Blog one

Moving

For the last year I had known that I would be moving to Paris at the end of August and I’d spent that year obsessing and fantasising about the moment I arrived. All I could think about when finishing my degree was the image of me walking around the streets smiling and confidently roaming the streets I’ve dreamt of walking along since I was a young girl. The fantasies gladly roamed in and out of my mind as the months passed by in a blur and before I knew it, summer arrived.

Suddenly moving day was only a couple of weeks away and I was enjoying the best summer of my life, ending my five year stint at M&S, finishing my degree and relinquishing all the responsibilities I’d carried the last three years of university.

I don’t think I’d ever felt freedom like it. I truly had nothing to worry about and spent six weeks in this free state of euphoria.

As August 24th quickly approached, the excitement I’d once felt about Paris had shifted and suddenly I didn’t want to think about it.

In true Charlotte fashion I left packing all of my belongings for the next year to the last day.

Maybe because I’m disorganised or maybe because unexpectedly I felt like I didn’t want to go.

 Once I finally packed, it dawned on me as I stared at my overstuffed suitcases that my bedroom would still be there even when I wasn’t.

Seeing my empty room forced me to accept the inevitable changes that would come not only to my surroundings but to myself.

I’d spent so long imagining the person I might become in Paris, that I hadn’t realised becoming her would mean leaving this version of myself behind.

My last night at home was spent eating my favourite dinner, laughing with my family and watching Clarkson’s farm… of course. Saying goodbye felt surreal and harder than I’d ever anticipated.

I had expected to feel nothing but anticipation during the journey over on the eurostar but instead, it consisted of intermittent sobs and popping one or two beta blockers to calm the ever increasing anxiety.

I’m not entirely sure when those emotions shifted because it most definitely wasn’t when I saw the Eiffel tower or walked along the Champs-Elysees.

But, it changed.

I arrived on the Monday and by the Friday I was in Paris alone, and all of that anxiety and fear had evaporated subconsciously.

I knew the person I was leaving behind wanted this so badly. She had spent years picturing herself in Paris, sticking photos of the Eiffel tower on her bedroom walls and dreaming of the freedom that comes with being somewhere new.

She had worked so hard to get to this point.

So I suppose all of this is to say that moving abroad is hard (even if you’re desperate to do it) and that finding it hard reinforced to me just how lucky I am to have the people I do at home.

After the initial feelings of anxiety subsided, the last month has been filled with moments that reminded me exactly why I wanted to be here in the first place, why I’ve always loved Paris.

The difference is that I’m no longer imagining what it would feel like to live here. I’m actually doing it.

And perhaps that’s the best part.