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View from Air France flight leaving Pau for Paris

What if I never came back…

It was early April, 2024. The peaks of the Pyrenees below were still cloaked in snow, but the surrounding hills and fields were already lush in bright blades of green grass and yellow Canola blooms. As my plane rose from Pau toward Paris, to connect with a flight to Boston, an unwelcome melancholy settled over me. I was struck by the unnerving thought: “what if I never came back, never saw these peaks or valleys again?” An avalanche of uncertainty tumbled toward me. How strong was the cord that tied me to this place and my new life in it? Would my heart ache like this on the return flight leaving Boston or would I be filled with anticipation to arrive back in France? Most importantly, would I be leaving home or heading home?

My dear friend, and faithful host for Boston visits, had sent a “bon voyage” text the night before. Wishing me safe travels home, she placed quotes around the word “home.”  I wondered if this was what home had become for me; a parenthetical concept and not a specific place. Before moving to France full-time, I constantly longed to be there. It was my regular escape from the pressures and demands of life.  Especially during the pandemic, when we could not travel, I experienced a deep sense of loss that one might feel for a person. But now that I had exactly what I wanted, to fully immerse myself in French life, the idea of home had blurred and become uncertain.  One of my husband’s favorite cautionary dictums rang true: “be careful of what you wish for, you might just get it.”

Socratic ping pong…

While floating in the troposphere, free of all earthly boundaries, the rush of questions continued to press toward me.  Would the United States always be home, even without a physical anchor there? Could another country ever become unconditionally home?  Could home be more than one place at one time or is it does it surpass physical boundaries? Is it merely a theoretical construct and are we never truly home until freed of our mortal limits?

I take some comfort in the fact that Socrates grappled with similar questions.  But why the Socratic ping-pong match in my brain that day?  I had routinely made this same round trip several times since commencing expat life; each time in a comfortable stupor of reading, watching movies, and napping.  Maybe this trip was different because it was to celebrate my mother’s 97th birthday. This milestone alone could conjure thoughts of mortality and the meaning of life. Maybe it was also because I had just spent several weeks immersed in recounting my personal history as preparation for launching “Pourquoi Pau.” My past, now plainly put on paper, proved to be the preamble to a story unexpectedly shifting from excited expectation to unanticipated conflict. 

The Tsunami of Change…

In hind-sight, JB and I woefully underestimated the tsunami of emotions that would accompany our trifecta of change: leaving behind a life we carefully crafted in a city we loved for over 30 years, relinquishing our highly honed professional identities, and starting over in an uncharted territory of culture and language. Because we had never shifted focus away from each other to meet the demands of raising children, we assumed we would not be vulnerable to the “drift apart” often experienced by transitioning empty nesters. We discovered otherwise. About a year after the adrenaline rush of our plunge into retired life, we resurfaced to find that much of what defined us as individuals and as a couple had vanished in the receding tide. Though neither of us wanted to return to past rigors and obligations, we began to realize how much these had both bonded and separated us. 

So as the noise of careers, renovations, and transcontinental relocation efforts subsided, an unaccustomed quiet emerged between us. Our historically unified relationship began to battle unfamiliar tensions as we faced the realities of living day to day in a foreign culture rather than vacationing in it.  Already a self-described loner, JB retreated further into solo pursuits and emotional distance.  Fettered by lack of French language skills, I slid into uncharacteristic introversion and insecurity. I became hesitant to drive alone, schedule appointments, or develop friendships. My struggle only exacerbated his withdrawal and my sense of being unmoored.  Our friction culminated in confrontation following one of my solos trips to visit my mother in Boston.

Navigating a way forward…

Several months of raw conversations and intense introspection followed, assisted by the guidance of a professional counselor. Day by day, we began to navigate a way forward and home toward each other.  Our counselor’s personal experience as an expat herself, was extremely beneficial. She encouraged us to find connection and enrichment beyond the small circle of our marriage. Without family and life-long friends in close reach, expat life puts a lot of pressure on a single relationship to unrealistically fulfill every need. We are discovering that by supplementing the activities we enjoy together with independent journey’s and experiences, our stress is mitigated, tensions are diminished, and our paired dynamic is enriched.

Cultivating new roots…

Meanwhile, we continue cultivating our roots in Pau. Last summer, we took an intensive language course at the University of Pau. Reentering academia along side students all born in the 21st century was more than a little unsettling. But in the end, we both managed to advance a level in the TEF system (the national “Test d’évaluation française”). This boost of confidence has enabled us to more boldly engage others in French and has reinvigorated our efforts on Duolingo until our return to class this July.

Taking the course also provided a surprise bonus. During the last week of classes, I responded to a message posted at the university by a local French woman. A writer like me, she was looking for someone with whom to converse in French and English. Our now weekly meetings at her favorite tearoom have developed into a friendship and a workshop for creative writing ideas.

Last fall, JB and I joined a volunteer group that maintains a vineyard on the steep slope of an early 1800’s chateau. Originally built by as a private residence, the estate is now owned by the local municipality and serves as a venue for concerts, weddings, and other events. We discovered the “friends of the vines” volunteer group, that maintains the vineyard, while exploring nearby walking paths in the surrounding farmland framed with mountain views. As we periodically labor among the vines, we connect with other volunteers, engage in a range of French conversations, and contribute to our community. Of course we also enjoy sipping the fruits of our labor, for which we now have a deeper appreciation.

Lastly, JB and I have finally reached out to other expats. We initially avoided other expats, thinking such relationships would be a transitional crutch. However, we are glad we followed our counselor’s recommendation to seek support from others experiencing similar challenges. These new relationships help put our struggles into perspective while expanding our safety net.

Finding resolution…

Despite our continued growth, I cannot claim that our marriage has reached a fairy tale resolution, totally free of imperfections.  We all know that real-life relationships just don’t work that way. They more closely resemble one of JB’s favorite Woody Allen films, “Annie Hall.” In it, Woody contends, “a relationship is like a shark you know?  It has to constantly move forward, or it dies.” Woody unfortunately reaches a negative conclusion and tells Annie, “I think what we got on our hands here is a dead shark.” Thankfully, we still view our partnership as a living work in progress and happily choose to keep moving the shark forward.

Answering the question of home…

I also wish I could report that surviving these challenges and evolutions has somehow answered my existential question of “home” that Socrates could not.  Instead, I still wonder if it’s possible, or even necessary, to untether completely from a life built in one place in order to anchor with another. I do know, however, that I feel the cord of connection to this new life strengthening daily.  After recently returning to Pau from six weeks of travel together, I found myself relishing many “first time back at home” moments: first sunset over the Pyrénées, first morning run along the Gave de Pau, first foray among the markets of Les Halles, first kisses on both cheeks with cherished neighbors and friends. Maybe the truth is, that I have already found a satisfying definition of home.

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