No answers, only questions
Living in Paris as an American during this political era + a bit of poetry
Witnessing the turmoil in America from overseas is different. I’ve got one foot in my country of birth, a country that I’ll likely return to at some point. I deeply cherish the United States and see its potential. Not to mention, all of my friends and family are back home experiencing a rapidly changing world that, for some, will directly impact their lives. My other foot is in France, a country in which I am working hard to build a meaningful and integrated life.
Glennon Doyle described her thoughts a bit like a snow globe this week - swirling around, can’t quite get your hands on one. I get that.
Questions pelt my conscience this week. How do I navigate this next era? What is my role? What is my obligation to my home country? Should I carry extra weight since I’m not in the U.S. dealing with this daily? Or is it better that I release it? Is there a place for me to not only witness from afar but also to find meaningful courses of action? Can I even take meaningful action from here? Do other expats have the answers? How do I go through all this with my integrity and sanity intact? When does protecting my peace cross the line into putting my head in the sand?
So many questions, yet no answers come.
I tell myself that’s okay for today.
Navigating this week from Paris has felt disconnected, isolated, and somehow heavier. I am not in the United States, physically shoulder to shoulder with my fellow Americans. I can only feel their energy through a device that, for the love of sweet baby jesus, I cannot let slip out of my hand. On the other hand, being in Paris, I feel the weight of forces unleashed in my home country. The last rise of these movements happened on the continent I now call home.
My mind swirls with images of what was, what’s happening today, and the forecasted storms. The streets of Paris are etched with memories, warnings, and hope. Every day, on my way to the metro or my son’s school, I walk through a World War II memorial, a constant reminder of so much hatred, loss, and, more importantly, the light that conquered.
On Inauguration Day, hours before a tech billionaire raised his arm in a salute illegal in most of Europe, I happened to stand on the Rue de Rivoli, one of the grand boulevards of Paris. It’s home to L'Hôtel de Ville (city hall), still scarred with bullet holes from the resistance fight. It’s also where you’ll find the Louvre and The Meurice, a luxury hotel that the Nazis requisitioned as the headquarters for the German occupation of Paris. There are Parisians still living today who can recall seeing Nazi flags litter this street. Maybe it’s not the week to be re-reading The Nightingale by Kristin Hannah, with its imagery of Nazi tanks rolling down Rue de Rivoli.
On the week of the election, my parents were in town visiting. Eager to see the sights and taste all the divine delicacies France is known for, we opted for a food tour of le Marais. Le Marais is a historic and bustling neighborhood of Paris known for its gay bars, rainbow crosswalks, Victor Hugo’s residence, and the Jewish Quarter. As the tour started, I was grateful for the distraction and dreaming of promised flaky croissants and French onion soup. What I wasn’t expecting was to be standing on a small cobblestone street lined with Medival-era homes, staring up at a memorial plaque remembering one of the greatest atrocities in our history. It hit me a bit like a cold plunge.
It’s not all heavy images here in Paris. If you need a reminder of hope in this season, there’s no better place to see it than the recently opened Notre Dame. Such beauty, vibrancy, and connection to the past and present rose from the ashes. I’ve been feeling the weight of all the pain and destruction in the world, so this was a bit of an emotional moment as I sat in the pews and took in what a community can do when it comes together in dark times.
It is surreal to live in this era surrounded by these places and the imagery that echoes across generations. I’ll continue to ask myself these questions and figure out my place and balance in this world.
I’d imagine I’m not the only one feeling the same this week.
I didn’t want to leave today on a dark or heavy note. So, I thought it might be a good time to share a bit of poetry I wrote in
’s magical Winter Writing Sanctuary. I’ve honestly never considered myself to be a writer. In my life, I’ve pretty much written only business papers and lab reports. But I’ve found so much solace in writing.I’ve enjoyed challenging the perception of myself, this time with a little poetry. I hope you enjoy it.
Bartering with the universe
Does the caterpillar fear the chrysalis? The unknown darkness before the miraculous rebirth. The isolation and utter devastation before the irreversible fulfillment of fate.
Is it painful, I wonder? Transformation.
Does the caterpillar have a crystal-clear vision of her future self with vibrant glass-like wings to overcome the doom of the impending change?
Does she stand at the mouth of her cocoon coffin, bartering with the universe for a better hand? Begging for more time to savor the bountiful feasts before hibernation.
Does she resent the shedding of herself? The barbaric loss of almost every identifying attribute dissolves into itself, leaving only a few orientation posts to reconfigure a new life.
No, I imagine it’s a primal calling, one she never has to understand but must follow. And do so willingly, without hesitation—a walk toward her destruction, and her destiny.
Once on the other side, does the butterfly ever look back and send a fluttering prayer of gratitude to its caterpillar self for all its sacrifice?
I don’t believe she will.
Why should she look back when she can fly?
To this community, let’s meet in the comments. We might have something to offer each other. How are you doing this week, truly? Where are you finding solace? What are you releasing?
Don’t worry —next week, I’ll be back to my regular programming on burnout, living abroad, and intentional living.
Take care of yourselves and your neighbors this week.
Sending you so much love,
The snow globe image you shared really speaks to me. I am stuck between raising kids and caring for my parents and my life is constantly swirling.
Beautifully said. This week has felt so dark & heavy, and it’s just as valid to feel that way watching from overseas, because unfortunately the effect of hateful rhetoric & harmful policies reaches far beyond the U.S. Raising kids also adds another layer of stress, as I’m constantly in between doomscrolling/worrying for their future and trying to be present with them. I’m just always glad to hear of other moms who feel the same. 🫶🏻