I wrote this is October, 2016 after meeting a kid at a show.

I’ve been thinking about you a lot since the Frank show in Athens.

Before I start I want to say one thing: YOU are a good thing.

If you take nothing else away from this, please remember that.

YOU are a good thing.

When I met you I thought you were a cool kid. It makes sense that you would be considering how awesome your mom is. I also thought you were a lot older. Less because of how you looked (you look like a full grown thirteen year old), but more because of how you talked. Behind the spastic there was an articulate, intelligent little humanoid. One who impressed the hell out of me.

You talked a lot about where you expected to end up and how you expected your life to play out.

Behind the melodrama you let little things slip, things that let me know that something inside of you had been broken.

I won’t pretend to know what that thing is. It’s none of my fucking business. And for the purposes of this letter, it makes no difference.

I told you that I had been a broken eleven year old. I told you that eleven was the first time I ran away. The first of many times.

And I told you that I am so glad I stuck around for the rest of this life because at 44 it is pretty fucking amazing. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.

Look, this life you have, these things that have happened to you, the things that leave you feeling like less than – these are things that happened to you.

They are NOT YOU.

YOU are a good thing.

That’s the thing nobody told me at eleven. All of the shit that happened to me, the shit people did to me, none of that was who I was. Those were just things that happened to me.

Nobody told me that I get to decide who I am.

So, like you, I carried that shit. Like I was somehow responsible for that shit. Like I was unloveable.

Fuck that! I am fucking adorable!

Unfortunately, I didn’t learn that lesson until years later. After years of damage to myself and to the people who love me. Yes, I even woke up in a psych ward and got to spend several days there.

It is not nearly as interesting as you seemed to think it is. Boredom is the rule of the day. And shitty food. And longing for a place called home.

I kept glancing over at you during the show. I loved seeing you lost in the moment. Keep that shit up, kid. The best part of life are those awesome moments that break up the monotony. If you do it right, surround yourself with the right people, those awesome moments will be a lot more frequent.

At the end of the show I wanted to grab you, hug you and tell you that this life is going to be so fucking amazing for you that one day you’re going to be blown away with where you end up vs. where you started.

But then I realized, dude, that would be fucking weird.

This is your life, kid. You can decide to be anything you want. You can certainly decide that the shit that happened to you will not define you.

Most people don’t stay with me when I meet them. You did. You’re a good egg. I am cheering for you, kid.

You. Are. Good.

*boop*

Postscript - this child decided that I was a necessary part of their life. I’m vested. I am so incredibly proud of the human they have become. Yeah, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.

We needed stuff for our airbnb - some cheese, some toiletries, some wine. Obviously.

Let’s go meander.

OkayI

So we headed two blocks east to the Seine and walked along site of the Eiffel Tower. It did not suck. Along the way, we crossed a blissful and beautiful couple in wedding gear. I snapped a quick shot as the walked past us and up the stairs to cross to the Seine.

We were starving so we hit a tourist trap and overpaid for okayish food. But the view was great and, well, we’re in fucking Paris!

After lunch it was time to adult. So we hit Monprix and got what we needed, including a bag to carry it all home. Of course, the Mexican set off the alarm on the way out because self-checkout doesn’t allow for the removal of theft deterrent devices upon purchase. I walked back in wondering how to say, I’m a dumbass in French.

Je suis un imbécile.

After we dropped the victuals back at the apartment we... smoked. And did nothing. And checked in on the news back in the States. But I promised no more politics, so I won’t write about Congressman Owen Fourteen McCarthy.

Let’s head west this time.

Okay.

So we walked along some French sounding streets that had less tourists and more happy hours. Cheese and wine was consumed, which is all The Gorgeous Blonde has ever wanted.

So, some people on the internet have asked ‘why the 16th’ and I only know that it was an arrondissement you were interested in.

It’s safe, it’s up and coming, and it’s posh. Mostly the posh thing.

So there you have it. I may or may not have embellished her answer a little.

We meandered about some more after our meal. The moon was out and glorious.

Honestly, the bulk of the night was spent holding hands, looking at real estate listings, and laughing. A lot.

The jetlag is fading and we have things we want to see and do here in the 16th. Mostly, we want to settle in for awhile to get a real feel for what it is to live here. I am hoping that today will be less touristy and more nitty-gritty and getting into the real Paris.

The first question we usually get is, why Paris? The Gorgeous Blonde (my wife) usually responds with a quick, why not? Most people laugh, but eventually they come back around and give us a, no, but really, why Paris?

There really is no one reason. TGB and I came to the same conclusion - Paris - via very different routes. I grew up loving Hemingway and Audrey Hepburn. Both of those roads lead inevitably to Paris. Before joining the Air Force I considered going to work for the Big Mouse at Eurodisney. I still have the packet of paperwork in a box in California.

TGB went away on a school trip in High School. I am loathe to tell anyone else’s story, so I will leave it at - that trip seemed to plant a seed.

Fast forward to 2019 and a trip to Paris together and something big took hold of us. Long talks about the wonder of this city. Longer talks about love of country and service and the seeming demise of that same country at the hands of an orange troglodyte and, voila! The question we were faced with was, why are we staying in the States?

It may seem silly to inject politics into a conversation about a magical city like Paris, but it was a big part of the process for us - for me. This city wrapped it’s arms around black US Servicemen in WWI and WWII while our country treated them as second class citizens. This country has enshrined bodily autonomy for women into their constitution while ours, well, you know. And then there’s Florida.

You know Ron DeSantis is probably gonna be POTUS.

Ugh, yeah, fuck that guy.

You bet your ass politics played a role.

So we came up with a plan to move in the future. It was vague and mostly a romanticized ideal that I wasn’t sure was serious. Until TGB came home one day and said, let’s do it.

Okay. So we started our research and came up with an honest to goodness five year plan. Bought a five year calendar and everything. Nerds, we.

In January of ‘22 I started my own little tech company and got to work. Year one of Five Year Plan under way!

Then in February she asked the most innocuous seeming question: why are we waiting?

Because... five year plan.

...

Because... yeah, that’s all I got.

And then my beautiful bride laid out her reasons for leaving sooner rather than later. In short, politics (see above). We have absolutely nothing tying us to FloRiDuH - no family or obligations. We are still young and vibrant enough to really lean in and enjoy Paris. And, well, IT’S FUCKING PARIS!

So the five year plan was turned into an as soon as we sell the house for an obscene profit plan.

Paris is a magical city. It is huge and diverse, it is romantic and idealized to a fault, it is amazing fucking food and inexpensive wine, it is art and grit, it is noisy as it sexy, and she is our home now.

So, I promise to tell you all about this adventure in the coming weeks with none of the politics and a lot more of the hyperbole.

I don’t know how long we will be in Paris. Maybe a year, maybe three, maybe forever. I am fairly confident that France will be home for the duration of this sweet life of ours though.

Now I am going to take my third coffee outside, light up and delicious cancer stick, and enjoy watching and listening to this gorgeous dame wake up this morning.