Dublin v. Paris…

I’ve lived in Paris for two months now and I’m settling in rather well. Though sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that I do in fact actually live here.

Since this is my second expat experience, I can’t help but compare Paris with Dublin. I’m not talking about who has better museums or a more picturesque countryside. That’s a comparison of tourist attractions. I’m talking about how these two cities stack up against each other when it comes to LIVING in them.

Here’s what I’ve come up with thus far:

  • People – You’d be hard-pressed to find a population nicer than the Irish. They exude friendliness and it was one of the things I knew I would miss most. But, surprisingly given their reputation, the Parisians I have encountered have been almost shockingly friendly to me. My french is, in a word, appalling, yet whenever I must apologize that I don’t understand something because I’m new in Paris, I don’t get eye rolls or corrections on my accent. Most often, they ask where I’m from and compliment me for at least trying to speak french. It was a surprise and it’s been nice.
  • Landlords – So, those friendly people I was talking about? Landlords are excluded from this category – in Dublin and in Paris. However, my situation in Dublin was especially dire and it was the greed of my landlords that ultimately had me decide to make the move to Paris. Parisian landlords aren’t much better but at least in Paris the laws favor the tenant, whereas in Dublin, tenants are pretty much shit out of luck.
  • Weather – No one moves to Dublin or Paris for the weather, and I’m one of the very few people who actually didn’t mind the weather in Dublin. This freak-show of a winter notwithstanding, it doesn’t get too cold and the summers don’t get too hot. Paris is much the same, though for me, I think the edge goes to Dublin because every year Paris has the canicules (heat waves) where the temperatures soar and everyone, especially the heat-averse moi, becomes pretty miserable.
  • Food – Everyone knows that Parisian food is ridiculously good. But, I’ve been struggling with the food in Paris this time around. Since I moved here I’ve adopted a reasonably strict LCHF (low carb, high fat) way of eating (and I’m down 20 pounds, yo!). In Dublin, I feel like there were more LCHF choices and that restaurants were more willing to make substitutions. In Paris, with the pastries and the bread and the frites and the… well, let’s just say eating low carb can be a challenge. And restaurants are less willing to sub out something like potatoes for a salad or some veggies. Thank goodness that wine and cheese are both gloriously low carb.
  • Ease of Travel – Ireland is an island. There’s no way around that. So, if you want to go somewhere you need to get on a plane. Paris is much better located as a travel hub and being able to take trains to places like London or Amsterdam is amazing. I feel like I have all of Europe within reach now that I am in Paris.
  • Amazon – I was addicted to ordering from Amazon when I lived in the States. Sadly, Dublin only has access to the UK Amazon and it’s therefore very limiting and very expensive. Now that I am in Paris, I am back to my old Amazon habits. I have my french Prime membership and order just about anything I need in the click of a button. Oh Amazon, how I missed you.
  • Time Zones – I know, I know, how can one time zone be better than another? Trust me, they SO can be. Paris is only one hour ahead of Dublin but I was shocked at how big a difference that hour made. I still work mostly with people in the GMT or EST time zones. I’m forever confusing my schedule because I don’t know if calls are set for GMT or CET. And being one hour later means I usually end up working an hour later. I’m a GMT gal all the way!
  • Transportation – Paris has this one down. Even in a spring that is set to be riddled with strikes, it is so easy to get around this city using public transportation. The metro is one of the best in the world. And I’ve recently overcome my bus phobia and now take the Paris busses BY MYSELF on a regular basis. Dublin, for a european capital, has always sadly lacked in the public transportation arena. Apparently the LUAS lines are now joined up – that only took about 15 years. I took a bus in Dublin once and feared for my life the entire time. Never. Again.
  • Coffee – Some might find this shocking but the coffee in Paris is average at best. For a coffee snob like myself that borders on the tragic. Dublin, though, had great coffee. How I wish I could walk to Nick’s in Ranelagh right now for an americano.

So there you have it – my initial take on little bits of living in each city. Two cities I love. Two cities that are “home”. So, who wins?

Me.

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Separate Ways…

I arrived in Paris exactly three weeks ago today. I’m still existing in a very liminal state but, honestly, but I’m actually doing a lot better than I was at this point in my relocation to Dublin.

In my last post, I was filled with such anxiety for no real good reason. I think my psyche was just messed up because the anxiety and panic that gripped me when I moved to Dublin really blind-sided me. For this Paris move, I wanted to be prepared so as not to be caught off-guard again and I let my “anxiety about possible anxiety” wreck my head.

Not that my transition has been a picnic. Not at all. There has been crippling loneliness and doubt, there have been anxiety attacks, there has been the taking of xanax. But I got through it.

What basically set me off was a weekend in London. I arrived in Paris, was there for four days, then I was up in Manchester for work for two days, and then to London for three days to meet up with two friends to see “Hamilton”. (Side note – it was amazing, life-changing, a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. Just go see it.) We’d gotten these theatre tickets more than a year ago and I thought the timing of it was going to be good – I’d have a couple days in Paris to get situated but not really have time to dwell on things because I had this long-awaited Hamilton weekend to get to.

And the weekend was awesome. I had a great time – until it was time for me to leave on Sunday. I was the first one to depart, as my friends were getting separate flights to Dublin later in the afternoon. I got into the taxi, the door closed behind me and as I watched the two of them walk away I was overcome by this immense feeling of sadness because my friends were going back to Dublin and I wasn’t. And then the dam burst and I had an anxiety attack in the back of a London cab.

I was able to keep it under control during my Eurostar ride back to Paris but I could feel something bubbling under my surface and knew it was just a matter of time. I got to my apartment in Paris and let it all out – crying, pacing, panicking. I was full on until I pretty much exhausted myself and fell asleep.

The thing is, I didn’t really understand why the end of a fantastic weekend set me off. Sure, I’m going to miss my friends but it’s not like I’ll never see them again, and hell, it’s not like I saw them all that much while I was still living in Dublin. But I was talking to another Dublin friend on Friday afternoon and I told her this story and she got a bit teary-eyed. And she explained that it made perfect sense and it was kind of beautiful.

Getting into that taxi and driving away from my friends was me literally me going my own separate way. After so many months of build-up, and being able to avoid it earlier because of this planned weekend in London, this was it. The point of separation, at least for now, from the life I spent the past five years building in Dublin. It was a huge moment and no wonder I cried. That cry, and the subsequent one in my apartment later than night, were necessary.

Have I mentioned that my friend is not only awesome but very, very wise?

She was right. I’ve had fleeting moments of anxiety since that Sunday but no “attacks”. Certainly nothing like what I dealt with when I first moved to Dublin. I’ve actually been doing pretty okay. Each day I fall a little more in love with my cute apartment, I have amazing friends here who made me part of their circle instantly, my Dublin friends are still very much in my life, and I’m doing something that most people only dream of doing. I’m living in Paris.

Maybe I’m doing more than okay.

 

The final countdown…

Next week at this time, I’ll be “The New Dubliner In Paris”. After dreaming about living in Paris for years, after all the false starts over the past year, my feelings are… mixed.

And I blame Dublin.

I was cocky when I decided to move to Dublin five years ago. I thought it was going to be so easy. But I didn’t take the time I should have to process the enormity of what I was doing. So, when it finally hit me (in a hotel room in London the night before my official arrival in Dublin), it shook me to my core, sending me into a months-long spiral of panic, anxiety and depression the likes of which I’d never experienced before.

I like to think I kept it fairly well hidden at work (no idea if I actually did) but I have never felt so completely alone and scared in my life. I had no friends yet, so I would cry on the phone to my sister and my parents everyday. I would wake up in the middle of the night, nearly every night, just gripped in panic.

I finally started to turn the corner when, after crying on the phone to my sister for the umpteenth time, she broke it down for me: “Shannon, the absolute worst case scenario here is that you come home.”

And she was right. That advice, along with a xanax prescription, gave me the freedom to really start living in Dublin. If it didn’t work, it didn’t work, no biggie.

Now, five years on, moving to Paris is stirring up the same feelings in me. Though it’s more the anticipation of panic that is wrecking my head right now. Because the anxiety and panic caught me so off guard with my Dublin move, I’m actually having anxiety about the possibility of anxiety – and yes, that is as exhausting as it sounds.

But the Paris move is different in many ways. I’m moving someplace that I know really, really well. I have a circle of friends there already. I’m not moving to start a new job. Doesn’t mean I’m not scared though. Doesn’t mean I haven’t needed a xanax or two as I’ve packed up my Dublin house and said good-bye to my friends. Leaving Dublin makes me, in a word, sad. But I know that I am not done with this city yet. I have too many friends here, I have business ties here, and I do love it here.

The same way I still consider myself a New Yorker more than 10 years after moving away, I will always consider myself a Dubliner. But, much as I love Dublin, Paris is something that I need to do. I do not want to look back on my life thirty years from now and see a chance not taken. I would rather face my fear than live with regret.

And the same advice that my sister gave me five years ago still holds true – worst case scenario, I come home.

Only now, home means Dublin.

 

Write It On Your Heart…

I tried something new during the course of 2017. Everyday (okay, nearly every day) I wrote down on a slip of paper something that happened during that day to make me happy. I can’t remember where I read about this practice but it’s about finding your gratitude, your peace, your happiness – even if it’s something small. I didn’t turn into a Pollyanna or anything – I’m far too cynical and sarcastic for that –  but I did enjoy reflecting on my day and finding a moment that made it happy. Some days were easier than others, of course. But I think most people would find that even on the darkest of days, there exists some sliver of happiness.

I randomly picked ten slips of paper to see what made me happy this past year. They were mostly small things, insignificant even. Had I not written them down, I probably would have forgotten they even happened. But as I read these scribbles, I found myself smiling and these moments made me happy for a second time:

  • January 23 – AFTERNOON NAP I love naps. They are decadent, they are relaxing, they always make me happy.
  • February 22 –  LISTENED TO “DEAR EVAN HANSEN” FOR THE FIRST TIME This and “Hamilton” have been life-changing for me and I haven’t even seen them on stage yet – that’s for 2018!
  • March 9 – ONLY ONE EMAIL IN MY INBOX THIS MORNING Is there anything more freeing than not having an onslaught of emails greeting you at the start of your work day?
  • March 31 – FIDDLE LESSON I am a truly horrible fiddle player. My lessons didn’t make my neighbors happy I’m sure, but they did bring me joy.
  • April 15 – LIE IN ON A SATURDAY MORNING ‘Nuff said.
  • May 27 – RAINY DAY IN DUBLIN I’m one of the few who actually likes the weather in Dublin. And I love a cozy, rainy day.
  • September 23 – MY NEPHEW FACETIMED ME SO I COULD WATCH HIM PUT LEGOS TOGETHER Yes, it was beyond boring. But I also loved every mundane second of it.
  • October 16 – RODE OUT THE HURRICANE WITH A FRIEND As natural disasters go, this hurricane proved to be just a windy afternoon spent drinking wine with a friend.
  • November 2 – FRIEND SUPPORTIVE OF PARIS MOVE This person is not only my dear friend but my business partner and her instantaneous support of me when I told her my plans meant the world to me.
  • December 10 – FACETIME CHAT WITH FRIEND As I prepare to leave Dublin, this chat really resonated with me. It was with a friend who left Dublin more than three years ago. The fact that we’ve maintained a close friendship despite living in different countries reassures me that my friends in Dublin will remain a part of my life even when I am in Paris.

It really wasn’t hard to come up with a happy moment every day. Some days, many days, I had a hard time picking just one. It was a nice way to spend the year and I plan to keep up the ritual in 2018.

I hope that all of you have started 2018 with at least one happy moment – hopefully many more. As we all embark on this new year, I’ll leave you with this quote from Ralph Waldo Emmerson:

Write it on your heart that everyday is the best day of the year.

It’s All About the Dash…

A dear friend of mine died last Saturday. Stupid cancer. On Sunday, my friend’s wife posted on Facebook the years of his birth and death, separated by a dash, and underneath the dates was the statement “It’s all about the dash.”

And it really is, isn’t it?

Your birth and death are just dates – it’s what you do with the time in between that really counts. This isn’t an expat thing, it’s a human thing. Though following my dream of being an expat is certainly a big part of my dash. As I prepare to move to Paris (two months from today!), I’ve found myself questioning if I am doing the right thing, if this is the right decision for me. I’m scared. Terrified even. But when I look back on my dash, it’s filled with times when I refused to let fear or uncertainty make my decisions for me so why should I let them start now?

I don’t think any of us starts out aiming to have a dash filled with fear or monotony or playing it safe. I think we all want a dash where we follow our bliss (shout out to Joseph Campbell!), where joy and love lead the way, where we are always learning, and where fun and laughter are commonplace. But when the weight of everyday life bears down, I think it’s easy to lose sight of the dash. We are all guilty of doing things because they are easier or safer or expected. It’s easy to lose sight of what would make us truly happy, of what would make our dash truly exceptional.

Everyone’s dash is different but, in honor of those whose dashes are cut short, make yours what you want it to be. Not what you think it’s expected be. Not what others want it to be. Not what you think is safest or easiest. If you are thinking about doing something, do it. Even if you are scared. Even if you don’t know how things will turn out. Just do it.

It’s the big things. It’s the little things. It’s all the things.

  • Take that vacation.
  • Write that book.
  • Go back to school.
  • Get out of that bad relationship.
  • Get the concert tickets.
  • Let your kids stay home from school just because.
  • Play in the snow.
  • Make the career change.
  • Tell your crush how you feel.
  • Learn that foreign language.
  • Jump in the leaves.
  • Drink the good wine.
  • Run that marathon.
  • Learn to tango.
  • March in that protest.
  • Move to Paris.

Or do something else. Whatever you want. It’s your dash – and that’s what it’s all about.

Au revoir, Dublin…

Exactly five years ago today I set foot in Dublin for the very first time, and so began my expat adventure. I’m not sure if it’s poetic or merely coincidental that it’s on this anniversary that I announce that I am leaving Dublin. For now at least. And most of you will not be surprised to hear that I am leaving Dublin for… Paris.

Over the past several months, I’ve been confronted with my own personal “housing crisis” here in Dublin – my rent got knocked up to €2100 per month (for a place that doesn’t always have running water and where I currently do not have heat) and, regardless of the price, I have to be out by January 31 because my landlords are going to “sell” it. I looked at buying, and even put offers in on two places, but it didn’t work out. And in looking at rentals, I could either pay somewhere in the neighborhood of €2000+ or live in a shithole. The Dublin housing market has gotten a bit too big for its britches, frankly. And I’ve been backed into a corner with very few options.

So, it’s time to go.

It’s no secret to those who know me that Paris has always been the dream. Heck, a million years ago, my BFF and I named our production company “Apartment in Paris Productions” because that was the end goal, the dream. I’d come close to making the move to Paris a couple times this year and when those opportunities fell through I was beyond disappointed but I figured what was meant to be was meant to be and the time just wasn’t right for Paris and me. So, I had resigned myself to it not happening.

But then I was in Paris again in August for a quick holiday and I was overcome with such a feeling of contentment and being at home that it was almost overwhelming. I emailed my parents from my hotel about how I was feeling and they called me right away and basically said “just effing move to Paris already.” That little push was really all I needed and a plan started to formulate in my head. Some pieces still needed to fall into place, and surprise, surprise – they actually did this time! So now, come February, I’ll be “La Nouvelle Parisienne” instead of “The New Dubliner”.

I didn’t make this decision lightly and I’m not leaving Dublin because I don’t like it here anymore. If I wasn’t in this housing pickle, I might never have made the decision to go. Over the past five years, Dublin has become my home. I’ve had an amazing time here. I have people I love here. There is so much that I am going to miss. It will NOT be easy to leave. And there are things about moving to Paris that absolutely terrify me. But in my entire life I’ve never NOT done something because I was afraid. And I don’t want to look back on my life and regret never taking this leap.

So, I’m going. For now. Since thinking too far into the future gives me a panic attack and sends me running to my Xanax, I’m only committing to a year in Paris and then I’ll see how I’m feeling. Maybe I will love Paris and stay there, maybe I’ll return to Dublin. Who knows?

The only thing I know for sure is that five years into my crazy expat adventure, it’s still an adventure and it’s still crazy.

 

 

Cheers to The Hill…

I can admit when I’m wrong. It isn’t always easy, but I can do it. A little over a year ago I wrote a post lamenting that my local pub, The Hill, was under new ownership and I feared that it was going to turn into a pretentious hipster mecca. I worried that, while it was no doubt a good business move, it might not be the best thing for my little tucked-away corner of Ranelagh.

People, I was wrong. SO WRONG.

I liked the old Hill but I wasn’t a “regular.” Frankly, to be a regular you had to above the age of 70 and also, male. I was always met with stares when I entered – not sure if they were because I’m a woman or because I’m not 70, but there you have it. But still, the Guinness was good.

This past week, I was at The Hill on three separate occasions. Last Saturday, me and a couple girlfriends had an impromptu evening out. My friends worked their way through the entire gin cocktail menu and I had roughly seven proseccos (but who’s counting, right?). Then on Tuesday, I took one of those same friends there for her birthday – we had a nice dinner and capped the proseccos at two this time. And on Friday, my boss was in from Paris for a weekend away with his husband and I met them there at 4pm for an early start to the weekend. We stumbled out five or six hours later, well-fed and “hydrated”.

So yeah, now I really am a regular. And I love it.

The Hill has become my go-to place. Sure, the bearded hipsters do indeed go there for the craft beer but on any given night, the place will be filled with 25 year-olds, 75 year-olds and everyone in between. It’s truly become a neighborhood gathering place.

The pub culture is one of the first things I loved about Dublin. The pub really is an engrained part of the social fabric here and to now have a pub that I truly consider “mine” gives me that much-coveted sense of community and belonging.

When one is an expat, the notion of community and belonging can be hard to come by. We so often feel like we are on the outside looking in, a part of things yet set apart because aren’t from here (wherever our “here” happens to be). Nearly five years into this Irish expat adventure, I do still sometimes feel like an outsider, but not when I’m at The Hill.

So, cheers to The Hill. Thank you for making me feel so welcome. And I’m seriously sorry for being such a judge-y wanker at first.

http://thehillpub.ie