Perspective is a strange creature.

When it shifts, so does your emotional—and even virtual—experience of reality. It’s like swapping a lens, regrading a film, or being born HANS ZIMMER, orchestrating the sounds of the human condition.—suddenly, the feeling changes the context. Or… is it the context that changes the feeling? Hard to say.

Without getting too metaphysical—because God knows I’ve had a freaking nuff of that—what I do know is this: somewhere inside this decision, a metamorphosis began.

Summer Bliss and the Stillness Within:
Spinning our Wheels in the Sunlight

The balcony of our sweet, south-facing apartment—breezy and shaded by trees—became even more of a sanctuary. The hummingbirds that flew ever so close watching us curiously and butterflies that brushed our cheeks with their wings seemed to whisper secrets of magic, all while we sat in the stillness of the morning, taking our coffee, and chatting about the change upon us.
Even the love we held for our friends, and for the places we frequented, suddenly felt deeper, more tender—marked by that strange ache that only comes when you know something is ending.

We took August off. We swam in the ocean and in the Kitsilano pool. We walked along the water. Drank crisp bottles of rosé. We soaked in the sun and the splendor that is the British Columbia coast in the heat of August.

Of course, there was still the parallel track running beneath it all—the quiet conflict in my own heart.
I would be walking away from a business that had finally taken off, something I’d worked damn hard for. Auditioning from afar. Giving up a sense of balance I never imagined I’d have in this industry, and quite candidly, in life. Audrey would be leaving a life and great friends she had created over the last 12 years, back into family dynamics, searching for new creative adventures and inspiration, and repositioning herself in the network she once had.
At times, it felt a little crazy. At others, maybe even reckless. But still—deep down—we knew this was our chance.
And somehow, things were aligning… in strange, almost secret, ways.

The Final Sprint Toward Change:
Slipping Through the Curtain of Our Desire

As August came to a close, time sped up—and so did work. I was running through each day, booking back-to-back projects while still managing my business. And truthfully? I loved every minute of it.

Audrey began to searching for apartments, began the immersion into the craziness of the French system, and gathering documents and information necessary for the move.

We began packing just as the summer light shifted—softening into those low, golden hues of early fall. On weekend walks, rain or shine, we photographed the changing season on my grandmother’s old film camera, the one she passed down to me. One moment we were in t-shirts, the next in sweaters. The shift was that fast.

I already knew we would miss our long walks in nature. Sure, there are parks in cities, but they don’t quite carry the same weight as a forest or the edge of a coastline.

In the evenings, we danced barefoot in our kitchen, the abandoned oven finally warming again with good fall food. Body to body, cheek to cheek, we’d close our eyes and whisper:
“Can you hear it?… The hardwood floors are crackling beneath our feet. There’s luminous light streaming into our new Parisian apartment.”
Silent tears would roll down our cheeks as we smiled.
“Yes, I hear it,” she’d giggle.

“And there’s a market not too far,” she’d add, “with locals calling out, ‘Bonjour, les filles! Qu’est-ce que vous voulez aujourd’hui?’”
“Mmm… yes. And those flat peaches in summer.”
“Yes,” she’d whisper, pulling back to meet my eyes—both of us happily dreaming out loud.

She asked me often, “Are you sure?”
And I’d answer, “It’s time. I know that much. This is it—this is our chance. After all, you’re my home now.”

Audrey had a friend returning from a European art program, and she would take care of our place. I planned to come and go that first year—keeping one hand in the business, and one in the industry.
Strangely enough, the timing was perfect. We were leaving for Christmas, and her friend needed a place to come January. No scrambling in Vancouver’s saturated market.

We still had a foot in the door.
We had a home in each other.

And we were stretching our roots across the ocean, into something new.

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