When I first got to Paris, I was absolutely terrified to sit at a cafe alone. After a few days of walking by some of the most adorable cafes I’ve seen in my life, I was able to convince myself that it would be ok, but only during the day. I wouldn’t dare dine at night alone. Eventually, I found a few “safe” sidewalk cafes that were away from the hustle and bustle of Paris life and therefore, nighttime appropriate for a party of one. Still, I stayed clear of the crowded, popular ones. Honestly, it’s not like I’m embarrassed or uncomfortable alone. I moved to Paris alone. I spent 95% of my time there alone. But still, there was something about sitting in a crowded public space reserved primarily for socializing that got the best of my anxiety. And so it was. Until my very last night in Paris, when I found myself back at one of my favorite cafes in Saint-Germain on a busy Sunday night in July, without even a book to keep me company. And there I sat and enjoyed my last Parisian burger (eaten with a fork and knife) and frites feeling nothing but proud of how far I’d come. I took thousands of pictures over the three months I was there. Going through them all the other night was emotional. I thought, I’ll go back next spring for maybe a month or two. But even so, I know it won’t be the same. Nothing will ever rival the experience I had. It was timing, everything. I’ll never be the same. So I can jump on planes chasing new adventures, which I will, and I know Paris and I will be reunited many times over, but the little love affair I experienced with it this summer will remain just that – tucked away somewhere special in my heart. Forever.

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