Leaving the US

Leaving now?

Why the question doesn’t end at the border, and what comes after choosing to go

Leaving Now

When I hit publish on an empty draft titled Leaving now?, a few folks liked and commented anyway. That says something: even a blank page with that question on top is enough to start conversation.

for many of us, it isn’t abstract. It’s the question that has followed us for years, kind of in quiet moments before it finally became action.

I’ve written before about Stumbling Toward Home in France, about the slow work of building a life when the novelty wears off.

I’ve written about how food here—whether thrifted leftovers turned to stew or the daily miracle of a street market—becomes a kind of compass when everything else feels strange.

But the act of leaving itself? That question doesn’t go away just because you’ve crossed a border.

leaving then

In the U.S., it always felt urgent. The pace, the grind, the sense that stability was a myth you had to keep performing until it collapsed. For some, leaving was about survival. For others, about imagination. For me, it was both. And the irony is that once you’re out, you realize leaving wasn’t a one-time event. It’s a practice—learning how to exist elsewhere, how to keep choosing it, even when it’s messy, bureaucratic, or lonely.

Sharon wrote in the comments that what’s working for her in Alsace is obsessively reading Facebook groups about taxes, health coverage, residency renewals, driver’s licenses. I’ve done the same—scrolling threads about cartes de séjour while my pot of lentils simmered in the kitchen. Food and paperwork, side by side: two survival strategies. Two grounding and connection strategies.

what comes after

But really, you have to talk to people—to get known and to get to know others. You have to seek help from professionals, and be cautious with money, which doesn’t mean never spending, but spending wisely when it counts.

So maybe the better question isn’t just “leaving now?” but what comes after leaving?

How do you stretch into a new shape of daily life, one that holds both the absurd (yes, the cows here really do moo differently) and the essential (health care, community, a sense of home)?

If you’re already on this path—or even just circling it—share what’s working for you in the comments. The more we pool experience, the easier it gets.

Emmenez-moi Charles Aznavour (1967)

Emmenez-moi tells the story of a weary man longing to escape the grind of gray daily life, dreaming of distant places where life feels freer and lighter. By 1967, chanson was beginning to meet with pop and global influences. Aznavour, already one of France’s most beloved performers, stood out for his emotional directness and ability to give voice to ordinary longings, to make the boring and melancholy sweeping and dramatic.