My therapist told me I don’t have to feel this way, but I think I’ll have to pay her to tell me a few more times before it really sticks: I feel very guilty for living abroad.

As with most crimes, I didn’t start out feeling guilt. No, for a few years I was thrilled that I got away with it. I also didn’t expect to stay for as long as I have, so I never thought I’d have to deal with the consequences of my actions. I’d likely be back before anyone missed me, or before I missed anybody. Not that I ever put an end date to the French experiment; I always said we’d stay two years minimum to give it a real honest try, but also was careful to never set a maximum so that I couldn’t be held to it. It turns out that after six months I couldn’t imagine ever moving back to the US. Oops.

When you imagine your move abroad, you think only of sipping spritzes on terraces 24/7 and being able to afford your medications, but never the emotional complexity. Maybe because I never moved from LA county for the…