So when people first find out I’m moving to Paris, there are usually looks and sounds of astonishment. And it’s only now, when I’m about 60 days out from beginning my journey, that I truly understand that astonishment, because I’ve felt the full effects of just how hard it has been to pull this off.
Let me explain. I’m a choleric. An ENTJ. People think of my personality as “ready, fire, aim.” When I made the decision to move to Paris I bought a one-way ticket and started all my preparations. But, as I was soon to discover (the “aim” part), the science of picking up and moving when you are in your mid-30s and fairly well-established, with numerous possessions, is one that requires a lot of patience and fortitude. And now, when I’m so close, I finally have the mental real estate to start getting excited.
My love affair with France and the French language started eons ago. My sisters and family seem very surprised to hear about it now, but the signs were all there. When I was 15 I delivered an entire speech dressed as Louis XIV in French (I was coached by a good friend on the pronunciation). I bought a French course on cassette tape when I was 18. And the first time I returned to Europe since my study abroad, I went to Paris.
I can’t tell you when I first heard French spoken. I’m sure you’d want me to name the day, time, and hour, but I honestly can’t remember. I just remember being elevated by the way it sounded, and I was desperate to one day be educated enough to speak it myself.
The picture on the left here was from the first time I stood under the Eiffel Tower. You can see some flashing white spots on it. This is the time of day when the lights come on the Tower and so for a period of time it flashes while it’s lighting up. I just remember being incredibly entranced and happy. I had wanted to come to this city for so long and I had worried that I had built it up too much in my head.
I hadn’t. Paris was everything I thought it would be, and more.
There’s plenty more I’ll write over the next year, but I suppose I should end this first post at the beginning of this journey, which is what the title of this article promised anyway.
For those of you who haven’t read The Four Hour WorkWeek by Timothy Ferriss, stop reading this article right now, go buy it, read it, and then come back and finish reading my article. For those of you who have (or who are unmoved by my hyperbole), the author lays out a number of thoughtful and stunning premises throughout the book. The one I will share with you goes under the heading of “lifestyle design.”
The clue is in the name. Instead of getting a good job or starting a business and then designing your life around that, Ferriss argues that the very FIRST questions you need to ask yourself are: What kind of life do I want to live? What do I want to do with this life? What will my legacy be when I leave this earth? Once you’ve taken the time to answer these questions, then (and only then), do you get to figure out how you will make money. The making money thing is secondary IF you are living the life you want to live. Conversely, if you’re making all the money you want and you aren’t living the life you desire, what is the point?
So, at the end of one month off, which I used to spend traveling all around the lovely country of Australia, I had the answer to my question: I wanted to spend more time seeing Europe. I didn’t want to have regrets later in my life that I didn’t take the time to see a part of the world I loved so much when I was still young (I figure you don’t get to call yourself that anymore when you hit 40, so I’ve still got a solid 6 years!). I came home in mid-January, told everyone about my decision (nothing like telling everyone to paint yourself into a corner so that you HAVE to do something), and started my preparation. I’ll tell you more about that preparation next time.