America vs My Nervous System
Why I’m Moving to France (and what it really means)
It didn’t happen all at once.
There was no breaking point.
No dramatic moment where everything became clear.
It was quieter than that.
A slow accumulation.
A rising cost I couldn’t quite name at first.
Until one day, my nervous system simply… couldn’t carry it the same way anymore.
And something had to change.
The Moment My Body Noticed Before I Did
This didn’t begin with politics.
Or headlines.
Or even a conscious decision.
It began in Estonia.
Five weeks in the midnight sun in 2023.
Early mornings in Tallinn, walking through streets where history isn’t curated — it’s embedded. You can see wealth inequality in the architecture itself. Aristocrats above. Merchants behind walls. Laborers outside the gates.
Human hierarchy, built in stone.
And yet… what I felt there wasn’t heaviness.
It was space.
Cool salt air along the port.
Food that felt like nourishment instead of negotiation.
Walking home at night without scanning, calculating, bracing.
It wasn’t culture shock.
It was an exhale.
And once your body experiences that kind of exhale… it remembers.
Coming Home… and Feeling the Difference
When I returned to the United States, nothing had changed.
And yet everything felt different.
The noise.
The pace.
The constant, low-level tension humming in the background.
Systems we’re told are “normal” suddenly felt… chronically activating.
Not dramatic.
Just persistent.
And our bodies track that — whether we consciously acknowledge it or not.
When Recognition Turns Into Grief
On election night in 2024, something crystallized.
Not shock.
Recognition.
And in the months that followed, I found myself watching something deeper than headlines.
A widening gap.
Between those insulated from consequence
and those carrying the strain.
It didn’t feel like collapse.
It felt like erosion.
The kind that makes you sad before it makes you angry.
The Maternal Layer We Don’t Talk About
I don’t feel rage when I think about it.
I feel grief.
Because I remember a time — not perfect, but different — when building a stable life felt more attainable.
And now I look at my children.
Brilliant. Creative. Thoughtful.
Building lives with their partners, navigating a landscape that asks more of them for less return.
The ladder still exists.
But the rungs are farther apart.
And that lands in the body in a way that is both deeply personal… and undeniably systemic.
This Isn’t Acute Trauma — It’s Chronic Load
I know what acute trauma feels like.
This isn’t that.
This is chronic load.
And chronic load does something quieter, but just as impactful.
It narrows possibility.
It shrinks imagination.
It teaches your body to brace — even when nothing specific is happening.
When healthcare feels uncertain,
when stability feels conditional,
when the background noise never quite settles…
Your nervous system adapts.
Until one day, it doesn’t want to anymore.
The Quiet Math
After Estonia, I couldn’t unknow the contrast.
And once you can’t unknow something, you start doing a different kind of math.
Not just financial.
Nervous system math.
I’ve immigrated before. I understand what it costs to uproot a life.
So this wasn’t a question of where do I want to go?
It became:
Where is it feasible to test a different baseline?
Why France
France wasn’t a logical first choice.
It was an old dream.
Back in 1986, I imagined a life with stone streets, open-air markets, language, and a different rhythm.
And like many things, I set it aside.
Practicality.
Responsibility.
“Maybe later.”
France didn’t win because it’s perfect.
It won because it was the part of me I had quietly shelved.
And I’m learning — slowly — to stop shelving myself.
This Is Not Running Away
I want to be clear about something.
This isn’t rebellion.
And it’s not escape.
It’s calibration.
It’s recognizing that persistent dysregulation has a cost — and deciding, consciously, what I am and am not willing to keep paying.
There may be strain ahead in this country.
Economically.
Politically.
Culturally.
I’m not predicting anything.
I’m simply acknowledging what my body already knows.
And choosing to respond to it.
A Different Kind of Experiment
I don’t have a blueprint.
I’m not here to tell anyone what they should do.
This is an experiment.
A test drive of a different “normal.”
One that prioritizes:
- space over urgency
- rhythm over reaction
- regulation over endurance
One step at a time.
If This Resonates
If something in this feels familiar — even quietly — you’re not imagining it.
You don’t have to make any big decisions.
You don’t have to name it perfectly.
But you are allowed to notice.
And if you want to explore these questions alongside me, I’d love to have you here.
No pressure.
Just presence.
We’ll take this one step at a time.
A bientôt, mes amis.
À la prochaine fois.
Rondi et Ralph 🐾