Strikes and Snow

Time is starting to pass by really quickly. It amazes me how the first few weeks in a new and challenging situation such as this drag at the beginning. The month of October I spent my days staring at the wall, counting the days, organizing and re-organizing my sock drawer. And then I made a friend. Who introduced me to another friend. Who introduced me to the running club. A new bar. A new store. Suddenly everything felt natural and pleasant. I believe they call this adaptation.

I still have three more months of teaching and an additional two months until my visa expires, but I am starting to think about what the next chapter for me will be. My original plan was to return in the summer and begin graduate school to continue my studies of French, but it seems counterproductive to leave France in order to learn more French. My entire life, I have always been aware of my passions, but incapable of forming them into a concrete plan. Even though my position in Saint-Pourcain is temporary, I have honestly never felt more at home or happy. I need to find a way to make it last.

I promised myself that I wouldn't ruin any part of this experience my thinking too much, but here I am, at the end of a long week punctuated by snow flurries and teachers on strike, thinking my life away. You would hope that someone who does as much yoga as me could stay present, enjoy the moment. But no matter how you spin it, one truth is evident: I am tired of moving. I've been doing it for six years, and I'm getting to the point where I want to choose a place and make it mine. This thought both terrifies and soothes me.

I have a lot to look forward to in the coming months, including trips to London and Italy, and a visit from my sister, cousin, and friend in May. Now that whatever strange sickness that held me hostage in bed for five weeks has yielded, I feel ready to make everything count, and remember the reasons I came here in the first place.