Paris in Love
When I was fifteen, I hung two black and white etchings of Paris on the wall of my bedroom. I grew up on a farm in Minnesota, and those pictures were reminders that the world was bigger than the cornfield that stretched in front of our yard.
Unfortunately, rather than marrying a Frenchman, I fell in love with an Italian, and rather than moving to France, we moved to New Jersey.
Still, I hung on to that dream.
Then, in 2008, I discovered I had breast cancer—luckily a very early case. In the course of treatment I realized that life does not necessarily offer one an endless spool of days. If I wanted to live in Paris, I needed to make it happen.
My husband and I are both professors. I took a sabbatical and he took leave of absence. We sold our house and our cars, uprooted our children, and left New Jersey for a rangy old apartment in the middle of Paris.
This is the story of our year, some of it in essays, some in short bursts. I hope you enjoy it as much as we did—and even more, I hope it inspires you to leap at a dream you’ve tucked away and not quite forgotten.