Tricky Business

Goodbye Greece, hello France

Not even sure where to start. I feel like there are a dozen stories I want to tell, explain a dozen reasons why I have made the decisions I have, and to explain all the emotions that I am experiencing at the moment. When big change is on the horizon, the world comes into sharper focus—every moment, experience, emotion is more intense. 

Thirteen months ago we arrived in rural Greece, way out on the edge of a peninsula covered in olive trees surrounded by the sea. I was in need of rest, less routine, more unstructured time. My health the previous decade had been plagued by migraines, food intolerances, and brain fog. After tons of research and a bit of luck, I’m pretty sure I found the root of the problem, all exacerbated by the stress of working full time. I spent three years focused on healing, but I wasn’t quite there, what my body needed was rest to complete the healing process. 

I can’t even begin to describe the beauty of the past year because it is going to take me years to digest. All I feel right now is continued awe at the juxtaposition of turquoise sea, white marble, and lush vegetation. The sounds of cicadas, crickets and the smell of fig trees, jasmine, and mint. The gentleness of the landscape folded me into a juicy cocoon that was the just medicine that my body needed. I know that I still have to be diligent about my health, but I feel like my foundation has been replenished. 

During this past year, I have tried not to feel guilty about squandering my time—pushing away the voices in my head telling me what I should be doing, more of something. Who was I to just want to do chores around the house all day, knowing that the next day all the chores would have to be repeated? Wasn’t this a waste of this precious unstructured time? Why wasn’t I doing more—more hiking, swimming, yoga, reading, writing, learning. Why wasn’t I improving myself somehow? Even now as this time comes to an end, I have to push away these thoughts.

My first trip to Europe was when I was 24. I went to Seville, Spain to spend a semester fulfilling my foreign language requirement for CU Boulder. It was much more than that, though—I had spent the previous two years grieving my boyfriend’s death at the hands of a crazed gunman in the largest mass murder in San Francisco’s history. It was time to start a new chapter, to be reminded of my dreams, I needed a strong reminder that there were experiences that I always wanted to have way before meeting Dave. 

My dear friend Russell and I landed in Madrid mid-January. We happily spent a couple days exploring the city until he left for Alicante, and I hopped on a train to Paris to visit a couple French students that I had met the previous semester at university. I’ll never forget the feelings that overwhelmed me on that train ride while I watched the scenery change between Madrid and Paris—it was hope for a future, my future. This landscape felt familiar, it was easy for me to  imagine myself living in one of the stone houses, with grape arbors, riding my bike into the village for groceries. 

Mattieu told me to meet him in front of Notre Dame. I had no idea what he was talking about, but realized that I should, therefore was way too embarrassed to ask any further questions. I knew that I had a couple of hours between arriving in Paris and our meeting time, so figured I would stumble around the city until I figured it out. Arriving at the train station ravenous, I headed straight towards the most heavenly smell ever which turned out to be a bakery full of delectables. I treated myself to a chocolate croissant and could not believe this flaky buttery wonder. After breakfast, I bought myself an old fashioned paper map and leisurely headed towards Notre Dame. As I walked along the banks of the Seine, I became overwhelmed by the beauty of the city, the beauty of my solo adventure—as the tears started flowing my broken heart started to heal. 

I was very happy to see Mattieu standing in front of Notre Dame waiting for me with his orange scarf just as he said. He took me straight to a cheese shop where he bought fresh goat cheese. I was amazed at how the clerk wrapped this little piece of cheese as if it was a precious jewel. It wasn’t until Mattieu and I stepped outside and he insisted that I take a bite right there on the street that I understood that indeed this was a precious jewel. I spent the next week in Paris exploring as much as possible, tasting all the delicious street food, and soaking in the ambience of Parisian life—it felt like falling in love.

After six months in Europe, I returned to Colorado to finish university, but the seed was planted. I wanted to live in Europe someday, and hopefully soon. Whenever I imagined living in Europe, Paris was always part of the equation. There were a few trips back to Paris. The next one was after I graduated from college and spent a month tromping the streets with my dear friend Asa, then a trip with Jonathan a year after we met that included a week in Paris, Provence, and Tuscany. Jonathan and I took Lydia when she was eight months old, I took both girls when they were eight and ten along with my niece Tawny, and the very last time was as a side trip while visiting Berlin when the girls were thirteen and fifteen. By then we had already lived in Berlin for two years; the dream of living in Europe had been accomplished. While living in Bulgaria for five years, Paris wasn’t a priority even to visit. At some point, Paris had ceased being part of the equation.

This was until a few weeks ago when I received an email from the Paris International School asking me to apply for a position. In the spring I had uploaded my resume on a few international job seeking platforms just to explore my options. Thanks to Jonathan, I was in a position to be picky, to wait and see if the perfect job was out there. I was surprised by how many European schools contacted me—Zurich, Rome, Athens. I went through the interview process with all of them, and although the localities were appealing, the very demanding job expectations could not sway me to leave the Pelion Peninsula. Not feeling optimistic, I went ahead with the Paris interview thinking that I would have 100+ students and have to teach four different social studies classes. But, actually, the demands sounded realistic. Of course any full-time teaching position involves stress and a few weekends spent grading, but this position, thanks to French teacher unions, sounds like there can be a true work/life balance.

At this point the decision was a foregone conclusion. If I wanted to continue my career as an economics teacher, this was a pretty darn ideal situation. Did I mention the school has views of the Eiffel Tower? 

But life is messy, tricky, and all decisions have benefits, but there are also opportunity costs. As I drive away from the Pelio my heart is already mourning my morning walks with the dogs, lingering coffee with Jonathan, and afternoon dips in the sea. The good news is that we rented the Koukouleiki house for another year so we can return whenever we like, and Jonathan and the dogs will be joining me in Paris as soon as I find a flat next to a big park. So yes, even though the decision was foregone, it isn’t an easy one.