A year ago, in November, I found an incredibly perfect oppurtunity. Needing escape from the dark and industrial Hamilton Ontario, and needing a necessary break from a horrid break up and a terrible rut, I had researched many exchanges, but none seemed to fit. Until one cold late autumn night I got an email, and immediately called my parents. "This is meant for me" I said, "I have to do this". And with that, so began my journeys. It took tons of paper work, first with applications, letters of interest, references, and more. I got an interview. I aced it, I knew I aced when I walked out of the room. "I dont care if I get it now, I did my best and I could not be happier with myself" was the next call home. It was only an after thought when I checked my email the following Friday and found I had been accepted. Well, not a complete after thought, I mean, I checked my email to see if I heard the news, but after the interview I was walking on a cloud. A year in France. My god, I thought, a year in France! The program I had seen months ago, and knew was meant for me, was finally mine.

I'm currently studying and traveling in France. Well, that’s a bit of an understatement. I'm learning a lot about France and French, great cheeses never pasteurized, wine, dancing until my hair is soaking wet and beautiful rain showers and glorious road trips in the country side. I'm learning bits of Spanish and Finnish, and how to doge the inevitable puddles of poop that litter my adorable town's streets. In theory, I am learning International business, but more, I'm learning that everything in France requires twenty sheets of paper work and a long lunch over a bottle of wine. To be romantic, in a place where poetic license is to be expected, I am learning about living freely and without inhibitions of remorse. I'm learning to leave things up in the air, and learning the necessity of those pesky quinze minutes de France.

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