YOLO

There's nothing like preparing to move across an ocean to prove to yourself just how little stuff you need. All of the sentimental detritus that accumulates in just over 3 years can easily be chucked into a plastic trash bag and thoughtlessly tossed into the bin for Friday morning pick up. It's that easy. It's a whole life's worth of little trinkets and tokens that you're deciding don't really make the cut-off for the TSA's own sentimental weight limit guidelines. In theory, it's a scary thing to throw out or donate 75% of your belongings; in practice, it's liberating. The bigger picture implications are what really scare me. The whole reason I'm chucking my things is because I'm quitting my job, giving up my lease, and moving to France. And je ne parle pas français that well.

This decision has been many years in the making. My boyfriend, Ben, has been living in France for the past 4 years; first as a language assistant fresh out of undergrad, and ultimately as a graduate of a French master's program in Aix-en-Provence. During that time, I finished my undergrad at Boston University (a useless but personally satisfying Bachelor of Music in Voice Performance), and I moved to Washington D.C.. The move to D.C. was fairly random, but I secured a great job and ended up loving the city. I started long-distance running, held down a full-time and a part-time job, and generally enjoyed being in my early twenties in a type-A, motivated town. But somewhere along the way I began to stagnate. My job is great, but it's not my passion. I love living in D.C., but I don't want to settle down here. Friends come and go. A long-distance relationship is difficult to maintain, even with the magic of Google video and transatlantic flights. This spring, my boyfriend was presented with an opportunity to teach at the university in Aix while I pursued the opportunity to secure a student visa through a French language class program; we had reached our now-or-never moment.

The decision to give up my job and my life in D.C. was one of the most stressful and agonizing choices I've ever made. I thrive in security, and unknowns give me high blood pressure. But this decision I made, at the time, was so bursting with potential that I couldn't not jump at the chance to live abroad. It's not a ridiculous situation to thrust myself into: I'll be living with someone I know, love, and trust (someone who speaks the language fluently), in a country that's somewhat familiar to me, and for which I don't need to get any crazy shots. So why not? I hate the term "YOLO," but I had the revelation that my reasoning for choosing to go abroad was just that. At 24, I have no attachments, (thankfully) no debt, no long-term commitments, and a little money saved; when better to do this? I'm not totally without plan. Not getting on a random plane to go backpacking across the Mongolian desert... although that sounds kind of fun.

Even with a mantra of YOLO, one must plan. Bureaucracy has its foundation in France, and appropriately, we've gone through a multitude of snags, delays, and plan changes. Miraculously, I was granted a student visa with not a single issue. Ben was offered a different opportunity to do a PhD at a university in Lyon, which he accepted midst the absence of all administrative aid. What aid was given was often incompetent, late, incorrect, or all of the above. But Ben is a weathered soldier in the battle of the French System, and so we've set our sights on the bohemian student life in the city of Lyon.  T-minus 20 days.

I have a habit of looking back at past me with the thought of "if only you knew how much this experience would change you." I fondly shake my head at younger me and wonder how I could have approached something differently with a little less naïveté; or how I could have avoided stress and heartache or soaked up just a little more of the scenery. This is the moment right now that future me will look back on and shake her head fondly and think, "Emily, if you only you knew how much this would change you."

Well? YOLO.