It was the best of times, it was the worst of times
it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity
… it was the beginning of my summer abroad campaign and I still could not say bonjour with a legitimate face. 
Three Days until Departure
A reoccurrence in life: in times of need there is never truly a person around with an oracle sense of guidance. Heartbreaking, yet true. But, one would think with the time allotted I was given between my decision in January to my flight taking off in three days that I would organize, plan, and maybe even pack. But, instead of a magnificently outlined summer prevailing, it was my disregard for the concept of time that overruled.  It is a concept so blatant to humanity that you should be able to have the predisposed ability to pack for a trip, yet I could not harness this concept. A power higher than me should have stepped in by now.
So, as one does, I started assembling different approaches in my head on how to deal with this whole “move to Paris” thing. Formalized into three different subcategories named “Luggage, Research, and Mental Health,” I started what was going to be three very French months of my life.
Everything they give you, everything you read, and everything your told from the start of a travel abroad experience is definitive to this sentence: less is more.  Speaking from my naturally intuitive side, there is no way I was going to fit half the things I wanted to bring on this trip into two suitcases and a carry-on backpack. It is unrealistic, unideal, and ignorant of the French to expect me to do so.  What do you pack when you can barely pack at all? My impulsive subconscious took over- I would need my prom dress from junior year of high school, a toaster, at least one different outfit for every day, and all the shoes I have every purchased in my existence. Minimalism.
Kidding. I grew up, I tossed the clothes I would normally wear, like a normal person does, into a bag and called it a day. They have stores there and you can probably buy a toaster in Europe. However, I am sad to see “maximalist” drop from my “what describes me” adjective list.
Paris is huge. I have never been, but from what google images is telling me, it is huge. Also, filled with a lot of baked carbohydrates, fermented grapes, this giant iron triangle, and paintings. It will be an experience for sure, and there is no correlation or boundary of my expectations. Half of me still thinks I’m on an episode of Punk’D. However, I have found this is the best kind of life that you can live- one in the face of fear and unknown.  Who knows where we will be a year from now, three months from now, or even tomorrow. It is best to take life the way it’s given to you- no plan involved.
I think I will wing it? 
List of Side Notes
Learn how to say a single word, a single world, of French with seriousness
Enlighten myself with the art of calendar life planning
Waver the French from their minimalism
Speak in shorter sentences. It sounds more eloquent, philosophical, and credible.
Write a self-help book in off time, this was a line of great advice.
Chicken wings- great food and great experience- very American. I will miss them.