My Reverie

When thinking about the name of this blog, I will be 100% honest and share that ChatGPT came up with a variation of My French Reverie. I had a little convo with it (funny and weird to write) and I pulled different words and formed what stuck - but wow, what a world we live in. Ha.

I’m the type of person who has a hard time making a decision (hell, it’s nearly impossible) so I had to shop out this blog name to a select few to get their input. I asked my husband, my cousin, and the office of accountability (OOA). Rob immediately loved it (and LOVED that I asked ChatGPT to help guide me). My cousin was ADAMANT it was perfect. I then floated the idea to OOA and they had some opinions (which duh, I loved) but as someone who has a hard time making a decision, I soon found myself questioning everything. Is “The” sexier than “My”? Is it more editorial? Do I want this to be a successful money-making blog vs. a journal? Should I keep the writing narrow to just my experience, or write more generally? This is what I kept coming back to - I didn’t want to write about moving to France in general. I wanted to write about the thoughts in MY head. The pervasive ideas that needed to escape and needed a place to live out in the world - going back to the Big Magic post.

So what does My French Reverie look like? I’m still figuring it out, but my hope is that by beginning this journal, I will have the mental clarity to narrow down what I see. I could easily share with you the actual daydream I think about regularly - I tend to think of it as an opening scene... A linden tree-lined driveway that runs parallel to a small but roaring stream. The gravel road gently bends to the left to make way for the old carriage house that I have converted into my upholstery atelier. The cobblestone alley carries straight through the carriage door and I can see the chair I am currently working on up on sawhorses. The cobblestones continue through to the other side of the carriage house and open up to a small clearing where our son is playing - although he isn’t so little. The stream that runs along the driveway feeds into a larger river that the château is overlooking and I can hear my husband calling telling us it’s time for dinner. I can see the speckled light coming through the trees and can hear our pup sniffing around the shop. It feels like an early fall day - still warm in the sun but when the leaves rustle in the breeze you reach for a sweater.

Sometimes, when I think about France, the château isn’t always front and center. Many times, I find myself thinking more about the life I want to live, the peace I want to feel, and the small details I want to soak in.

My artistic skills on show.