A guy that I work with asked me what I missed the most about living in France. I, at first, told him that I missed the food and culture. I missed the history. I missed visiting neighboring countries. You know. All the typical things. All the things that I do miss. However, last night while we were once again working together, I told him that I had been thinking about his question. And, that I had a better and more honest answer.
I told him that what I missed the most was living the life of an expat.
I missed being the sexy foreigner with the pretty accent and waking up each day to a new adventure in learning the language and culture.
I miss the feeling of adventure and romance that surrounded my daily life. I had grown accustomed to life in France. True.
Yet each day was still a new treasure of promise and discovery.
I stood out each time I opened my mouth or walked into a room with my American stride. I was interesting. I was unique.
Every simple ordinary day was never simple or ordinary for me.
I miss it all.