Dorothy went through some pretty badass trials and tribulations in order to learn that “there’s no place like home.” Fortunately for me, there was no Wicked Witch to drench, no poppies to overcome, no flying monkeys in pursuit, and certainly no egomaniacal old man trying to masquerade as some omnipotent being with an over-sized green head. All I did was open a box. Well, technically two boxes.
Apparently, to my delight, two of my best friends from home decided to get together and send me some of my favorite things (not surprisingly, most of the items were food). As soon as I opened the package, it was as if I had clicked my heels three times. I was immediately transported away from the City of Lights, away from the Eiffel Tower, away from the Seine, and back to a familiar place filled with the faces of people I know.
Click, click, click…
It’s true that since I moved abroad I often feel like my home is somewhere in between here and there (and sometimes I feel like it’s nowhere). But, there’s nothing like a few little things put together with care to make you remember what “home” is supposed to feel like. I love my friends, I love my family, and it’s thanks to them that I can continue being a Perpetual Passenger and maintain any trace of sanity. Thanks to everyone who plays a part, large or small. It doesn’t go unnoticed.
Image copyright: FIDM museum shop
Tagged: American expat, expat, friends and family, home, Paris, Travel
The Perpetual Passenger 
Love the blog! From one expat to another,
Bree
Thanks so much! I’ll have to check yours out, too. Happy expatriating 🙂
Please do! Xoxo