Perhaps I'm being premature in writing this farewell post, but I think it's an illustration of how far I have mentally checked out of Paris, even though I am still physically here for another three months.
But things are now official. I've handed in my notice at work and on my flat. I've started to get quotes for removals. I'm counting down the days until I leave Paris for my new life in Brighton on the south coast of England.
How will I feel when I sit on that beach and look across the English Channel to where I know France is lying on the other side? I don't know. Nostalgic, perhaps. Sad, it's possible. Proud, without a doubt.
Living in Paris was one of those dreams that I never thought would come true, but somehow it did. Partly it was luck and circumstance. Partly it was me taking the risk to give it a go. It was honestly one of the best decisions I've ever made in my entire life. Both for the experience of living in this amazing and infuriating city, and for the pride I've felt from achieving such a goal.
I know there are things about Paris that I will miss, I probably won't even realise what half of them are until I'm back in the UK. But right now I'm just excited about the future and my new life in Brighton. Back home to a country and city I love, and near the people I love.
I'm excited for my six month creative sabbatical that I'm planning on taking in 2015. I'll be learning hand embroidery and working on crochet designs and trying to learn how to dressmake. And I'll be blogging about it all from my new blog: lizzystitchyfingers.blogspot.com.
And although it will become considerably harder to find decent croissants, at least when I'm sitting on that cold and stoney beach in Brighton a few months from now and look across the Channel I'll be able to say to myself, "I did it. And it was amazing."
