I finally did it. After 17 years in New York, I moved to Paris — the dream I’ve carried since I was a teenager. I thought this chapter would feel magical, like all the patience and longing had finally paid off. And in some ways, it has. But these past two weeks… they’ve been some of the hardest I can remember.

First, work. The role that was supposed to support me here — the one that made me believe this dream was actually possible — was pulled out from under me. Just like that. No warning, no real explanation beyond “budget.” I had trusted their word, trusted that they wanted me to stay and would make it work. And then, silence. Release. Done.

And then him… We had just spent two beautiful weeks together — London, Nice, laughter, closeness, little moments that felt real. I trusted it, trusted him. And now? He’s vanished. No goodbye, no explanation. Just gone.

It feels like everything I leaned on to give this move stability — work and connection — disappeared at the same time. And I’m left here in Paris, the city of my dreams, feeling lost and wondering what comes next.

But I keep telling myself: maybe this is the universe’s way of redirecting me. Maybe God is saying, pause. Maybe there’s something bigger I can’t yet see. It doesn’t make the disappointment easier, but it gives me a thread of hope to hold onto.

So here I am — sitting with uncertainty, with heartbreak, with the unknown. Trying to believe this isn’t the end of my Paris story, just a bend in the road. Maybe even the start of something better.

For now, I’m taking it day by day. Breathing. Searching. Asking myself who I am, what I really want, what this chapter is meant to teach me.

Paris is still my dream. It just looks different right now. And maybe that’s okay.

To get through this day, here’s one image to show appreciation of Paris for myself.