So now I’m back in California. It has been two weeks and I think mostly the sadness has passed, and I’m excited about what lies ahead. A few days before I left Paris, while enjoying a tea at the Cafe de Flore, I had a brief conversation with a friendly waiter. He saw me photographing my table and in order to excuse my faux pas, if you will, I told him I was a fashion blogger, something I rarely divulge to strangers, because even now, I’m shy about it for many reasons. While his English was good, he didn’t quite grasp the blogger part, and only took away that I did something in fashion, which interested him because his wife works in fashion. He asked me what I did, and without even thinking, I said I was a designer. Now, I never lie – I’m unapologetically honest. For my three months in Paris, I was asked this question dozens of times: Are you a student? Are you a model? What are you doing here? And each time, I shrugged shyly and responded, “Nothing,” well aware of the privilege of living in one of the most sought after cities in the world with nothing to do. But wander. And think. And dream.  Nevertheless, as the word designer slipped off my tongue, I believed it. It was something like manifesting. It’s what I decided on after three months of wandering, of thinking, of dreaming. And even after the words left my mouth, I did not for a second doubt their authenticity, their truthfulness. And that’s when I knew I would become one.