In Season 01

Paris, Again — and All Over Again

Earlier this year, I made a quiet promise to myself: I’d return to Paris and stay long enough to feel the rhythm of the city beyond the postcards. A month felt bold, long enough for my husband to raise an eyebrow, but he agreed, with one condition: he’d join me for the final week. That’s love, right there.

On our first trip, we played full-on tourists, guided by my extended-family-big-sister Aisha, who’s called Paris home for over 30 years. She led us everywhere, Eiffel Tower, Louvre, Sacré-Cœur, Champs-Élysées, and somehow still made it feel personal. What caught me wasn’t just the landmarks, though. It was the architecture that whispered history, the cobblestone streets, the locals dining outdoors in brisk air as if time had no hold on them. There’s a pulse to Paris that stirs my creativity, and that first night, I knew I’d be back.

Fast forward a year, and here I am, back in Paris, grateful and grounded, though the plan shifted a little. My husband couldn’t join this time and didn’t love the idea of me traveling solo. His question was simple: “Who can go with you?” The answer came easy. My girl Luanna, free-spirited, spontaneous, and already in Phoenix for a quick visit. I asked if she wanted to hang out in Paris for a month. She laughed, said “OUI,” and the rest is a story still unfolding.

It’s been a week now. We’re tucked away in the 15th arrondissement, walking among locals, ordering croissants in imperfect French, and finding our rhythm as two Black women soaking up Parisian life. Every day brings a small discovery, and every corner reminds me: sometimes returning isn’t about retracing steps, it’s about deepening roots.