I keep asking myself, is this it? Is this what I wanted? This house feels like a stranger’s, even with my books on the shelves and my kettle on the stove. The snow keeps falling, and it’s beautiful, sure, but it’s also relentless, like it’s burying me here. I thought moving to a place like this would make me feel free, but sometimes it feels like I’ve traded one cage for another. Back in the city, I had my routines—coffee at the same shop, drinks with coworkers, yoga on Sundays. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. Here, I don’t even know where to start. The nearest gym is an hour away, and the Wi-Fi’s so spotty I can’t even stream a movie without it buffering every five seconds.
And then there’s Julien. Sweet, infuriating Julien. I met him six months ago, and he made this place sound like paradise. He grew up here, knows every tree, every neighbor’s dog. He’s so at home, chopping wood like it’s nothing, chatting with the cashier like they’re old friends. I thought I could fit into his world, that his certainty would rub off on me. But I’m stumbling, you know? I burn the toast, I forget how to start the fire, I mispronounce half the French words he tries to teach me. He laughs it off, but I wonder if he sees it too—that I’m not sure I belong here. I love his smile, the way he leaves sticky notes on my coffee mug, but is love enough to build a life in a place that feels so foreign?
I’m 45, and I thought I’d have it figured out by now. I thought leaving the city would answer all my questions, but it’s just given me new ones. Do I want this quiet, this isolation? Do I want to be the woman who learns to bake bread and knit scarves, or am I just pretending because I’m scared to admit I might’ve made a mistake? I look out at this snow, and part of me wants to run back to the city, to noise and lights and familiarity. But another part wonders if I just need time, if this village could be home if I let it. I don’t know. All I know is I’m here, and I’m not sure if this is the life I wanted—or if I even know what I want anymore.