The Ultimate Midlife Crisis (with Coffee and a Hound Dog)
“Choosing between French forests and Aussie beaches — with a hound dog and a dodgy knee in tow. What could possibly go wrong?”Whoops!
Here I am, sitting in our little French slice of heaven in Corrèze, Nouvelle-Aquitaine, sipping coffee and staring into the misty woods, asking myself the big question: What on earth are we doing? I’m literally on the other side of the world, daydreaming about my family, my friends, and wondering if it’s possible to pack up this peaceful, simple life into a suitcase and sneak it through Australian customs.
After living the slow, rural French dream for a while, our whole idea of “living properly” has shifted. Forget the rat race — give us a cosy little home, some veggie patches, family nearby, and — please — no stairs. Seriously. Once you hit your sixties, stairs become less of a fitness challenge and more of a full-contact sport. Recovery time after a stumble? Let’s just say it’s not what it used to be. Getting “back on the bike” (metaphorically and literally) now requires ice packs, deep breathing, and sometimes a minor prayer.
One absolute non-negotiable in this grand life plan? A café within walking (or wobbling) distance. There’s nothing better than grabbing a hot coffee and croissant and swapping life stories with fellow caffeine enthusiasts — a.k.a., other people who pretend to take a casual stroll but are really just desperate for a decent espresso.
And then, of course, there’s Jedd, our beloved, mildly chaotic hound dog. Moving him back to Australia is basically like applying for a visa to Mars — Australian customs and quarantine rules are no joke. But he’s family, and he’s coming with us. Though we’ll definitely need to find him wide open spaces to run because, let’s be honest, once you’ve had a taste of French forests — lush, dramatic, changing from green to gold with the seasons — it’s a hard act to follow. Even Jedd seems to have developed a suspiciously European attitude. He expects scenic walks now. No pressure, Australia.
Oh, and another thing? Internet. In France, even if you’re living next to a cow pasture, you can still stream Netflix faster than you can say bonjour. In Australia, you’ll pay a fortune for internet that feels like it’s powered by a hamster on a wheel. Just something to look forward to.
Honestly, we don’t need much — a comfy couch, a good coffee, a patch of green for Jedd, fast Wi-Fi (please!), and a place that doesn’t involve daily stair climbing Olympics. Call it boring if you want. We call it bliss.
So here we are, at a crossroads. France or Australia? Cosy forest walks or dusty bush tracks? Either way, we’re ready for the next chapter — just maybe at a slightly slower pace (with fewer trip hazards). When will we be bounding from croissants to kangaroos?
