, a bacon egg and cheese on a roll prepared for you by a man who doesn’t care if you live or die.

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As a kid growing up in the Philadelphia suburbs, I never would have imagined that I’d be living abroad nor that one of my school friend’s siblings would one day look me up when she moved to Europe. We got to know each other and before long, she was introducing me to her cousin, Dan, who had moved to Paris. That’s a roundabout way of saying he and I were both in Paris for years before meeting, both went through unstable starts to our careers, and both figured “it” all out—eventually. He is one of only a handful of people in my life with a corporate job (my husband is another) and the only lawyer! Read about his path to Paris.
NOTE: want access to the insightful takeaways at the end? Become a paid subscriber. It also gives you full access to this newsletter’s archives!

Where was the last place you lived in the U.S.? 
I last lived on a permanent basis in San Diego, CA, where I finished my Master of Laws in Tax. I was in transit for about five months between Boston and New York while I waited for my work permit to come to France.

Did you intend to leave permanently or was the move temporary?
It depends on how you define “permanently.” When I arrived in Paris in 2013, I had no idea how long I would survive here, starting my career as a very junior, very American attorney at a very French law firm. I was made to understand very quickly that the only reason my CDI was confirmed was that my bosses pitied me for waiting so long for my titre de séjour, coming all the way to France just to be forced to go home after a few months. Needless to say, there were many signs I missed that my move should have been temporary. But, the months turned to years, and here I am, still kicking!

Was there a pivotal moment when you knew your life would be best pursued elsewhere?
Growing up in the Boston suburbs as a 1.75 generation immigrant from Israel, at a time when the suburbs were much more provincial, with a dad with a strong accent and a weird middle name, I never truly felt at “home” where I grew up. I first felt an attachment to Paris when I visited with my high school German club (on the way to Austria and Germany). I remember seeing a homeless person pulling down his pants and reading a newspaper while doing his business on the street in broad daylight and I immediately thought that the city was a droll mix of highbrow and lowbrow. Although I would not enjoy the same experience as much today, I’d say my initial impression has held all these years later.

What sort of financial consideration did the move require, even as a student initially? Does one need a plump savings account to make this work?
I arrived in Paris for my first real job (39k euros gross annually as a lawyer—definitely some sticker shock there) with some savings from having worked some odd jobs (doc review, outreach for planned parenthood) and from selling most of my stuff (car, mattress, etc.). When I first tried to get an apartment and they asked for a year’s worth of rent as a caution (guarantee), I knew I would be in trouble financially. I ended up finding a roommate situation that worked, and with some crafty negotiation, I was able to provide just two months rent as a guarantee and avoid putting up many thousands of euros that I didn’t have. At the time, the exchange rate was much worse (1.3-1.4 EUR to USD, or .6-.7 USD to EUR), so the financial consideration was important. My parents helped me out the first two or three months when I had a lot of administrative and housing expenses. If you are moving here for a job, I would recommend at least two months rent in savings because you won’t get paid until the end of your first month (I was not aware that salaries were paid every month, not every two weeks like in the U.S.).

At what age did you leave? Looking back, was that too soon or too late?
I arrived in France just shy of my 27th birthday. I wish I had arrived a few years earlier; 25 I think would have been a good age. 27 was too close to 30, when you are expected to be a bit more of an adult in France (hence why that is a big birthday year). My mid-twenties would have given more time for fun (especially with a very demanding career to start).

When did you know you'd made the right [or wrong] call?
I didn’t have any particular desire to study law in Paris so much as I wanted to be in Paris and tax law travels well. So I knew I made the right call when I passed the French bar (on the second try). Had I failed it a second time, I would have probably gone back to the States. Although I was already barred in California, passing the bar in France was the sign that I could truly integrate here from a professional and from a language standpoint. I was certainly traumatized by almost getting fired at the end of my trial period. I needed to prove to myself and all the other lawyers at my law firm that I belonged here.

What does Paris offer you that your native home couldn’t and, perhaps, still can’t?
Cheap amazing wine, unpasteurized cheese, and healthcare. Nine weeks paid vacation. Time is the only thing money can’t buy (unless you are wealthy enough not to need to work).

Can you share any anecdotes about your highest and lowest moments in Paris? 
My highest moments have been the births of my two children, getting married, and getting sworn into the French bar. I also have fond memories of my first summer here (before almost getting fired), where I could play basketball after work under the late summer sun (though, as I would learn later, I should have been working). That first summer was truly amazing— having the time to discover all the city had to offer, all the cinema en plein air, both at La Villette and Parc de la Butte-du-Chapeau-Rougee. At the time, Vélib wasn’t a big thing and the pollution was bad, but I loved using those bikes to get around everywhere. To this day, I prefer biking over taking the metro. Now, thanks to Anne Hidalgo, I no longer have a thin film of pollution coating my mouth after longer trips.

The lowest moments were the first few months of intense loneliness. I moved here completely alone. I only had my host mom from studying abroad as a reference. When I arrived, my French was not as good as it is today. When I would go to lunch with my French colleagues, I spent most of the time sitting in silence, trying painfully to follow the discussions rife with argot and with sometimes difficult accents (Toulousain or Marseillais or Belge). I understood quickly why we say, “paying attention,” because I was completely broke at the end of each day. My first year here was “the year without laughter,” as I wasn’t good enough in French to understand any jokes, and lacked the appropriate context and timing to hit the delivery on any of my own jokes. Friday nights, I would come home exhausted from the week, and I would either stay home trying to study French and resting for work on monday or drag myself out, usually by myself, to meet people. When I moved here, dating apps weren’t really a thing. I remember my roommates at the time looking at me shocked when I would try to use Tinder.

French people, at least then, had their friends from childhood and that was that. As my French wasn’t good, the novelty of hanging out with an American usually wore off pretty quickly. Expat life was hard too, as it is very transitory. Most of the expats I met my first year were gone six months later. Eventually, I was able to meet others through Meetup, which got me through the tough first year, and eventually made some friends through basketball, work, and going out.

Also, bureaucracy has been a beast here. My request for a carte vitale was lost at first (obviously, I was not notified), so I had 1.5 years of feuilles de soin collected by the time I finally got it. It also took me four years of back and forth with the administration to get my French nationality (I got married and had two kids over that period).

Are there aspects of American life that you long for?

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