My Parisian Love Story

Why I Keep Returning to Paris: A Love Story with No Words

In high school, we were asked to choose a language to study—and as a hopeless romantic, there was only one answer that made sense to me: French. It wasn’t just the language of love; it was the language of dreams, of candlelit cafés, cobblestone streets, and effortless elegance. So I dove in, studying French all throughout high school, hoping one day to become fluent. But like so many teenage goals, the effort didn’t quite match the ambition.

In undergrad, that desire lingered. I took another French class, holding on to the dream of one day studying abroad in Paris. I imagined myself speaking fluently, sipping espresso at a café terrace, fully immersed in French culture. But once again, life got busy, and the intention didn’t turn into action.

Then in 2019, after graduation, I finally made it to Paris. It was my first trip to France and my first time in Europe—and it was everything I hoped it would be. France felt charming, a soft and sweet introduction to the country I have studied for a few years of my life. Even though I realized quickly that my high school French wasn’t going to get me very far, I fell in love with the place. It sparked something in me, a beginning.

Grad school brought another opportunity. I had to fulfill a language requirement, and I knew this was my chance to reconnect with French. This time, I committed. I worked with a tutor for a year, refreshing my memory and rebuilding my confidence. And then I went back—but this time, it wasn’t a short girls trip. I spent three months in France and Europe, living there for the summer.

That summer changed everything.

I wasn’t the same person who visited in 2019. I was in a new season of life—one filled with questions and craving change. And Paris gave me answers I didn’t even know I was looking for. I felt more grounded, more open, more myself. I traveled to other countries during that summer, and it hit me: this—this life of exploration, of culture, of motion—was the life I had been dreaming about for so long.

That was in 2023. Since then, I’ve said it over and over: I want to move to France. And yet, two years later, I still haven’t made the leap. But what I have done is keep returning—twice a year, every year since. And with each visit, my desire hasn’t dimmed—it’s grown deeper. It’s no longer just a dream; it’s a spiritual pull. It’s a sense of knowing.

When people ask me why I want to move to Paris, it’s hard to explain. It’s not one specific reason. It’s a feeling. It’s the peace that settles into my chest when I land. It’s the comfort that wraps around me when I walk through the streets. It’s the stillness in my mind that lets me hear my intuition louder than ever before.

That’s what travel can do. It doesn’t just offer an escape from your routine—it brings you closer to alignment. Sometimes in the quietest corners of the world, and sometimes in the busiest cities, you’ll feel it: a calm, a spark, a voice inside that says this is where I’m meant to be.

That’s why I travel. That’s why I want others to travel. Because there’s a place out there that will call to you—maybe not with words, but with a feeling you’ll never be able to shake. And I want to help people find that feeling. That indescribable desire to go somewhere that just feels like home.