Yesterday I got a notifications from my calendar app that I was scheduled to ‘move to France’ on September 1, 2026. I made it in 2021 after my wife and I had serious conversations about leaving the US behind now that she was retired from the USAF.
She retired in August 2018. By October 2018 our home was destroyed by a category 5 hurricane and we needed to decide whether to rebuild or sell and get out. We lived less than 150 meters from the Gulf of Mexico in a three bedroom, three bath, three floor townhouse with a two car garage and a small parcel of land for Dexter. As fate would have it, the USAF sent us Florida at the very bottom of the housing market and we were able to get this place for a one-third its original cost.
We decided to stick around and just travel whenever the spirit to wander settled upon us - which is still very often. So I bought a pop-up RV, parked on my little plot of land and sent my beautiful bride to her family in Ohio while I oversaw the rebuild. And we built it to be our forever home. Three bedrooms was now two and a library / office with an ocean view. High end everything. Italian tile floors and a massive new shower in the en suite. Gone was all of the typical Florida garbage; cheap tile and beige everything.
Side note: if you ever find yourself on the receiving end of a natural disaster two things will serve you very well: be an unapologetic asshole, and make contacting your state insurance board your second call after your insurance company.
We were back in our newly rebuilt home by early 2020. Somewhere along the way Covid shut the world down. And in the midst of all of that we had our little progressive district redrawn and handed to a bible thumping assclown. We began to notice an uptick of Proud Boys descending on our town which was turning from a sleepy little city of a thousand into an AirBnB mecca with only a small handful of permanent residents.
Permanent neighbors replaced by weekend rednecks with their fireworks and cheap beer.
I don’t remember how the first conversation began, but before long we were looking at places outside the country we figured we could afford on a military retirement and sporadic freelance work. Ecuador seemed nice. Maybe Chile or Panama. Canada is cold, but she’s an Ohio girl and, depending on where in Canada, I could be a short plane ride home to California. Maybe someplace in Europe, but where could we afford?
We’d been to London, Edinburgh, the Shetlands, Dubrovnik, all over Germany, and even Paris.
We did that thing everyone does when they visit Paris, but a fantasy is all it ever really seemed for us so we let it dance in our imagination and then fade away.
But then my wife did what she always does when she is curious - she researched.
Turns out the cost to move - Visa fees, income requirements, etc., were incredibly reasonable in France.
So.
We decided. We’re moving to France.
I’m going to do that adult thing and start a five year plan, I told her. And I did. Even bought a five year calendar book. I spent the latter half of ‘21 drawing out a detailed plan and putting it down in my calendar with a backup on my phone calendar, with reminders every step of the way.
January 1, 2022 I hung out my proverbial shingle to get to work helping locals in our neighborhood with all their tech needs - laying coax or fiber lines throughout their homes, setting up their IoT devices for the AirBnB rentals, network setups for small businesses, and the occasional website build. Solid plan, good money, and something I can take with me to wherever we end up in France.
That’s right dear reader, Paris was not our first choice. Not because we didn’t love it, but because we knew we would have a strict budget and we engaged in that thing our parental units warned us against all our childhoods - we assumed. Our assumption was that we could never afford Paris.
Turns out our parentals were right all along.
My favorite researcher got to work and was shocked to discover that we might actually be able to swing it.
Cool, but that’s a decision a few years away still.
We had a cruise vacation in February of ‘22 that we’d been so looking forward to. This was post hurricane followed by a rebuild followed by a lockdown.
At some point we discussed France and brought up Paris. When it became obvious that we could afford a small apartment the talk changed to, let’s live in Paris at least a year to be able to say that we did. Then we would look elsewhere that might be more budget friendly.
I didn’t have my calendar book so I couldn’t change it and I tend to leave my phone on airplane mode and in my room when we cruise so it sort sat in the back of my mind. And honestly, it was still so far away as to not truly register.
But then…
What if we sell the house now and just move to Paris?
Now, one of the sexiest things about my wife is her brain. She is legitimately smarter than I can ever hope to be. As I sit here typing this nonsense, she is behind me beginning a new degree program - her THIRD since we moved to Paris!
The question sat there for a moment as I sucked on my cigarette annoyed that the one time I decide to adult and do an actual five year plan, the most cerebral person in my life has decided, fuck it, let’s just go.
I’m the spontaneous one! I am the one who needs to be checked for being impulsive! I am NOT the grown up in this marriage! And yet, here we were in the middle of the Atlantic our roles profoundly reversed.
Well, I said, I supposed we could call Christina when we get home and see what she thinks we can get for the house. But I won’t sell for anything less than -.
Do you think we could get that much?
We might have to make the office a bedroom again, but yeah.
We listed in June. Got no real nibbles. Added the third bedroom back in July. Re-listed it as a three bedroom and got asking within a week. Even then, it did not feel like we were really moving anytime soon. But we did.
To Ohio.
Just until we found a place in Paris.
Not a year after my wife said, what if… we were in Paris apartment hunting.
In April, 2023 we were here for good.
Before I go let me tell you what Paris has done to me.
Paris has made allowed me to lean in hard. I’m safe here. I can breathe and feel like nobody is going to tell me I can’t do that here. I’ve learned that a bisou is truly a gift. It says, I trust you enough to let you into my space. I’ve learned that a location can be a living, breathing, magical thing with healing powers for the broken hearted.
A city can also choose you.
I know - as unbelievable as this is to even type - people who hate Paris. Fucking weirdos the lot of them, but they exist.
But when Paris chooses you something happens. Midnight walks with the dog become conversations with the moon as she peaks down at you in-between blocks. People invite you to dance with them. A cellist will play a song that breaks your heart on a Saturday afternoon while you sit on your balcony listening to your neighbor play. A homeless man will become your dog’s best friend. Your boulangerie will go to the back and get you a hot baguette every time because she knows this home now.
It’s been three plus years. Between you and me - I think we’ll be here a long while longer. Maybe eventually we’ll move north along the coast and I’ll buy a sailboat. But that’s a decision a few years away still.