Is it possible to grow homesick for a place that was never truly home? My husband and I have spent plenty of time recently reminiscing about last year’s European adventure. We’ve been back almost a year and I feel I am just starting to process the experience as I wade through the memories.
In an irrational panic I realized it was time to do something with our beautifully bare walls (man, I have to tell you guys about the new house – I will def – for now know that we had 85% of the interior walls painted this incredible perfect white) and began to scroll through pictures of our trip to Paris.
I’m not one to romanticize Europe. Every place has its charms and its less desirable features (ask me about Parisian sidewalks – ew). If you’re rolling your eyes please know I can prove it. Learning the art of photography has trained me to find atypical beauty everywhere.
Beauty isn’t hard to find in Paris.
Ever been homesick for a place that wasn’t really home?