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I take my last post back. I'd get on a plane tomorrow this second if it meant I'd end up in Paris thirteen hours later.

When I got on a plane headed east nearly twenty-four months ago, I never dreamed that a place 9,000 miles from where I grew up would end up feeling like home. I never dreamed that I'd feel so strongly about the place that if I could find some way to make it work family and career wise, I'd love to live there for a year or two, perhaps more.

With the euro coming back down Paul and I have been considering planning a trip to Europe, but I think he'd prefer to go to Spain or Greece, somewhere he hasn't been. I'd love to go back to visit either of those places again, but what I really miss is living in Paris. I miss everything that comes with living in such an amazing city. My favorite restaurants, relaxing in one of the many random chairs that litter the parks and gardens. I miss getting lost in the Louvre, knowing that I never needed to rush because I could always go back and look some more. Of course, I miss the wonderful friends I made there. I miss drinking a delicious 5 euro bottle of Bordeaux from the market down the street and the multitude of bakeries with delicious sandwiches and tarts and of course the butter croissants. I miss the different flavors of Orangina and the saucisson. I miss the metro and the RER and the point when I finally got so comfortable with it that I actually felt confident giving tourists directions. I miss the afternoons when I was on my own and I'd go to the Cuban restaurant near Chatelet, sit outside with some tapas and a sangria and just watch people.

Of course, I'm idealizing Paris, I know. But it's hard not to. Especially when work has sucked a lot of the fun out my life and as much as I love San Francisco and all it's natural beauty, it definitely doesn't have the grand architecture of Paris and the monuments around every corner.

I feel really lucky to have had the experience of living in Paris, especially living where I did, right in the center of the city. A ten minute walk to Notre Dame and a thirty minute walk to the Louvre.

What's the point of all this? I don't really know. I'm just reflecting, reflecting on where I've been and where I might be going. What I do know is that my life has been blessed in so very many ways, and the more I think about it, the more I am confident that every step of my path has been part of God's plan for me. And no matter what I might have thought at the time (like when I was reeling over the recruiting job right before I decided to go back to school) it has all led to good. It's a good reminder to me that I have to be patient and listen. The Lord has something planned for me and maybe it won't be what I've planned for myself, but it will be the right thing.

I don't know if this means sticking it out with my job for a week, or a month, or a year. I don't know, maybe it means I will have to quit. But I think God will make it clear to me when it's meant to be clear. I hope so anyway.

Labels: God, Paris, the grind