It was nighttime as I rode my bike to Notre Dame, the wind whistling in my ears. It was a mild evening and, importantly for Paris, it wasn't overcast for once.

It had been six years since I'd felt this satisfied about being in France.

Six years.

During that time I'd gone from a proud French-American–especially during our 2018 World Cup victory–to happily vocalizing my displeasure about all aspects of French culture during my semester abroad in Metz in 2023.

Eventually, I settled somewhere in between. I felt grateful to have a French passport and speak the language but I left it at that.

So why now, just 28 hours into a pit stop in France, did I feel my French identity tugging at me from within?

I peddled hard on my clunky city bike to keep up with my friend Djian and his sleek road bike, but in my mad dash to stick with him, the answer became clear.

My French identity was always with me. And Djian–someone who embodies the best of France–helped me discover how to separate the good from the bad where I could make peace with the biological 50% that confused me for 24 years.

Shunning France

"Before studying in France I was 98% American and 2% French. After, I'm now 99% American and 1% French."

Living in France from August to December made me more detached from my heritage. While in Metz, I became inundated with French bureaucracy, pessimism, and dreary weather.

I dreaded setting foot in the local bank, post office, or doctor's office for fear of some new hoop I'd have to jump through to get what I wanted.

I hated practicing my French with locals because of a heightened awareness of how conversations would turn negative at any mention of work-life balance or money.

I stepped outside every day pleading to see the sun, my hopes going unheeded for months at a time.

After leaving the country to start backpacking, I was in no rush to go back. Not just on this trip, but ever.

Yet, I decided to make a 48-hour stopover between the UK and Belgium to visit Djian in Paris. It broke up a long train ride into two shorter trips and the worst that could happen was I got to reunite with a friend in one of the best cities in the world.

The Bright Side of France

Without Metz or French bureaucracy weighing me down, I got to reconnect with France in the ways that I valued.

I went for a late afternoon run in the park with the sun shining, setting up a beautiful sunset along the horizon.

I joined Djian and his friends at a university kickback, getting to practice my French with no English to fall back on.

I got roasted by his friend Charlotte while we cooked dinner together, both because I didn't know what a kiwi was and because I kept saying all sorts of French phrases in an Americanized way.

But the best part was the tranquil night Djian and I spent riding down to Notre Dame to meet Charlotte and walk along The Seine together.

Could that really be part of my heritage? Could I claim this as my identity?

Picking and Choosing

I've always been happy to accept the good and the bad of my American culture. It's a package deal, but it's part of my identity. Thus, I always felt that my French heritage was a similar all-or-nothing situation.

Given the choice, I'd historically choose nothing.

But Djian and I walked up to Charlotte who had her laptop out, sitting on some bleachers overlooking Notre Dame.

She was casually studying for an exam in front of a Cathedral that millions of people travel halfway across the world to see.

Was that really my country too?

I became more confident that the answer was yes the longer we spent together.

Our walk along The Seine was an absolute roast sesh. First, Charlotte laid out everything I would say that made me sound foreign when speaking French. Then, I asked her to say literally one sentence in English, and a few blubbering moments later she got her point across.

It wasn't what I could or couldn't express in French that mattered to me–although I was grateful for the chance to improve!

What mattered more was the banter itself. It was the same type of banter that I'd have with my friends back home.

In the US. In English.

Thanks to Djian and Charlotte, I felt like I belonged in France. Finally.

The Good and the Bad

I have since chosen to claim parts of France proudly.

Paris is the city where my mother was raised, and a city I feel connected to as well.

I swear by French boulangeries, and their baguettes, croissants, and pains au chocolat.

I'm proud to speak French, the 5th most-spoken language in the world.

But I'm also proud to have found friends who embody the good that France offers. Djian is French but with the optimism of an American. Charlotte is French but inclusive to outsiders how the rest of the world is, yet France normally isn't.

Thanks to them, I was emboldened to identify the Frenchness that I proudly adopted as my heritage while still staying true to other aspects of my background.

It took 24 years of searching–and the journey of understanding myself still continues! But in 48 hours, I made more progress than I'd made in a long time.

:)