Romanticizing Your Life in France: Dream or Reality?

Ever since my first trip to France for an artist residency, people back in the U.S. have been romanticizing my life. They imagine me painting all day, sipping wine at night, wandering through quaint villages, having long, leisurely meals… the works. Some even picture my love life straight out of a movie or an Emily in Paris episode.

The truth? Well… if you actually saw how my life has unfolded here in France, you’d know it couldn’t be further from that fantasy. And that makes me ask: does a life really become more romantic in France, or is that just people dreaming?

When I say “romantic,” I’m not just talking about French men (that’s a story for another day). I mean the day-to-day: if I jotted down every detail of my life here, would it read as elegant, calm, slow, sweet?

Yes, I sip espresso (less bitter than in the U.S.), take long walks, paint, and see friends. Life looks slower on the surface—but underneath, I’m still navigating a new language, decoding grocery aisles, and figuring out how to run a business in a foreign country. Simple tasks suddenly feel complicated, and what was easy back home can feel impossible here.

The truth? Life in the U.S. had its own hurdles—just different ones. France doesn’t magically make everything elegant or easier; it just dresses up the same challenges in lavender fields and sunshine.

Looked at on paper, my day isn’t all that different from back home: espresso and bread in the morning, painting or laptop work, walks, yoga, meals with friends. The difference is less about the schedule and more about how it feels—a little slower, a little more deliberate, a little more… mine.

Weekends make the contrast more obvious. Here, I go to markets, take long walks in villages, visit restaurants and bars, hike or run, and drive around for the views. Back home, weekends were packed with sports on TV, social events, loud bars, and so fast that Monday arrived before I even realized it. Yes, life here has a slower rhythm—but only when you notice it, and only from the outside. Locals don’t see it as extraordinary; it’s normal to them.

And that’s when it hits me: it’s all relative. France feels like a dream because people in the U.S. imagine it. Just as people in France might dream about the U.S. The romance isn’t in the location—it’s in the longing.

People romanticize my life here because they’re imagining themselves in my shoes. They’re dreaming of a life far from their own. It’s not that my life is happier, or that they’re unhappy—it’s different. It seems like opportunity. And who doesn’t love the idea of opportunity?

I think the goal in life shouldn’t be about romanticizing a life based on location. France isn’t magical because it’s France. Paris isn’t romantic because of the Eiffel Tower. Provence isn’t dreamy because of the lavender fields. The romance isn’t in the place—it’s in how you live your life, wherever you are.

You can make any life feel more “romantic” if you intentionally choose the small things that bring you joy. It could be as simple as taking a morning walk before work, sitting down for a proper two-hour dinner with friends instead of a quick meal at Chipotle, or lighting candles while you paint in your studio. Little rituals, small pauses, playful attention to your day—they add up. They change the texture of life.

These aren’t grand gestures. They aren’t about Instagram aesthetics or living up to someone else’s fantasy. They’re about fulfilling your wants and needs, the things that make you feel fully alive in the moment. And that, to me, is what makes life romantic. Not the backdrop, not the location—it’s how you show up and choose to live.

So maybe people romanticize my life in France because it’s unfamiliar, because it’s different, because it’s seen through the lens of longing. But really, the romance is there in my daily routines, in the pauses I take, the meals I savor, the walks I take, the paint on my hands at sunset. I get to create a life I enjoy, one deliberate choice at a time. And if that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.