Will you Leave the US if the Unthinkable Happens?

A handy dandy questionnaire

Is getting the hell out of Dodge for you? Or are you really better off staying put and complaining endlessly (no judgement, see #3). Pour yourself (another) stiff drink and ponder the following:

1. Do I enjoy challenges coming at me like a tennis ball machine on high?

If yes, then you should totally follow your bliss, sell all your junk, and move abroad. Life really is better here. I’ve lived in France for 5 ½ years, and it feels like my country. However — and it’s a big however — being an étranger can be tough. I may be more suited to it because my Polish-émigré father was also an étranger. Growing up, he was the weird dad. He didn’t barbeque, golf, or cannon ball into the deep end. He was an avid reader of philosophy with old world manners whose passion was restoring antique pocket watches. Does this fish-out-of-water situation resonant with you? Did you relate most to the Ally Sheedy character in The Breakfast Club? If your answer is yes, you might as well feel like an outsider in a country with better food, where even the biggest bonehead knows the government can’t create hurricanes. Start packing!

2. Where do I want to go?

I’m a member of a Facebook group for expats in France, and people who aspire to be expats, and at least once a week someone asks why people chose France instead of Spain/Portugal/Costa Rica. What always follows is a long thread extolling the virtues of each country. Then someone inevitably comments: “If you have to ask, you’re not ready to make the leap.” This is true. The world is not Epcot. Spain and France share a border, and from a cultural perspective that’s about it. Know where you want to go and why. Otherwise, save your pennies.

3. Am I familiar with the most annoying traits of the people in my prospective new country and do I share them? If I don’t share them, would they drive me completely insane?

I love France in part because the people love to complain. When the French are not complaining, they like to talk about how difficult it is to learn French, also the geography of France. At a party, it’s not considered impolite to say something provocative to start an argument. I am down with all of this. However, I struggle on a daily basis with the French obsession with food, which seems so charming and life-affirming from a distance. When I eat with my French friends the topic of conversation at most meals is future meals, including how they’re going to conduct the dry run meals undertaken in preparation for the cooking of the actual meals. These friends are not foodies, just French. If you are someone who secretly just wants to eat a slightly wilted deli salad at your desk, France might be a seven-course meal too far.

4. Am I comfortable never knowing how hot, cold, big, small, heavy, light, fast or slow, close or far away something is?

Wherever you go, there will be people who speak English, but there will never be anyone who uses Fahrenheit, inches, feet, yards, pounds, ounces, and miles. Start learning your metric system now. And for the first year, be prepared to spend a small fortune on things that will never be the proper size, especially shoes.

5. Am I someone who has no trouble making do?

For decades I’ve used Original Listerine (the yellow one). That harsh, paint remover-y taste is a part of me. For whatever reason, there is no Original Listerine to be had in Collioure, or any of the neighboring villages. Listerine Total Care (the purple one), Listerine Menthol (the green one), and the entire rainbow of other Listerines are on offer, but not my beloved Original. This may seem like nothing, but your entire life will be a series of these sorts of minor adjustments. In France, you can buy a giant pack of Haribo Gummy Bears “for sharing” (ha), but no Twizzlers. The pillows are square and most mattresses are one step above the worst futon you’ve ever slept on. Bagels? Big bottles of Advil? Chairs large enough for our ample American asses? No, no, and no. Not the end of the world—duh—but do you really want to live this way?

6. Am I  honest with myself about my need for a certain type of weather (climate change aside)?

This may seem obvious, but if you hate the sun, you will not love a sunny country where everyone is always sweaty and a little smelly. NEVER. Likewise, take somewhere like Brittany, which is in all ways exquisite, except: the DREAR. If you are not a fan of the drear in your own neighborhood, drear with a French accent is even worse.

7. Do I view complicated bureaucratic requirements as a fascinating challenge?

Every day is a school day when you’re living in a foreign country. I speak French, and still spend every day mildly confused about what I’m reading, what it means, and what I’m supposed to do or not do. I’ve received official letters that basically say, “We understand that you are e-mailing because we told you to e-mail, and we would like to thank you very much for e-mailing.” Making sense of all the paperwork and filling it out is a part-time job. That said, if you’ve ever filled out a grant application or undergone the rigors of a tax audit, you got this.

8. Have I conveniently forgotten about taxes?

France has a superb health care system – but let’s get one thing straight – it is not FREE. Small business owners pay the equivalent of an annual federal tax, but are also required to make quarterly “social contributions.” A fun fact if you’ve ever registered for one of my Come to Your Senses writing retreats: of the $1000 you send in to hold your spot, $230 of it goes straight to the French government. And this is not including the amount I set aside for the annual tax. Plus, every American, no matter where they live in the world, is still obligated to file taxes. I know, right?

9. Can I can tolerate conducting relationships with my kids via Facetime?

I don’t want to tell anyone that it’s OK to leave your adult children to fend for themselves, but consider this: I talk to my adult daughter more now that I live in France than when she lived across town from me in Portland. That said, if you can’t bear the thought of spending all minor and most major holidays without your kids and their kids, think again about buying that one-way ticket.

10. Do I have a high tolerance for public humiliation?

When I first arrived in France, my friend Valérie and I joined a gym in a neighboring village. Gym culture isn’t a big thing in France. When they exercise, they tend to go for outdoorsy stuff—hiking, biking, swimming, tennis, football. Hollywood Greg Gym (I have no idea why it is called this: Greg is Belgian, and resembles the late actor Bob Hoskins, if Hoskins was a professional weight lifter) offered high-intensity exercise classes several times a week. It was summer, there was no air-conditioning, and the workout was hard. Doubly so for me, because it was conducted all in French. Sometimes, when Greg ordered us to do another set, I would groan “Oh God!” and everyone would laugh. I assumed that I was ridiculous simply because I was the lone American in the class. But no, at the end of the summer Greg finally took me aside and said, “You know ‘god’ means dildo in French, right?” (The actual word is godemiché). Are you willing to be that person unaware they’re shouting “Oh dildo!” for weeks on end? Are you?

11. Am I the kind of person who is energized by spending an entire day going from shop to shop, trying to find baking soda or a fitted sheet?

Why would you be? It’s completely ridiculous. Best to stay home or couch surf in the home of friends who made the leap. They will love to see you! When you come, could I trouble you to bring some Original Listerine and Twizzlers?

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Todos Santos Writers Workshop, February 1 - 8 2025

Come February, you can find me in Baja! Join us in gorgeous Todos Santos for a week of inspiration, creativity, community, and the world’s best fish tacos. Located at the historic Posada del Molino, the workshop features classes in memoir (Jeanne McCulloch et moi), poetry (Christopher Merrill), fiction (Gina Frangello), travel/environmental writing (Nick Triolo), and storytelling basics (Rex Weiner).