It’s Friday morning, 7:40am. I’m having my morning coffee on our balcony in Charenton Le Pont, France — my second home. (Or is it my first home by now?). It’s a charming little community just outside Paris proper on metro line 8, one Hemingway mentions in A Moveable Feast: “There was better fishing in Charenton, where the Marne came into the Seine, and on either side of Paris, but there was very good fishing in Paris itself.”
I left Charenton only six or so weeks ago and didn’t expect to be back until the fall after a focused, hard-working summer spent saving money, studying le français and researching how to acquire a long-stay visa. Like the saying goes, life happens when you’re making other plans. And so here I am.However it came to be, it feels so good to be home again.
This is our view. It overlooks a courtyard and parking area (which is not so pretty for photos), but when I stand out here in the early mornings, I always look up. So I took a photo of ‘up’ for you. The sun is shining and the sky is blue today, et mon Michel is sleeping in the next room. Yes, he is home from the hospital (more on that in a minute). All is quiet, I’m relaxed and rested, and savoring this peaceful feeling because it’s so unlike how I’ve been feeling the past few weeks.
The journey from Alaska to this was a long and stressful one. I’ll fast forward past the complaining about how unpleasant it is to travel for more than 24 hours, and all the worries and panic attacks, because that really could take all day and all that matters now is that I’m here, and so is Michel,and my heart is no longer pounding out of my chest. Today is a good day.
During my layover in Seattle my dear friend Cynthia picked me up in the early morning hours to take me to breakfast. As we were walking through the Hyatt in Bellevue, Michel called with great news: his latest test results came back and the doctors agreed to release him the next day! Cynthia and I grinned in unison, “YAYYYY YAY YAY!!!!” I’d be arriving just hours before he’d be released! While I had hoped he’d be able to come home at some point during my stay, I didn’t expect that. *Breathes.*
Upon arrival in Paris, our friend Charly picked me up at the airport. He was there! And on time! (Take note, Michel! lol) He greeted me with a big smile and hug and that was a very good moment. Here. Phew. We made our way back to the apartment, dropped off my bags, then hopped right back on the metro and straight to the hospital to collect Michel. Oh that smile! And that hug that lasted for a very, very long time. All the checklists and laundry piles and security checkpoints and worries and sleepless nights … they were all were worth it in that very long hug.
He looked a bit thinner but handsome and strong and wonderful. We headed home and were all very hungry, so stopped for a fine lunch at a brasserie in Charenton. The sun was shining and I had my guy’s hand in mine as we said goodbye to Charly and walked back home. Finally. Home. Together. Relaxed in our little Parisian apartment. Aaaaaaaaaaah.
A lot of people are asking how he’s doing (by the way, thank you for that) and I can tell you that he’s been through a lot in the last weeks: very painful treatments with no guarantees, but most miraculous results. We both credit your support and prayers and campaign to get me here as a huge component in giving him the strength to fight and endure it all. He’s on the mend and coming through to the other side, where we intend to keep him. My job now, the reason why I’m here, is to ensure he is taking good care of himself — plenty of rest and relaxation, low stress, a bit of exercise (walks in the sunshine today!) and good nutrition. His restrictive diet is a healthy one and good for us both, but like, phew … the doctors allow a glass of wine with dinner because it’s France and we love France.
Jetlag has been brutal, but I’m nearly acclimated and looking forward to getting into routine and even getting some work done. Now, besides getting healthy, our other priority is to figure out a way for me to be in France as much as I need to be, because worrying about visas is really something we need to remove from the equation. It’s a bit of a torturous bureaucratic process but we’ve got to put it front burner now. I don’t ever want to feel like I can’t be here for him because of some regulation. Yes, getting married is an option and it’s on the table but believe you me, it’s not just that simple. We would be married by now if it were. I’m American and as such, there is a whole process. We’re doing the research, getting all of the documents we need, filling out forms, etc. We’re also looking into all other options as well. I will, of course, keep you all posted.
As I’m zooming around cleaning, packing and making lists — preparing to leave for France tomorrow night — I’m thinking a lot about messes. This post might get a little gross you guys, so if you’re the squeemish sort, turn back now. You’ve been warned.
When I told Michel that I was coming, one of the first things he said was “Sweetie, the apartment is very dirty, I’m so worried. I was vomiting a lot and was too weak to clean so the smell is very bad.” I had to laugh, because here is a man, fighting for his life, worried about smells. Not only that, but compared to week before last when I was processing never hearing from him again, cleaning a bit of vomit was the last thing I was worried about. I welcome the cleaning of the apartment because it means I’m there, and he’s here in the larger sense of that word.
But I know for a man who is very proud and very loving, this was a real worry for him. (“But be sure, the sheets and linens are very clean and there are a few papers on the table but it’s not messy!”) And because he needs all of his strength, I assured him that it was absolutely positively not something he needs to be thinking about. I will happily clean the apartment! Do not worry!
But truth be told, preparing on short notice to leave work and routine and get to France, not to mention the 24 hours it takes to get there and a 10 hour time difference jetlag … this is and will be a feat of endurance during a time when I’m not 100% rock solid healthy in mind and body. Somehow the early morning yoga sessions have slipped off the list and I wish I were the sort of person who could do all the right things in times of crisis, but I’m the kind that survives the day by starting it not with meditations and walks in nature, but by driving over to Mountain View to pick up an egg and cheese biscuit with a side of greasy hash browns. Anyway… I know when I turn that key and enter that apartment, I’m going to need to crash. And because funds were raised for this sort of thing, I contacted his friend Charly to see if he could arrange a cleaning service to come over, I would send him some money.
Charly went over to visit Michel and got his key and spent his holiday cleaning the apartment. And he will take a day off to collect me at the airport and bring me to Michel and get me settled in. This is Charly. Charly is the kind of friend who doesn’t mind messes. We love Charly.
On the other side of the pond, I’m trying to clean my house because my roommate’s sister Kat will be visiting soon. She is also a client and I was really looking forward to meeting her in person. But since I can’t be here, I wrote to her and told her to make herself at home in my room, I have a very comfortable bed and apple tv. YIKES, I have to make certain all the linens are clean and the shower is scrubbed and the sink is combed. Zoom!
As I was sweeping the kitchen floor I remembered a day earlier in the week when I walked into the house — Jen was dog sitting and the living room and kitchen were an awful mess. Normally this would be an annoyance because though we both keep our personal spaces as we wish, our “common” areas are typically kept very clean and tidy. On that day, I remember feeling this sense of home because of the mess, and I told Jen I was comforted by all the dog toys strewn about and muddy paw prints and dirty dishes on the counter tops.
Then I started thinking about my mom, seeing as how today is Mother’s day. How she’s endured chronically messy rooms, sickness, weathered hearing about life’s heartbreaks and very messy times of life with grace and strength. This is my mom. We love my mom.
Michel is feeling stronger today, he’s emailed me several times and that’s also new, he’s not had the strength for the emailing lately. He told me that today is the first day he’s not vomited, and the pain is subsiding, and he was able to eat his first “real” meal. He’s going to absolutely murder me for sharing this photo because this is a French man, who does not leave the house even to run to the store, without showering, putting on a black blazer and fixing his hair. He hates that his hair is long (I love it that way but who am I?) and I know he probably hates that his skin is pale for lack of sunshine but I would remind him that people who care about him will see the INCREDIBLE beauty in this photo. It is the most favorite photo of him I’ve ever seen.
This is Michel. We love Michel.
(Please note: even in the hospital, meals simply must be eaten at the table. Oh France.)
Maybe love happens when things get messy. Maybe the best part of life happens when we stop worrying about our six-pack abs and polished granite countertops and achievement certificates. When we have the courage to come together to help our friends and family through the messy stuff.
I think I’ll leave my room a little bit messy for Kat, and hope that she will enjoy her stay here and have the time of her life. I hope when Charly cleans Michel’s apartment, he understands the beauty of his kind act and that it will be returned to him a thousand-fold (it will, the universe is cool that way). And I hope my mom knows I love her for holding my hand through the messy stuff, that’s what makes her a profoundly wonderful mother.
Happy First Meal Day and happy Mother’s Day to the ones I love most.
The last few days have been an incredible time of connecting with friends old and new. So many people have read and shared my stories and in turn, they privately reached out and shared their stories with me. They said things like,
“Stay brave, stay open and keep on sharing. For those of us that have a hard time, it helps to know others are going through rough things but are also working things through. That’s a gift you know.”
“…although I’m scared, and you know it’s a relief to admit that…”
“You also inspired me …. we just need to go for it …life’s too short to make decisions based on fear.”
Yeah. So on top of everything, that’s happening. And it is so beautiful. I’ve been sharing each wonderful story with Michel and these are the things we talk about on the phone when he calls from the hospital, not sickness or sad things. Well, we talk a little bit about him being very hungry because he won’t be able to eat real food for a few more days. (“Being hungry means you’re getting better, this is good!”) And also, to never watch the movie “Compliance” because it is a very bad movie.
When people say I’m brave, I don’t really know what they mean. I wish they could see me in the middle of the night, my heart pounding out of my chest, trying to breathe and relax so I can get more restorative sleep so I can function and do all the things that need doing. On top of being emotional, I also suffer from various anxiety maladies — I used to have chronic insomnia, have suffered waves of panic attacks, etc. Mostly managed by good lifestyle habits, but when shit hits the fan, my body doesn’t allow me to function as well as I wish it would. I fall back on vices, but I know to be very aware of what I’m doing and during moments of strength, do the right things — reach out to people, go for walks and breathe, laugh. When I “leave the room” and get lost in future-thinking, I do an inventory. “Lamp. Laundry Detergent. Pen. Doorknob.” Anxiety is caused by a fear of things that have not yet happened so when I get all “new-agey” and talk about being in the present moment, I’m not just talking about savoring life and enjoying it. I’m talking about managing physical symptoms of stress that can really get in the way of things.
How is any of that brave? It feels more like petrified. But I think fear is a universal experience and it comes in many shapes and forms. And if I am brave in any one way I think that it is that I am comfortable sharing these experiences with friends and even total strangers. I know that’s not unique or anything, but maybe it’s something I need to keep doing.
A very spiritual friend of mine said that I am “right on track” and I thought a bit about what that meant — I’m pretty sure it means that I need to stay open and share my thoughts on being human and how beautiful and hard that is. To stay in this moment and love as big as I can, more than just Michel but the world of people around me, and to also get comfortable with having a community of people giving love back to me.
Other than having the ability to open myself up emotionally and be vulnerable, I’m not brave in very many other ways. I just have a great team. I am lucky to have people who recognize when I am floundering and we need to take three steps back, “WATER. BREATHING.”
My sister, who saw me lying like a fish flopped on my belly trying to breathe and being very moany and whiny after a panic attack laughed and said, “Taughnee, you are strong, you can do this.” (“Does it look like I’m doing this?!”)
I may be experiencing a period of personal and spiritual growth right now but I didn’t ask for it, and I know I wouldn’t even be sitting upright today with optimism and lists of things to do if it weren’t for you. I’d be eating Taco Bell and avoiding life entirely. I’ve been there, I know I’m expanding right now. My spiritual friend also said, “Proud of You” and maybe that’s what she meant.
I woke up after just a couple fitful hours of sleep at 4am to call the US Embassy in Paris… and of course, it’s a holiday in France. REALLY FRANCE?ANOTHER HOLIDAY FRANCE?!
I am doing my best to get to Paris as fast as I can with the help of many friends whose brains are functioning at a much higher level than mine, and I expect to have travel plans within the next day or two. I will keep you posted. Everything is happening very fast but I want to make sure I have things lined up so I can be flexible once I’m there. Like, Bank of America sold my mortgage and I can’t pay it online anymore so I have to call the new lender to see if I can set that up and MANY ANNOYING THINGS LIKE THAT that nobody can take care of but me, all swarming around my brain, and my brain is a ball of goo as it is.
As I was sitting here having my 37 thousandth stress attack at 5am, I got a call from Michel! *Cue Bill Withers’ Lovely Day* He’s not been able to respond to any messages or write, but it turns out he’s been reading this blog (I had no idea) and monitoring what’s going on on my Facebook page, the fundraising site, etc. He can not BELIEVE what is happening. He’s so touched by it all.
And, best part, he sounded SO MUCH STRONGER! He was even laughing, and said he’s feeling better, and in a few days they think he will be able to eat real food. And will I make him a salad with cucumbers and tomatoes and cheese with lemon dressing? Because he’s quite sure the food at the hospital will be very disgusting. So I gots to get to France to make a man a salad, y’all.
He wants me to express his deepest gratitude on his behalf to all of you who have done so many beautiful things to help us.
He feels so terrible that he can not do it himself right now and I told him that he should feel terrible, because that’s exactly what we were all going for. But seriously, I told him that I would get on my blog this morning and tell you all that he’s watchingand listening and feeling all of your support and prayers. And they are making him stronger. And stronger is the very best possible first step! With strength we can treat, with treatment we have hope.
I told him many stories about things you’ve all done and he said with emotion in his voice, “Sweetie chat, this is simply magical.”
(Thank goodness I have all of you guys to be like, “Yeahhhhh, we don’t care what Michel wishes, he needs love and support.”)
He had strength and energy in his voice and was telling me stories, “Sweetie, I forgot the moose at home (a little stuffed moose I brought him from Alaska, I told him to bring it with him to the hospital, but you know, men!) … but that’s okay because soon I will have my real Alaskan moose.”
And then he started to crack up. HE LAUGHED Y’ALL. I have not heard that laugh in at least a month.
“I know I’ve been stress eating a lot lately but…”
“You know what I mean (more laughter) … my Alaskan pet.”
And even though his stories sometimes get lost in translation, I was so happy, because a few days ago I didn’t know if I’d ever hear him tell me a story again. This morning, I believe — perhaps for the first time — that the power of love and energy can transform the most dire situation. Love and laughter seem to be pretty damn good medicine. My anxiety level has plummeted this morning, at last, and I can probably even curl up and get couple more hours of peaceful rest now.
At first, I instructed everybody to please not contact him. I didn’t even think he wanted me to contact him. I thought he was in so much pain that his decision was to get through it alone, that anything else would cause him undo stress. He said, “No sweetie, it is no bother, I just feel quite terrible that I can’t type and respond and my eyes are not so great right now.”
If you are friends with Michel on Facebook and would like to reach out to him (I mean only if you want to, you were all so kind to be respectful of my wishes but they weren’t really his wishes turns out) I think he’d love that.
He will feel a bit guilty that he won’t be able to respond to you or write you back, but as Michel would say, “be sure about it ..” we’re both eternally changed and grateful to all of you. xo~T
So this one time Michel and I had quite a lot of cocktails on a night out in Paris. On the metro ride home, he kept singing this song, which I thought was a *real* song, until I Googled it just now and hahaha very funny, it’s not really a song, even though Michel lead me to believe it was a real song. To my credit, he’s is into punk rock music and you never know with punk rock music. It went like this:
Everything I do is a fart. *fart noise*
Everything I do is a fart. *fart noise*
How does that go again, baby? *hiccup*
Everything I do is a fart. *fart noise*
It was a little bit embarrassing to be knowingly acting like obnoxious, drunk teenagers… but I noticed some of the other passengers were looking at him out of the corner of their eye and were suppressing laughter. I knew that, because I saw him looking over at them, see them trying not to laugh, and give a warm little laugh to them because he really is a very silly man.
So if I start to make you cry again, or if I start to cry again with this blog post — let’s promise one another that we’ll think of a wildly inappropriate joke and release the valve a bit. *fart noise* K? K.
It’s 3am and I’m awake. The last few days have been the most intensely emotional days I’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot, because I am an intensely emotional person. If “thick-skinned” means tough person, I’m a “no skin”. I feel things really deeply. Being a very sensitive person has been difficult to navigate in life at times, I’ve had to learn to control my emotions and apply discipline in order to get things done.
My more contained friends and family members don’t always know how to handle that side of me. I used to feel ashamed and misunderstood. I wished I could be different, I know I can be a lot. When I met Michel, and really, the reason why I flew over to France to meet him and took this big chance, was because he is just like me. He’s equally sensitive and emotional, “finally, somebody gets me, and not only that, loves me for it.” So now I try to be gentler with what I expect from other people in handling my emotions, and I have a place to “put me” — that’s Michel. And that’s home, no matter the distance between us.
He sometimes says this thing that really annoys me. He says I have a “bad character” … and when he says that, I cry, because that’s about the worst thing you can say to a person, right? You can behave like a bad person but that doesn’t make you a bad person, but being of bad character — there’s no fixing that. But there’s a language barrier, and what he means is, that sometimes my emotions are hard to handle when I am very complainy, trying to control things, worrying about little things, stressing out … I can lose my grip. And he knows how to take all of me in stride and soothe me. “No no no no no, you are not a bad person. Sweetie, you are a whole person. You have all the emotions and I love every single one of them.”
Yesterday, despite the fact there are a million things I need to do to prepare to go to France — oh yeah! Did I tell you? I get to go to France to be with Michel because you raised a lot of money for me! — and a million things for work I must attend to, etcetera and so forth… I spent most of the day crying and processing some pretty intense emotions. One after the other. Every time one of you damn people would say or do something beautiful, I would lose it.
My roommate is perfect in a Taughnee crisis, turns out. She doesn’t indulge in all of my emotional blah blah blah blah blah that never stops, “And then somebody did this, and then somebody did that, can you believe it? *blubber cry sniff * How am I going to get to Michel when I can’t even get to my laundry pile?! …”
She doesn’t start slowly walking backwards to escape my awkwardness, she’s all, “So anyway what we’re going to do is put this into action, here’s the steps.” Calm little cucumber, our Jen, the fantastic roommate.
I basically spent the whole day looking at my email inbox. The day began by watching these donations trickling in. Every time somebody would contribute, I’d start bawling. I’d think about that person and their connection to me — sometimes there wasn’t one, beautiful strangers doing random kind acts, and I’d think about what makes a person do such a thing … and then more bawling. I’d get totally stuck in this emotional loop and have to claw my way out of it just to do the simplest tasks. I made some lists and broke things down into very tiny bites, “clean off bedside table” (coffee cups and water bottles and empty glasses had accumulated over the last days) and that took me about an hour.
Then I’d check text and blog and Facebook comments and messages. Every time somebody would reach out to me and tell me how reading Michel & my story affected them in some way, or how they were thinking of me, rooting for us … I’d stop and process it fully. OH THE CRYING, HERE IT COMES AGAIN GAAAAAH! (If I’ve made you cry in the last blog posts, my friend Katrina kindly pointed out that all of my crying is “payback.”)
*fart noise*
So, you fine people have raised over $4,000 for me in two days. I mean. What the hell! This stuff happens to other people. I don’t know how to begin to express the gratitude I feel.
What does this mean? It means that one of the many obstacles and stresses that Michel and I are facing now is being shattered. And not only that, it means I now know what it feels like to be on the other end of giving and turns out, I don’t feel guilty or ashamed, I feel connected. I feel like every one of you, whether you contributed pennies or dollars or offered to run errands or to help in any way, or shared my story on Facebook or read my blog or offered a beautiful comment or thought about our story and counted your blessings or did your best to love a little bigger that day … I felt like all of you just bought stock in this story, we all own it together now. It’s not all on me, the strength required to embark on this path is distributed. And by the way, for those of you who think I am strong, I’m flattered, but I am not strong. I am so scared. Terrified. It is a huge thing to stay in the present moment right now. But I am stronger because of your support, and I know that I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other and you’re there for me if I stumble a bit. *fart noise*
I’ve never felt so uplifted, inspired and loved in my entire life. And maybe it isn’t me you love, or even Michel, maybe it’s just love that you love. For whatever reason, thank you for this humbling and incredible experience.
A gentle word like a spark of light,
Illuminates my soul
And as each sound goes deeper,
It’s YOU that makes me whole
There is no corner, no dark place,
YOUR LOVE cannot fill
And if the world starts causing waves,
It’s your devotion that makes them still
And yes you always speak to me,
In sweet honesty and truth
Your caring heart keeps out the rain,
YOUR LOVE, the ultimate roof
So thank you my Love for being there,
For supporting me, my life
I’ll do the same for you, you know,
My Beautiful, Darling Sweetie.
First of all, I’m always shocked when anybody reads my blog. Secondly, what a bunch of suckers softies you all are!
So, as you may know, I made the decision to make public a very private matter. That is, that I’m smack-dab in the middle of a worst-case scenario: finally found the love of my life, and that love of my life is now fighting for his life in a hospital half a world away, alone, in excruciating pain and facing the hardest prognosis one can face, and believing that a goodbye over Skype is the end of our most extraordinary romance.
It’s funny because I wrote about this part of our journey for the following reasons: 1) because it’s a big, hard thing occupying a lot of my mental and physical self right now, and I wanted the people around me to know that I’m not at my strongest and best right now and I might let them down in some way; and 2) because my hope is that by sharing my experience, somebody somewhere might be comforted by knowing, “I’m not alone.”
And because writing is therapeutic for me, that too. I didn’t think many people would read it, it was just journalling with a few friends peeking in, I thought. Something I had to process with words. It ripped me wide open and then I had to take a nap.
I really didn’t expect what happened next: you read my words and sent me the most beautiful comments, emails, private messages. You sent up so many prayers and good wishes and energy for both me and Michel. In the darkest days, when I might have otherwise curled up in a ball and envisioned a life with no meaning, alone and heartbroken — I felt this overwhelming sense of support. I was falling off a cliff and said, “HEY, I AM FALLING OFF A CLIFF Y’ALL!”
… and then, you caught me.
I got a call from my lovely friend Kathy Day this morning. “Thanks for making me bawl my eyes out yesterday.” I really did think I was in trouble, because she sounded kinda mad and I didn’t mean to make anyone cry!
She said that some of my friends had been talking, and they don’t care what Michel’s wishes are, they think I need to go to Paris and that’s the only way I will really know what’s going on. And that they were getting organized to do some fundraising for me to help cover my expenses to make it possible for me to go. Cue crying like a baby here. I’ve never experienced anything like that. (I told you, accepting charity isn’t something that I’ve ever done.) It was humbling and beautiful. She was calling to ask my permission to do it.
Having never been in the position to need to accept charity, I thought fast about this. If Michel doesn’t want me to be there, if that’s too much stress for him, could I accept the money? My brain went immediately to — going to Paris would serve some purpose, even if it happened to only be for closure, for me, to end the story in a beautiful rather than lonely way. Best case scenario, Michel will say yes and allow me to go there and be by his side, and that being the case, most especially then, how could I say no? If I said no, and missed the chance to comfort him, or have one more happy moment together, I would regret it for the rest of my life. So I said, yes.
I got on Facebook and sent Michel a message. (Thank you, Mark Z., for that annoying “seen” status on messages — this has been the only indication that Michel is still on earth with us these last days.) I told him that I shared our story on my blog, and that hundreds of people read it and are sending prayers and well-wishes, and that some of my friends want to help get me to Paris to see him. “Please say you will let me come.”
No response. So I doubled down.
The incredible Glen Klinkhart of Glen Klinkhart fame had sent me this message today:
As a guy, I can totally understand Michel’s wishes… But as a man who has been in love I also know that in his heart he wishes to see you… He wants it be under other circumstances, but I would remind him that having a hand to hold when one is hurting and being there in the bad times is love.. And I have seen love keep sick people for many more years and never have any of them regretted loving… Whether it is a day, and a week, and a month or a year… True love has no expiration date. That is what I would tell him.
So I sent that to Michel and then I added, please call me on my cell phone when you can.
On Friday night, my wonderful roommate made me dinner and bought a very expensive bottle of French wine. We drank that wine and talked and cried, and went for a walk around the neighborhood in our pajamas. With glasses of wine in our hands. We live in Fairview, not Paris, so we can rock that look. And we explained to our neighbor who caught us, “We are holding wine glasses, made of glass, so that’s classy.”
It may surprise you to know that even though I’m a web designer and I have some technical skills here and there, I have absolutely no idea how to work my iphone. I take that back, it isn’t going to surprise a lot of you.
I asked Jen to make it so my phone would ring out loud in the event Michel were to call so I wouldn’t miss it (“first, you have it on silent”). Then I asked her if she could put some ringtones like fancy people do. Could I put a ringtone just for Michel? And add a photo? (I see these things in movies.) She hooked me up. I let her pick the photo of Michel and she chose this one:
Which I love, because it is Michel being goofy, teaching me things. “People used to be much smaller back when they built these buildings.”
“Go stand over there for scale!”
And also, because she did not choose the ones of him peeing on the wall.
And for the ringtone, I had the perfect idea. Before he got really sick, he said, “Sweetie chat (pronounced “shah” which means “cat” in French, it is like the nickname “kitten” in English), you know, I have this song in my head and it makes me think of you *hummed a bit of melody and sang a few lyrics*”
“Oh! That’s Bill Whithers! (Which means nothing to a Frenchman, really.) One second, let me send you a YouTube.”
Press play only if you’re a sucker as you read the next paragraphs.
And because this is a very happy song indeed, this is the ringtone assigned to Michel in my contacts list. (I now have a contacts list, you can all laugh now, I won’t have to say “who is this?” every time you call or text.)
After I told him about the fundraising and about Glen’s always sage advice, I saw TALL GUY AT SMALL DOOR and heard “LOVELY DAY” playing on my phone.
“Baby!!! Guess what… hundreds of people read our story and they want to help me come to you. Can I come to you?”
“That is wonderful sweetie chat. Of course sweetie chat.”
He was very weak and breathless and could only talk for a few moments. But now there is a very sick man who has been all alone in a hospital and he knows that people are thinking of him. How beautiful is that? I got to tell him he is loved and cared about and he matters, and that I would do anything to be with him now.
So, I am now preparing to go to France. My friends are rallying in a myriad of ways, from handling business matters and telling me not to worry about work, “I got this,” to raising money, offering words of comfort, asking for favors from important people in the position to open some doors for me, to plans to pick me up at Charles de Gaulle and get me to Michel safely without pissing off too many French people because I only speak American. You know who you are. I love you so much.
I am so uplifted by the messages, prayers, good thoughts, positive energy, protective bubble visuals, and overwhelming support and love from friends, family, acquaintances, internet pals, and strangers. I am so glad I put this out into the world and it will be my purpose to pay it forward, I can assure you. This week has changed me. Lots of tears, the lip-quivering kind, because I am so moved by your love. I am not alone. I will never be stuck again, thanks to you. And I love that big kind of love that we all deserve and you have cheered us on every step of the way, this is the generosity of spirit that makes people good. You are good. But I have to stop crying soon because it’ll make me dehydrated and puffy and I want to be cute and happy and strong for my man.
Happy like this. I just want one more smile like this.
I am really not the sort to solicit money, especially for myself, but my beautiful friends have made this site for me and when I saw that they chose this photo that Michel loves (it is the background on his PC and he has it hanging on his wall *lip quiver blubber damn you* ) I felt I should share it with you in the event it’s something you might like to do. Don’t feel bad if you can’t afford to, I get that. I gave $5 to a little girl who needed a wheelchair recently and then ate canned chili for dinner. It’s okay, 100%, a thousand percent, I don’t expect it one little measily bit. (Or even don’t want to do it — it’s my own bad that I’ve drained my bank account this past year for love and I’m not in a better position right now.) Should you choose to contribute, I can only think of it as asking for help to make this sick but beautiful, soulful, intelligent, loving, giving, goofy man have more happy moments. He didn’t get the shot at life he deserved but maybe with love he has a fighting chance to have more life, or at the least to know for certain that he matters and how loved he is. Whether you contribute or you don’t, I love you just the same for reading and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for being a part of this journey.
I’m writing this because quite honestly, I don’t really know what else to do. I’ve been occupying myself with work and avoiding things… but all that came to a head when I had a panic attack a few days ago. My mind was telling one story but my body wasn’t fooled. I’ve tried to soothe myself in various ways, like talking with my soul-deep friends and eating McDonald’s egg and cheese biscuits for breakfast (if you know me, you know how unusual this behavior is). But during every dark time of my life, journaling has always provided the most comfort. It’s time for me to write.
The decision to share this story with the public rather than in a fresh and beautiful paper journal has been rolling around in my mind for the last few days. It’s easy to share joy, snark, humor and “top ten tips for work productivity” on a blog, but we all have painful experiences in life too. I know I am not alone in this, which is of some comfort. (Not the pain of others, but the not being alone bit.) I also know that the fundamental reason I read books and blogs and the personal stories of others is to find threads that bind us all together so I can feel better connected and to understand the human experience. Maybe somebody out there will read this for the same reasons.
A few days ago, when I didn’t know how to put one foot in front of another, my friend Frances told me, “First, drink some water.” And that instruction felt like relief because I didn’t know what else to do other than cry, which I had been doing for hours and hours and my head was throbbing. “Ok,” I said.
She also shared this video on her Facebook page, and though it wasn’t intended for me, it had some instructions for me too. Please watch.
What do you do when bad things happen? “Make good art.” Okay, but, I’m not really an artist and even though I love to write, I would hardly say it’s good, or art. But I was telling Frances — who happens to be one of the best writers I’ve ever known — some anecdotes, and she told me I should write. So I will make a story.
I am going to assume that if you’re reading this blog, you know that I am madly in love with a man who lives in Paris, France. We met online a year and a half ago and I’ve spent about a third of that time in Paris with him. He is the one I’ve been waiting for. Loving him has been the greatest experience of my life; in fact, I learned what love really means and it wasn’t anything like I thought it was, or what it was supposed to be. Turns out, it’s a deep, unconditional mutual acceptance and affection, and it centered my life in joy, peace and purpose. We plan to marry.
But Michel’s health has been very fragile. And this caused some logistical challenges because it hasn’t been possible for him to fly to Alaska to spend time here and meet my friends and family. On top of the language barrier (I don’t speak all that much French), the legal issues (I can’t stay in France for as long as I want because I’m not a legal resident), the financial struggles (flying to Paris every few months on a web designer’s salary is not an easy thing) … well, we face a lot of obstacles. But they’re all problems that can be solved, so none of them are of much concern really. I’m working very hard to steer the ship of my business in a different direction, I’m learning French, we’re looking into how to begin the process of getting married and gaining French residency. But the one thing I can’t control is Michel’s health.
A couple of weeks ago he was feeling very sick. I implored him go to to the hospital and he went to the ER. He’s been in the hospital ever since, and is in a great deal of pain. A few evenings ago he called me and told me that the situation was far worse than they thought, and I think he was saying his goodbyes to me.
What I can tell you at this point is that I am not exactly sure what his prognosis is. He is too weak to write or call me and he’s not accepting any visitors. I’ve written to one of his sisters who speaks English asking if she can find information for me, but I have not heard back. The barriers — language, distance, legal status — they’re in the way of me understanding what’s happening. I am trying to remain hopeful, but I am releasing any expectations about the vision of our future we’ve been dreaming about for these last months. I am living in this present moment as much as possible, and I will deal with what life will bring me as it happens.
A lot of you know Michel and are friends with him on Facebook and I ask that you respect his space and privacy and not contact him right now. I am making this public, but it is Michel’s private journey and if you want to say prayers or send good energy, please do that. But what is comforting him most right now is medication and sleep, and having the stress of even his closest friends visit him is too much right now.
As for me, I am in a lot of pain. I don’t know what the next days, weeks, months and years will bring. But I am trying not to live in fear. I am trying to live in this moment.
If it is possible for me to “make good art” I think this is the part of the story where I have my best shot:
In the last year and a half, I have taken a lot of chances for love. I flew over to Paris by myself to meet Michel and I hadn’t ever really been to a foreign country before unless you count Canada and England. On the descent, the guy sitting next to me kept saying things like, “So! What are you going to say when you meet him?! Are you going to kiss him? Are you so excited?!” I told him to kindly stop, because he was making me really nervous and I wanted to throw up.
I got off the plane and went through customs and then made a beeline to the bathroom. 24 hours on a plane wasn’t exactly the look I wanted to make a first impression with; I washed my face and put on lip gloss and fluffed my hair. HERE GOES NOTHING!
I walked into the passenger greeting area and my eyes darted like mad, taking in the entire room at once. I knew instantly he wasn’t there. Maybe I didn’t really know what he looked like? So I looked closer at all the tall men with brown hair in the room and tried to make eye contact. The woman who had walked out with me, a lovely gal from Portland who I’d been chatting with back at SEA-TAC said to me, “What’s his name?”
“Michel.” (Pronounced Mee-shell.)
Then she zoomed around the room walking up to every man with brown hair, “ARE YOU MICHAEL?”
I sat in that airport lobby for almost two hours, all by myself. He wasn’t coming. It was all a terrible joke on me. What a fool! How embarrassing. Why do I do these crazy things? Why do I take these big chances and why don’t things ever work out for me?
But in that moment, my mind went to this other incredible place that I didn’t even know was there. “Taughnee, you are 42 years old, you have a visa card, and you are in Paris. You can do this.” So I started to think about finding a cab, a place to stay… I’d have an adventure, I didn’t need a man to give me that. And I didn’t need to be afraid or turn around and go right back home.
In that moment, I grew as a person.
I sat down on a chair and figured out how to buy some airport wi-fi and started trying to reach Michel again, and if that failed, I’d make a plan B. And exactly at that moment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw this tall and anxious looking man looking at me… I looked over at him and we locked eyes, recognized one another and he came toward me, kissed me, and sat down and held my hands. “Sweetie, I am so sorry my sweetie, the metro line was shut down and I was delayed, and I couldn’t get through to you on my phone.”
And that is how we created the story that I would forever tell all his friends at every opportunity, “Did I tell you about the time when Michel didn’t show up at the airport when I flew over to meet him?” His best lifelong friend Charly said, “You do realize you will be hearing this story for the rest of your life, Michel.”
Over the next year Michel and I had many wonderful adventures together, and we lived together as a couple, we bought a new couch at Ikea. Paris became my second home. My family bought him a plane ticket to come spend Christmas with us after his doctor gave him the “green light,” but sadly, he had one more test to pass and he did not pass it. They told him it would be suicide to get on a plane. So, I spent a very sad Christmas missing him, and we were $1500 down in our budget to be together.
I thought about waiting until late April to come back to France, because that way, I could be with him on his 40th birthday. But something told me that I should not wait for life to happen, I should live it. So on the spur of the moment I bought a ticket to return to France in January, and I stayed until the end of March. I hoped that he would be able to spend his travel credit to come to Alaska for his birthday.
Instead, he spent it in his apartment, on a two-day release, with an IV in his arm, sleeping.
I may not know what the future brings but I know a few things are certain.
One, I will never regret taking big chances. Even if they don’t work out, you grow as a person and you just don’t do that sitting on your couch eating Doritos.
Two, true love is the greatest experience of life, and nobody can ever take that away from me. Though I’ve never felt the depths of pain like this before, there is a force inside me that is joyful because I am truly loved and our love brings meaning to both of our lives.
Three, though painful things happen in our lives, we have a choice — we can get stuck or we can carry on. I got unstuck once and then I met Michel, and that taught me that no matter what happens, getting stuck is not an option. Feeling like life never works out for you means that life will never work out for you. I have Michel and I always will, I am so fucking blessed. His love is something I must honor, I have to try to be the person I want to be for him. He set me on a path and I must stay there. I hope he will get better and meet me on that path.
The question people ask is, “Will you go to Paris?” I’d be on a plane right now if he asked me to, he knows it is where I want to be. But I am respecting his wishes and I am waiting for more information. If there is an opportunity for me to be with Michel again, I will be with Michel again. And I hope, to the very core of my being, that this is possible.
I am the kind of person who does my best to be there for others. I give to people who need something I can give wherever possible, and I don’t ever expect anything in return. In these last few days I’ve had family and friends offer to help. My roommate, for example, said, “If you can be in Paris this summer, I will move into your room and run a bed and breakfast out of my rooms so we can get more income to cover household expenses.” And because I would move heaven and earth to be with my love, I will, for the first time, be prepared to ask for help and accept the kindness, favors and charity of others. I hate that I don’t have a savings account that will afford me to fly over there, rent an apartment and be by his side. But suffering comes when you don’t accept what is, and that is what I must do. I’ve learned a lot about acceptance these last years and I shouldn’t unlearn lessons.
But make no mistake, I’m also a fighter, I don’t give up so easily when I want something.
This chapter of this story is just beginning, and if I can continue to share it as it unfolds, I will.
If this story has made you sad, it means that you understand what it is like to love someone and that is good. I know that when you see somebody going through something difficult you want to help, you want to find the right words to say, and that’s so hard because you’re not going through it. If you want to do something for me, this is what I want. I want you to think about the worries you are facing today and if those problems can be solved, stop worrying. You have things to be grateful for, focus on those things today. If there is something you really want to have or do, go get them, go do it. Buy the shoes, book the vacation, write the novel, quit your job, start that business, sell your house and move to the place you really want to be, get off your couch and go visit that friend you’ve been “too busy” to connect with. Live life in full color and love as big as you can. Accept the people you love for all that they are and enjoy the experience of loving fully and unconditionally. And if you don’t have someone else to share that with, and even if you do, turn that love and acceptance inward and start with yourself. We only get one shot at life, what are we waiting for?
I’ve been in France for the last seven weeks. This is my third trip, and it’s going to be hard leaving because it’s my home now.
But, I have another home, too. And I am trying to focus on all the good things about being back in Alaska: seeing my little nephew walking, open 27/4 grocery stores, springtime–big blue skies, big mountains, and long sunshiny days.
Michel and I spent the first couple of weeks in Brittany visiting his family where internet access was limited. We spent entire days wandering around the countryside on foot exploring castles and seascapes, and coming home to the most incredible home-cooked meals I’ve ever had. (Two words: leek pie. WHO KNEW?) Somehow this beautiful French family found a way to prepare meals for a vegetarian and they were loving and warm despite the communication challenges. (I am so sorry Madame Decker, for not paying more attention in your class, you did your best and I failed you.)
I will admit, not having a Starbucks with free wifi right around the corner when I need it feels a bit like having a phantom limb. Being American manifests itself in the funniest ways, like Taco Bell cravings and not understanding why business people would close their boulangerie, their bakery, for an entire week just so they can take some days to be with family. BUT I WANT BREAD, DON’T YOU WANT MY MONEY?!
Strangely, when I go home, I feel homesick for Paris too. And it’s not only Michel, it’s the way people value their time more than commerce and profits. I don’t understand it but I so respect it. And the way everything can be at once just a little bit quieter, and more exciting. It is the richest cultural playground you can imagine. I’ve been reading Hemmingway and books about Degas, and though I’ve never considered myself a Francophile, I really have fallen in love with this country, and more in love with the man.
But, it’s time to go home. I am getting very busy with work and I’m entering a productive wave, I won’t be good company for Michel anyway. I can be very one-tracked. While I can laze about and walk around the countryside for weeks, I can also work like a maniac taking little time for anything else. It may not work for all people but that’s my DNA. I need to get my taxes done, check my mail, see my friends and family, meet with some clients and walk off the baguette and wine weight. My American routine.
Yes, love is the most important thing, and people always ask why I don’t just stay here. Well, for one, I’m not a French citizen and I don’t speak much French, I’m just not there yet. Some day we’ll have a more permanent living situation and that may not be here, we just don’t know yet and we don’t have to. It’s hard, but it’s working. For the time being, I have two homes. When I leave, Michel will be very busy with work too, working double shifts so his colleague can take time off to be with her kids during the summer months. I’ve decided to take a French course at UAA this summer since I know I won’t be traveling (anybody else in Anchorage wanna join me?).
I’m hoping Michel can come to Alaska for his 40th birthday at the end of April so the summer separation won’t be so severe. Keep your fingers crossed he gets a clean bill of health so that can happen.
And now, in the spirit of getting back into my American routine, here’s something completely different.
Yesterday, I soft launched a new project called Launch the Book. I’ve been ruminating this idea for a few years now… I have always loved working with authors. Each writer is so unique, and the design process is highly creative and collaborative. Plus, I love to read, I love reading excerpts and sample chapters and translating who the author is visually. It’s wild! I’m also fascinated with the publishing industry and for a very long time, have been devouring all the information I can, learning, and figuring out how the drastic changes that are taking place will impact authors who rely on the Internet as their primary way to market themselves. I’m still doing other types of web projects, but heading toward specialization allows me to become more useful as a strategist. If you know an author who needs help on the web, I’d appreciate ever so much if you kept me in mind!
I’ve just signed on several new authors and they are each incredible in their own way. They’ll keep me busy over the coming weeks and I’ll be missing Michel, and Paris … from a Starbucks with free wifi.
I want to share a secret: good and reliable web designers (or pr firms, marketing consultants, etc.) are busy and selective. When you’re looking to hire one, they’ll be sussing you out as a potential good client just as much as you’ll be evaluating them.
The following may seem like a harsh, veiled rant but it’s not. For years, I’ve watched potential clients completely mess up and fail to inspire a me to jump through the hoop that is the (often time-intensive) proposal writing process.
This happens both in my own business and in many others like mine. I can’t tell you how many venting sessions I’ve read and listened to, or had conversations with other developers that ended with, “Yeah, I agree, this one is not going to be worth it—pass!”
The more experienced the professional, the more they will be able to quickly get a sense that you’re not going to be a good client. They may wind up taking your business but charging you a PITA tax, or not bidding on your project at all. Don’t expect referrals, either (at least without a caution)—we value our network of colleagues and rely on them, those relationships are important to us.
So, knowing that I share the following with honorable intentions, here is how not to hire a web designer:
1. Cold call design firms
When a designer gets a blind call originating from, say, the yellow pages—they’re likely thinking, “Who hires a web designer like this?” Bad first move. First, we want to know you use the web for like, stuff, because it’s what we’ll use to communicate and manage your project. The only reason in our estimation you might cold-call a design firm is if you’re lazy, really just don’t care or are kicking tires shopping for price.
What to do instead:Looking at designer websites and portfolios is an important part of the process. We love it when you have a sense of who we are and the kind of work we do before you call.
Every designer approaches their work differently: they use different techniques and software and have different strengths, design sensibilities and personalities. Spend an evening reading “about” pages and looking at past work. You’ll begin to get a sense of which designer seems to be the right fit for you.
How do you happen upon a designer portfolio to begin with? A great place to start is to look at the credits at the bottom of sites you really like, most clients will allow their design firm to place a link there.
Or, contact people you know who have hired web designers and had good results; get referrals. Or, if you’re working with marketing or communications professionals, get their recommendations—they’ll have some web designers in their network and they’ll likely have some insight into who will be a good fit for you. You can also google something like, “web design portfolio inspiration” and find sites that showcase designers’ sites. (I do this all the time to see what other people are up to!)
2. Say “This is easy, it should be cheap, or it shouldn’t take very long—I’d do it myself but…”
Unless you’re a professional web designer, you don’t know these things. And if you can do it yourself, and it’s easy and fast, then why don’t you? We find these comments insulting and we think you’re going to be a micromanaging pain in the ass who doesn’t want to spend any money. That’s all I have to say about that.
What to do instead:Ask them what it entails to achieve what you’re asking, ask them what they charge, find out how long they estimate it will take. If you don’t like their answer, get some more bids and see if what they tell you is more inline with your expectations.
3. Know enough to be dangerous — then be distrustful, closed-minded, suspicious, ask us to prove something to you
Yeah, just don’t do that.
What to do instead: We can understand why you want to have a say in how your designer approaches the project, and that trust is an imperative component in making this investment. We’ll respect that. I myself have hired web designers who have totally dropped the ball, and I am a control-freak, so I get how hard it is to trust.
But do your own due diligence. Take your own risks.
Be open to what they have to say. Ask questions if you have concerns, ask for work samples and referrals, and then check those referrals—but don’t put the weight of your decision to hire someone entirely on the person you’re considering hiring.
Whatever you do, for the love, do not ask a web designer to do work for free just to see if you’ll like it. See: http://www.no-spec.com/
Again, get multiple bids from multiple developers to determine which approach you feel best about. Yes, we really want you to, because if you don’t like how we do things we don’t want to work with you. It means you don’t respect or trust us and we know you’re only going to cause more problems than you’re worth.
4. Be unprofessional
Be rude, arrogant, vulgar, late to a meeting where you break out your iphone and text your spouse while we’re talking or show up in your workout clothes—after all, you’re the one with the money, so we will find you powerful and exciting.
What to do instead: Be the kind of professional you want to hire. Not everybody accepts whatever project crosses their desk just because there’s money to be made. Personally, I’d rather work with someone who has a smaller budget but fits with the way I want my business to be. If I was in it for the money, trust me, I wouldn’t be a web designer—there are easier ways to make a buck.
5. Be an unorganized hot mess with no money to spend
You’re a start-up or struggling small business with very little money but have an incredible idea (!) about a website that has the potential to go gangbusters and make you very, very rich and famous.
Yeah, us too. Let’s have cocktails and talk about our dreams after work this Friday.
What to do instead: Write a business plan and get funding for your project, then hire professionals to help you get it off the ground. Don’t expect us to fund your business or provide financing for that matter.
Be able to articulate your long and short term goals and site requirements, have a budget. We’re running small businesses of our own, we’re not here to bounce dreams and fantasies about your business around so you can gather ideas.
A designer can help you organize your thoughts and create a project specification and a plan, but if you don’t have some sort of organized vision and money to pay for it — either pay them for the trouble it will take to consult with you and get you organized or contact them when you’re better prepared.
Another year, another resolution to blog more. Ha! But seriously, I really need to blog more because my Facebook status updates are becoming increasingly long and ranty and I need to move that party over here y’all, and stop clogging up your news feed.
2012 was an incredible year. I spent the fall in Paris with my boyfriend Michel and celebrated my 43rd birthday on his couch — coughing and wheezing with bronchitis — happier than I’ve ever been. It’s bizarre to re-read the blog post I wrote on my 42nd birthday, The Year of Becoming Unstuck:
I start this year of becoming unstuck with the premise that the sole purpose of my life is to be alive. Everything else is just a dance.
Whether I work from a laptop in a café in Paris or from my home office, whether I could lose 30 pounds or whether I’m a size 6 … I am going to show up to lifeanyway. And while I’m here, I might as well do the best I can, for no other reason than it just feels better.
When I wrote that post, I hadn’t yet met Michel. Although I wrote about it, I had no actualplans to visit Paris. I was alone in my room on my birthday writing a blog post … I didn’t exactly expect to soon meet someone I’d fall madly in love with and spend three months in a destination of my dreams having grand adventures. I was just trying to make peace with the highs and lows of life.
Having set an intention to start showing up for my life again, and with the practice of the acceptance of what is, I was better able to see opportunities and embrace things that weren’t perfect, or easy, or always fun, and to just keep tackling the things that were right in front of me. Things began to really change for me, not just in circumstance. The highs and lows didn’t stop happening, but my approach and the way I felt about them did, and it was better. It was probably the best year of my life.
Yes a lot of wonderful things happened both professionally and personally, but it was my renewed (new?) confidence that I can handle life no matter what gets thrown at me (remind me to tell you about the time Michel didn’t show up at the airport the first time I landed in Paris) that I loved most, because I’ll take that with me into this next year and the year after this one too.
I’ve not yet mastered the ability to be resilient, perfectly self-disciplined or to never have a dark day where life seems really unfair and hard, but I have learned to be a bit more gentle with myself, and to just keep on showing up. I also learned to bask more in the simple moments, and really, really savor the simple pleasures of life. (Somehow that seems a lot more natural in France, more on that in upcoming posts — that’s a promise!)
Though a bit late, I want to set an intention for this year again. After much thought, this year’s word is: patience.
Having spent a bit of time in France admiring the art of people just being — like, sitting in a park for no good reason other than to just sit in a park and enjoy sitting in a park — I’ve decided that to move forward this year, I will apply determined patience to every activity that leads me toward achieving my goals.
In these modern times, I think it’s expected that if we want to achieve something, we should put the weight of our will behind a goal and PUSH HARD — get it done with intensity and get it done fast.
Not only does that stuff not really work for me, I don’t think it works for a lot of people. (The gym is already much less crowded and it’s only mid-January.) I think the more we put our 110% into something and fall short, the less we trust ourselves that we’re capable of success. WHO NEEDS ALL THAT. I am just so done being mean to myself for not learning French in three months, losing 50 pounds in 3 days, growing my business at an exponential rate every month and writing a novel in 30 days. (Bravo to those who do, though!)
My friend Carol (a wildly successful business woman and all-around inspiration) and I had sushi last summer and we talked about how successful people limit their goals. Seed #1 — do what successful people do: limit goals.
We also talked about a concept called “The Compound Effect” — where small changes sustained over a long period of time yield incredible results. Seed #2: slow your roll, grasshopper.
So I narrowed down my goals and got focused, and started going a bit easier on myself. Rather than writing on my to-do list: “Study French for four hours, bill 10 hours of client work and run a 5k before cooking a delicious organic meal for friends.” I just started like, promising myself I’d learn at least one new French word a day. And doing cardio for 20 minutes or weights in front of the TV when work got too busy to take a long run or make it to the gym. And working a little bit harder and a little bit longer than normal on most days. Some days I’d spend a few hours studying, or have a more intense workout, or sit at my desk for 10 hours cranking out work — but most days, I just made sure to make a small deposit into each account I had set up for each of my main goals.
It’s still in the experimentation stage but I am really enjoying this paradigm shift. Every time I see one of my friends starting a new fitness program or diet, or spinning their wheels with their busy work schedules — I’m telling myself, “Slow and steady, tortoise.” Being calmer and nicer to myself works for me. Daily accomplishment feels good.
I look forward to doing another check in next year this time to see how this all works out. Will I be able to speak more French? Will my bank account be healthier? Will I have toned biceps? I’m pretty confident that will be the case.
I’m off to Paris again next week. My life these days is like this: go to Paris, come home and work really hard and save all my money and then go back to Paris. Lather, rinse, repeat. For now.
I’ll apply this determined patience to my blog and write more and keep you posted.
Happy New Year, everybody. If you’re inclined to share your intention(s) for the year, I would love to hear them!
Thank you all from the bottom of my heart for reading my story and helping get me to Michel. People are beautiful and amazing (well, all the people I know and the ones who read this blog anyway) and I am forever changed by your generosity and spirit.
Thank you to Aliza Sherman and Kathy Day for setting up the fundraising site that gave me hope I'd see mon Michel again. We exceeded our goal to help fund me to Paris within three days' time, thank you to everybody who donated.
And most of all, thank you for sending Michel your love and light. He now knows the world is on a mission for love to heal him and that conquering tremendous obstacles is possible.
Love, Taughnee
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About Taughnee
I'm a web designer and owner of Endeavor Creative based in Anchorage, Alaska (and sometimes Paris, France). I also blog at Launch the Book, a website and strategy resource for authors and a host of helpful web design and related services.
This is a personal journal about both my personal and professional lives, thanks for reading!
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