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SUMMARY:Jetlaggers Ultra at Poppy speakeasy - Hôtel des Grands Voyageurs\, Paris
DESCRIPTION:Home is the place that watched us grow up. It witnessed our first friendships\, our first crushes\, our first heartbreaks and probably some of our first real arguments. No matter how impatient we once were to leave\, there are few feelings quite as comforting as coming back. And yet\, when you’ve lived abroad for long enough\, returning home can start to feel strangely different.By Marie Anne You  · 4 min read  Whether we return for Christmas\, the summer holidays or simply a few days\, there is something deeply reassuring about rediscovering a place where so much of our history still exists. You open a drawer and find an old notebook\, a childhood toy your parents somehow never threw away\, postcards from people you haven’t thought about in years or one of those embarrassing diaries you wrote as a teenager. There is also that very specific smell you could probably never describe to anyone but would recognise immediately.  Perhaps this feeling is so comforting because it takes us back to a time when our problems were very different. Life once felt incredibly complicated because we had to choose between Spanish and Italian at school\, weren’t allowed to stay out after class with our friends\, or because our parents had committed the unforgivable crime of picking us up in front of everyone & bonus points if they were yelling your name. Whenever I read my old diaries\, somewhere between dramatic stories about boys and teenage friendship crises\, I inevitably find variations of the same sentence: I can’t wait to leave\, have my own place and finally do whatever I want. (Sorry Mum & Dad) Twenty years later\, reading those words is strangely moving because we did exactly what our younger selves wanted us to do. We left. We became independent. We travelled\, learnt other languages and built lives in cities our teenage selves might not even have been able to locate on a map. And perhaps that’s what makes coming back so special: you get to meet the person you used to be from the perspective of the person you’ve become.The slightly less romantic truth\, at least in my case\, is that this wonderful feeling usually lasts about five days. Old family dynamics have an extraordinary ability to return almost immediately. You can have travelled around the world\, built a career or a business\, fallen in love\, had your heart broken and become a perfectly functional adult\, yet one sentence at the family dinner table can somehow turn you back into your sixteen-year-old self. I used to think moving abroad fundamentally changed us. Now I think it simply adds layers. We become more confident\, independent and adaptable\, but the person we were before all of that doesn’t disappear. Maybe that’s why going home can be both comforting and slightly suffocating and also why it can be so funny. Few people in your adult life have the power to remind you quite so efficiently that\, somewhere underneath everything you’ve become\, you’re still the teenager who used to slam that bedroom door. But coming home isn’t only about family or childhood memories. It’s also about rediscovering your own culture after spending years immersed in someone else’s. Living abroad has a funny way of making you suddenly patriotic about things you barely noticed before.After living in new Zealand or Germany\, coming back to France made me appreciate the bakery on every corner\, the cheese section in a supermarket\, long meals around a table\, terraces\, markets and even the particular chaos of French conversations where everyone seems to speak at the same time. Things I had always considered completely ordinary suddenly felt incredibly French\,  and incredibly comforting. Food is probably where this phenomenon becomes most obvious. You can spend years complaining about your country and then land at the airport already thinking about your first proper baguette. Suddenly you’re defending French cheese as though someone had personally attacked your family. But the funny thing is that it works both ways. Living elsewhere teaches you to love other traditions too: German Christmas markets\, long Sunday breakfasts\, different rhythms\, rituals and ways of doing things that eventually become part of your life. You return to France feeling ridiculously French\, only to leave again and start missing something from Germany a few weeks later. Maybe that’s one of the unexpected pleasures of living abroad: distance doesn’t only teach you about another country. It makes you rediscover your own.Of course\, we are not the only ones who have changed. The people who stayed have continued building their lives too. Some married someone they had known for years\, found a job nearby\, bought a house or had children. Meanwhile\, you may have spent those same years moving countries\, changing jobs\, learning languages and building friendships with people from all over the world. Neither life is better than the other\, but returning home can make you realise just how different two paths that once started in the same place can become. I remember talking about this with Erika\, my first best friend abroad\, when we were living in Frankfurt. We were around 24\, going out\, meeting people and having some of the best years of our lives. Yet whenever she went back home\, she felt pressure from family and friends because\, at 24\, she was apparently already supposed to be thinking seriously about marriage and children. In Frankfurt\, she wasn’t “late” for anything. She was simply 24\, independent\, living abroad and having a great time. There is a lovely ending to that story. A few years later\, Erika met someone at one of my events. They fell in love\, got married and now have a beautiful family. It all happened closer to 30 than 24. She wasn’t behind after all; she was simply living according to her own timeline. Returning home can make those different timelines particularly visible. To old friends\, you may have become “the friend who lives abroad”\, and living abroad still carries a strangely glamorous reputation. From the outside\, you’re the one who left\, travels\, meets people from everywhere and seems completely free. Those of us who have actually done it know about the loneliness\, language mistakes\, administrative nightmares and moments when having your family nearby would feel like the greatest luxury in the world. But sometimes we let people believe the glamorous version. It’s quite flattering\, after all. There can be other gaps too. I’ve seen international friends living perfectly ordinary lives in Paris return home and become much more conscious of how they talk about restaurants\, holidays or money. What feels completely ordinary in one life can represent something very different in another. Sometimes you filter your stories\, not because you’re ashamed of the life you’ve built\, but because you don’t want an ordinary anecdote to sound insensitive. But returning home isn’t only about noticing what has grown apart. It’s also about rediscovering what hasn’t. There are friends you haven’t seen for months who somehow feel familiar again within ten minutes. Family jokes still make you laugh. Your favourite bakery is still there. Someone remembers a ridiculous story about you that you’d completely forgotten. There is something quite beautiful about being surrounded by people who knew you before your job title\, your international life or whatever version of yourself you present to the world today. At the same time\, living far away changes the way you experience time. A friend’s child is suddenly talking. Your parents look a little older. A familiar shop has disappeared. You don’t watch these things happen gradually; you notice them in snapshots every time you return. Friendships can work in a similar way. Nothing dramatic necessarily happens\, yet one day you realise you haven’t been part of someone’s everyday life for years. And while making friends abroad can feel surprisingly easy when everything is new\, maintaining those friendships as life moves on \, especially as we get older  is another story entirely. Perhaps that’s why the ordinary things become so precious. The family lunch you once found boring\, the neighbour you’ve known forever\, knowing everyone’s latest story: you notice them differently when they’re no longer part of your everyday life. Distance has a funny way of making us appreciate things we barely noticed when they were always there. When “home” becomes two places Eventually\, the visit comes to an end and it’s time to pack again. You hug everyone goodbye\,  and feel that familiar little sadness about leaving. Then someone asks when you’re going\, and you casually explain that it’s time to go home. Except this time\, you aren’t talking about the place where you grew up. You mean the apartment where your clothes are\, the friends who know what happened to you last Tuesday\, your favourite coffee shop\, your work\, your routine and all the ordinary details that make up the life you’ve built somewhere else. Somewhere along the way\, without any conscious decision\, another city quietly earned exactly the same name.For a long time\, I found this confusing. Which one was actually home: the place where I grew up\, or the place where my life is now? Today\, I don’t think I really need to choose. I can spend weeks looking forward to going back to my hometown\, feel incredibly happy when I arrive and\, five days later\, be just as happy to pack my suitcase and go home again.. Maybe that’s one of the nicest things nobody tells you about living abroad: eventually\, you don’t just have more than one place to call home. You have more than one culture to miss. Over to you… I’m curious. Has living abroad changed the way you feel about your hometown or your home country? And is there a food\, tradition or little everyday thing you never really appreciated until you moved away? I’d love to hear your story. Come and share it with us on Instagram – who knows\, it might even inspire the next edition of The Jetlaggers Journal.  Marie-Anne YouFounder of Jetlaggers Building communities for internationals across Europe since 2015.
URL:https://jetlaggersclub.com/event/jetlaggers-ultra-hotel-des-grands-voyageurs-paris-2/
LOCATION:Poppy – Grand Voyageurs\, 34 Rue de l'Abbé Grégoire\, Paris\, 75006\, France
CATEGORIES:Small Gathering
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SUMMARY:Jetlaggers Afterwork at Maison Albar - Paris
DESCRIPTION:Home is the place that watched us grow up. It witnessed our first friendships\, our first crushes\, our first heartbreaks and probably some of our first real arguments. No matter how impatient we once were to leave\, there are few feelings quite as comforting as coming back. And yet\, when you’ve lived abroad for long enough\, returning home can start to feel strangely different.By Marie Anne You  · 4 min read  Whether we return for Christmas\, the summer holidays or simply a few days\, there is something deeply reassuring about rediscovering a place where so much of our history still exists. You open a drawer and find an old notebook\, a childhood toy your parents somehow never threw away\, postcards from people you haven’t thought about in years or one of those embarrassing diaries you wrote as a teenager. There is also that very specific smell you could probably never describe to anyone but would recognise immediately.  Perhaps this feeling is so comforting because it takes us back to a time when our problems were very different. Life once felt incredibly complicated because we had to choose between Spanish and Italian at school\, weren’t allowed to stay out after class with our friends\, or because our parents had committed the unforgivable crime of picking us up in front of everyone & bonus points if they were yelling your name. Whenever I read my old diaries\, somewhere between dramatic stories about boys and teenage friendship crises\, I inevitably find variations of the same sentence: I can’t wait to leave\, have my own place and finally do whatever I want. (Sorry Mum & Dad) Twenty years later\, reading those words is strangely moving because we did exactly what our younger selves wanted us to do. We left. We became independent. We travelled\, learnt other languages and built lives in cities our teenage selves might not even have been able to locate on a map. And perhaps that’s what makes coming back so special: you get to meet the person you used to be from the perspective of the person you’ve become.The slightly less romantic truth\, at least in my case\, is that this wonderful feeling usually lasts about five days. Old family dynamics have an extraordinary ability to return almost immediately. You can have travelled around the world\, built a career or a business\, fallen in love\, had your heart broken and become a perfectly functional adult\, yet one sentence at the family dinner table can somehow turn you back into your sixteen-year-old self. I used to think moving abroad fundamentally changed us. Now I think it simply adds layers. We become more confident\, independent and adaptable\, but the person we were before all of that doesn’t disappear. Maybe that’s why going home can be both comforting and slightly suffocating and also why it can be so funny. Few people in your adult life have the power to remind you quite so efficiently that\, somewhere underneath everything you’ve become\, you’re still the teenager who used to slam that bedroom door. But coming home isn’t only about family or childhood memories. It’s also about rediscovering your own culture after spending years immersed in someone else’s. Living abroad has a funny way of making you suddenly patriotic about things you barely noticed before.After living in new Zealand or Germany\, coming back to France made me appreciate the bakery on every corner\, the cheese section in a supermarket\, long meals around a table\, terraces\, markets and even the particular chaos of French conversations where everyone seems to speak at the same time. Things I had always considered completely ordinary suddenly felt incredibly French\,  and incredibly comforting. Food is probably where this phenomenon becomes most obvious. You can spend years complaining about your country and then land at the airport already thinking about your first proper baguette. Suddenly you’re defending French cheese as though someone had personally attacked your family. But the funny thing is that it works both ways. Living elsewhere teaches you to love other traditions too: German Christmas markets\, long Sunday breakfasts\, different rhythms\, rituals and ways of doing things that eventually become part of your life. You return to France feeling ridiculously French\, only to leave again and start missing something from Germany a few weeks later. Maybe that’s one of the unexpected pleasures of living abroad: distance doesn’t only teach you about another country. It makes you rediscover your own.Of course\, we are not the only ones who have changed. The people who stayed have continued building their lives too. Some married someone they had known for years\, found a job nearby\, bought a house or had children. Meanwhile\, you may have spent those same years moving countries\, changing jobs\, learning languages and building friendships with people from all over the world. Neither life is better than the other\, but returning home can make you realise just how different two paths that once started in the same place can become. I remember talking about this with Erika\, my first best friend abroad\, when we were living in Frankfurt. We were around 24\, going out\, meeting people and having some of the best years of our lives. Yet whenever she went back home\, she felt pressure from family and friends because\, at 24\, she was apparently already supposed to be thinking seriously about marriage and children. In Frankfurt\, she wasn’t “late” for anything. She was simply 24\, independent\, living abroad and having a great time. There is a lovely ending to that story. A few years later\, Erika met someone at one of my events. They fell in love\, got married and now have a beautiful family. It all happened closer to 30 than 24. She wasn’t behind after all; she was simply living according to her own timeline. Returning home can make those different timelines particularly visible. To old friends\, you may have become “the friend who lives abroad”\, and living abroad still carries a strangely glamorous reputation. From the outside\, you’re the one who left\, travels\, meets people from everywhere and seems completely free. Those of us who have actually done it know about the loneliness\, language mistakes\, administrative nightmares and moments when having your family nearby would feel like the greatest luxury in the world. But sometimes we let people believe the glamorous version. It’s quite flattering\, after all. There can be other gaps too. I’ve seen international friends living perfectly ordinary lives in Paris return home and become much more conscious of how they talk about restaurants\, holidays or money. What feels completely ordinary in one life can represent something very different in another. Sometimes you filter your stories\, not because you’re ashamed of the life you’ve built\, but because you don’t want an ordinary anecdote to sound insensitive. But returning home isn’t only about noticing what has grown apart. It’s also about rediscovering what hasn’t. There are friends you haven’t seen for months who somehow feel familiar again within ten minutes. Family jokes still make you laugh. Your favourite bakery is still there. Someone remembers a ridiculous story about you that you’d completely forgotten. There is something quite beautiful about being surrounded by people who knew you before your job title\, your international life or whatever version of yourself you present to the world today. At the same time\, living far away changes the way you experience time. A friend’s child is suddenly talking. Your parents look a little older. A familiar shop has disappeared. You don’t watch these things happen gradually; you notice them in snapshots every time you return. Friendships can work in a similar way. Nothing dramatic necessarily happens\, yet one day you realise you haven’t been part of someone’s everyday life for years. And while making friends abroad can feel surprisingly easy when everything is new\, maintaining those friendships as life moves on \, especially as we get older  is another story entirely. Perhaps that’s why the ordinary things become so precious. The family lunch you once found boring\, the neighbour you’ve known forever\, knowing everyone’s latest story: you notice them differently when they’re no longer part of your everyday life. Distance has a funny way of making us appreciate things we barely noticed when they were always there. When “home” becomes two places Eventually\, the visit comes to an end and it’s time to pack again. You hug everyone goodbye\,  and feel that familiar little sadness about leaving. Then someone asks when you’re going\, and you casually explain that it’s time to go home. Except this time\, you aren’t talking about the place where you grew up. You mean the apartment where your clothes are\, the friends who know what happened to you last Tuesday\, your favourite coffee shop\, your work\, your routine and all the ordinary details that make up the life you’ve built somewhere else. Somewhere along the way\, without any conscious decision\, another city quietly earned exactly the same name.For a long time\, I found this confusing. Which one was actually home: the place where I grew up\, or the place where my life is now? Today\, I don’t think I really need to choose. I can spend weeks looking forward to going back to my hometown\, feel incredibly happy when I arrive and\, five days later\, be just as happy to pack my suitcase and go home again.. Maybe that’s one of the nicest things nobody tells you about living abroad: eventually\, you don’t just have more than one place to call home. You have more than one culture to miss. Over to you… I’m curious. Has living abroad changed the way you feel about your hometown or your home country? And is there a food\, tradition or little everyday thing you never really appreciated until you moved away? I’d love to hear your story. Come and share it with us on Instagram – who knows\, it might even inspire the next edition of The Jetlaggers Journal.  Marie-Anne YouFounder of Jetlaggers Building communities for internationals across Europe since 2015.
URL:https://jetlaggersclub.com/event/jetlaggers-afterwork-at-maison-albar-paris-2/
LOCATION:Maison Albar Le Vendome\, 7 Rue du Helder\, Paris\, 75009\, France
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ORGANIZER;CN="Jetlaggers":MAILTO:info@jetlaggersclub.com
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