Living in Paris, I’m Just Another American—and the French Don’t Seem to Mind
My life as an American in Paris is a far cry from what the glamorous direct-to-DVD movies make it out to be. Still, that’s the story I tell.
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My relationship with my French teachers became more like the ones I had with my therapists: I desperately wanted them to like me.
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I was single for the first time in eighteen years. I felt unmoored. For the first time in eighteen years, everything was new, including me.
I didn’t know, anymore, how to date like a normal person—how to give a potential relationship the space to grow into the family I dreamt of.