Villasavary, France

Villasavary, France

There are times I can’t believe what I’m doing. I’m not talking about those moments where Corie looks at me in disbelief after I’ve acted on one of those “husband ideas.” I’m talking about moments when I find myself in a place that I would have only dreamed about in my younger days.

I’m the last person one would have expected to sell almost everything I owned to move overseas, leaving a comfortable, secure life behind. The idea had always appealed to me, and I’ve filled many daydreams with adventures, seeing new places, and meeting interesting people.

 But I was afraid. Change can be scary. Giving up a life one knows is terrifying. In a pivotal moment in our planning, Corie and I heard a quote that changed our thinking, one I’ve mentioned in a few of these newsletters: everything you want is on the other side of fear.

 I’m now two and a half years beyond that border of fear and everything. All those nights tossing and turning, worrying about everything that could possibly go wrong with such a drastic move are just a memory.

 I thought about that fear of change on a quiet evening a few weeks ago while walking along a narrow country road in the southern French countryside. A rainstorm had just passed, leaving the world smelling fresh and full of wonders.

Villasavary, France

The sun was settling into the horizon, casting a golden light across the landscape. A church bell from the nearby hilltop town, Villasavary, resonated in the evening air, a percussive rhythm to the birds’ excited melodies and the quiet crunch of gravel under my sandals.

 The road bordered fields of sunflowers, their seed-ladened heads bowed as if observing a moment of silence marking the end of summer. To my right, a church tower loomed over its neighbors in a town on the horizon, a common sight among the little villages dotting the landscape on the train between Toulouse and Bram.

 The occasional resident greeted me as I explored Villasavary’s streets, smiling politely at my obvious American accent when I tried to pronounce bonne soirée. In many towns, an outsider like me would be met with a dose of suspicion, the subltle glances from behind windows. But the folks in Villasavary must have been used to the frequent wanderer in their streets as everyone I met seemed happy I was taking photos of their little town.

 At a clearing between two houses, I stopped to take in the view of the farmland below with its distinct pattern of rows, crops nearing the harvest season washed in the magenta glow of the setting sun. It was one of those moments that will never be featured in a travel guide and one I didn’t think I would ever experience. On my way back to meet our friends for dinner at their house bordering one of the Camino de Santiago routes, a surge of gratitude filled me, a joy that began with me putting fear aside.

Villasavary, France