Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about the five French words to take with you into your la rentrée. La Pause, Bouquiner, Profiter, Oser, and perhaps my favorite, Manifester…a word that, until recently, here in Paris would leave me annoyed in anticipation of the city-wide disruption.

But I have decided to reclaim it for what I want - isn’t it great to be able to reframe things to our benefit? Forever more, I will look at a manifestation in a different way - maybe with a bit more empathy…that people are just not wishing for things to happen; they are out fighting for them. And whether or not I agree with it, that is certainly to be admired.

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There’s something so special about this time of year in Paris.

In all that prep we are doing for la rentrée, we know that it is pretty much upon us. Paris is still in its last week of slumber, but by next Sunday I suspect it will be overflowing with energy (and all the Parisians who departed over the last weeks).

Whether or not we are ready, September is swiftly approaching and so what is affectionately known as la rentrée.

And while la rentrée is technically about returning to the city, it has always felt to me much more like returning for a new beginning - maybe even a chance for some kind of reinvention.

As with any reinvention, this fabulous time of year is filled with duality - it is a beautifully contradictory moment.

A great reminder that with most things in life, two things can be true at once.

There’s the elation of everyone returning to Paris, seeing friends and colleagues again after extended vacations, restaurants reopening, projects restarting, the cultural calendar heating up, and the city seemingly switching itself back on.

And then, of course, there are les blues de la rentrée.

That slightly morbid feeling of returning to reality. The non-exciting part of life: métro, boulot, dodo - the famous French shorthand for the grind of commuting, working, sleeping…and repeating.

Because somehow returning to emails and alarm clocks isn’t quite as enticing as long mornings over coffee, afternoons spent poolside with a book, or whatever lovely nothingness you managed to get up to over the summer.

But perhaps that’s exactly what makes la rentrée so exciting and so complex.

It isn’t just about going back. It’s about discovering what you want to return to.

And I think there are a few things the French get very right about the art of returning that are worth stealing, wherever in the world you happen to be.

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5 lessons La Rentrée can teach us.

1. YOU can choose your own beginning.

If you are in the city this time of year, I think you will agree with me when I say there is more energy and enthusiasm around la rentrée than you’ll find in a calendar new year.

All around me, I hear friends and colleagues talking about what they’re going to do pour la rentrée. People are making plans again, and there is a palpable sense that something new is beginning.

And the wonderful thing is: the date itself is completely constructed.

The idea of la rentrée is centuries old. From what I discovered, by the early 1700s, the Académie Française was already using the word to describe the return of Parliament and the courts after their vacations; by the early nineteenth century, la rentrée des classes started to appear in reference to a return to school. Today, la rentrée is also used to talk about the period when people return from their summer holidays. So not only the meaning, but the usage of the term has been rewritten over the years…(I’ll come back to this).

And while today it is synonymous with ‘September’, which marks the end of the typical vacation period, September wasn’t always the sacred date, either. In the nineteenth century, French children often returned to school closer to October - especially in times and places where children were still needed for agricultural work.

Which is a wonderful reminder:

Old constructs can be rewritten to fit what we need, and there is no inherently ‘right’ moment to begin again. We can set that date as we choose.

And if France can decide that September is the moment to return, reinvent, and restart, why can’t you choose your own?

You don’t have to wait for January 1st. Or your birthday. Or Monday. Or the beginning of the month.

You can declare your own rentrée whenever you so darn well choose. And I hope you do.

2. A return is an invitation to reconnect.

One of my favorite things about la rentrée is the reconnection.

People come back. Calendars begin filling up again. There are coffees, lunches, and dinners filled with some version of: Where were you? What did you do? Tell me everything.

And I think there’s a lesson in that, too.

Life gets in the way of all those moments we could be spending with people we care about but don’t have everyday access to. Weeks turn into months. We think, I really should call her, and somehow another three weeks pass.

La rentrée gives us an excuse.

So steal it.

Think of the person you have been meaning to call. The friend you haven’t seen enough of. The former colleague you always loved talking to. This is your reminder to send the message. Maybe even have a little fun with it (especially if they love all things French). Why not invite them for a typically French Apéro to catch up?

The people who are for you will be happy to hear from you. They don’t need an explanation for the time that has passed.

Sometimes we simply need a reason to begin again.

3. There can be no la rentrée without la pause.

We love the return. We love the restart. We love the fresh notebooks, and pens and pencils (at least I do)… and new projects and renewed enthusiasm.

But you cannot return if you never take a moment to step away.

And we know how difficult it can be to allow ourselves a real pause - in whatever form that takes. A slow coffee date with a party of one, or a three-week vacation on the beach. The point is to take yours.

Distance gives us perspective.

It allows us to come back and see everything, including our lives, clearly. It gives us space to hear those weak signals we miss amid the noise of everyday life.

The pause isn’t always time away from the work - for me, it is very much part of the work.

4. Pay attention to how the return feels.

Speaking of weak signals - the return is a diagnostic.

Vacation life will probably always be a little more seductive than everyday life. I have yet to find the same enthusiasm opening my inbox as I do opening a bottle of rosé with friends.

But I do know that ‘returning’ shouldn’t fill me with dread, either. There should be something we are happy to come back to - friends, connections, a project we put on hold, the familiarity of a healthy routine…something. Reconnecting with friends and not only being able to share our summer experiences, but also swap plans for the months to come, is always a litmus test for whether or not I am on the right path.

I try to see how the return feels. What did I miss? What am I happy to see again? What immediately feels heavy for me?

And perhaps most interestingly: what didn’t I miss at all?

Those reactions contain information.

Sometimes we need to leave our lives for a moment in order to see whether we’ve created lives we actually want to come home to.

5. Start thinking about the harvest.

La rentrée also signals the end of summer.

And the end of summer means something else is approaching here in France: la vendange - the harvest. Literally, of course, this is the wine harvest. But I love thinking about harvest season figuratively, too.

We’ve spent the year planting things.

Ideas. Relationships. Projects. Habits. Dreams. Little decisions that we have made along the way - especially ones that didn’t seem particularly consequential when we made them.

And now we start to ask:

What grew?

What didn’t?

What have I been tending carefully?

What did I neglect?

Eventually, if we’re lucky, we get to see what all that planting and tending has produced. And here is the wonderful, and sometimes uncomfortable, truth about harvest: it reveals exactly what we've been tending. There is no hiding there.

Which brings me to a little reminder. My final Paris retreat of the year centers on exactly this idea. It’s called La Vendange, because yes, there will be wine - but more importantly, we’ll use the ritual of the French harvest as an opportunity to consider our own. (You can find out more about La Vendange here).

Wherever you work on your personal harvest - here in Paris with me, or there at home - I hope you take time to do this important self-reflection.

So those are the lessons I steal from la rentrée. But what does it actually look like to create your own rentrée? Here are five astuces to take with you into yours.

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5 astuces for your own personal rentrée

Whether you’re in Paris or Peru or Philly, you can steal a little of the spirit of la rentrée for yourself.

1. Recalibrate before you accelerate.

Before rushing back into the rhythm of real life, ask yourself what actually matters to you now.

Not what mattered in January.

Not what you told yourself you were going to prioritize six months ago.

Priorities change. We change. Give yourself permission to recalibrate before automatically picking up exactly where you left off.

2. Look for what has fallen out of balance.

Look at the different parts of your life: the people you love, your work, your health, your curiosity, your joy, your rest.

Are you giving attention to all the parts of your life that you said you would?

Where have things gotten a little out of whack? Where have you been investing time in things (or people) that you possibly shouldn't have?

Balance doesn’t mean giving everything equal time. It means making sure the things that matter aren’t perpetually getting whatever is left over.

3. Take a peek into your jardin secret.

You know that I love the French idea of the jardin secret - that private interior garden that belongs only to you.

As we enter into la rentrée, take a little inventory of yours.

What’s growing beautifully?

What needs more attention?

What could use some pruning?

What are you thinking about changing for the year ahead?

And what is evergreen: those essential parts of yourself and your life that you want to protect and carry with you into every season?

Not everything needs to be reinvented. Some things simply need tending.

4. Make promises to yourself that count - not ones that overwhelm.

Fresh starts have a funny way of making us want to change absolutely everything.

Resist the temptation. You don’t need twelve new goals, seven new habits, and an entirely new personality by October.

Choose the promises that actually matter, and find a way to make them sustainable. For me, that means making them special.

You’ll know that I love to journal in the morning. It isn’t what I would call fine writing, but it is an important part of my routine. For me, nothing turns a routine into a celebratory ritual like a new pen.

I believe our goals should keep us excited about our potential, not discouraged by the distance between where we are and where we think we should be.

Maybe make fewer promises to yourself this rentrée.

But make them ones you’re genuinely excited to keep.

5. Remember that you can restart the clock whenever you want.

This is my favorite lesson of la rentrée.

September is just a date we’ve collectively decided here in France to mean: It’s time to begin again.

And if we can do that in September, we can do it in November. On a Tuesday. At 4:17 in the afternoon. After something didn’t work. After we changed our minds.

After we realized that the thing we thought we wanted isn’t what we want anymore.

You don’t need a new year, a new month, a birthday (or anyone else’s permission) to declare a new beginning.

You can have as many fresh starts, as many personal rentrées, as you need.

Maybe that is the real magic of returning. We don't have to return as exactly the same person who left. Even better if we don't.

Surprise yourself.

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A prompt I’ll leave you with until next time.

À bientôt, mes amis!

-Jane

The Paris Pirouette - I’ve already got 2027 on my mind! Applications are now open for our next cohort, beginning in January 2027. I’ve taken your feedback to heart, especially the idea of starting our journey together with a celebration here in Paris before continuing virtually. So, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Between les soldes in Paris, the New Year, and setting our intentions for 2027, it’s going to be quite a couple of days!

→ Find it here.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about the Great Paris Pause. And you can really feel it in the city this year. Paris has emptied out, the rhythm has changed, and there is a sense that the city has collectively decided that things can just wait.

Meanwhile, many of my friends in North America, particularly in the U.S., are preparing for back to school. I have always loved this time of year. New notebooks (choosing the Trapper Keeper was always the highlight!), new pens and pencils (give me this any time of year), and new possibilities.

Here in France, we have our own version of back to school: la rentrée. And even though it is in September, we are beginning to prepare for it now. Through rest and recharge.

There is a rhythm to summer here that I have come to love. Before les vacances, there is the catch-up: let’s see each other before everyone leaves. Then comes la pause. And on the other side, there is another catch-up as everyone starts to return. Paris begins again.

But something has struck me during this particular pause. Almost every entrepreneur, business owner, or aspiring entrepreneur I have spoken with is using this time to get ready for la rentrée. They are thinking, planning, imagining, creating. They don’t necessarily tune out during the pause. They tune in.

Admittedly, my pause is a little different. Half the pleasure of it is finally having time to think and dream and imagine and create. That is restorative to me. I sneak away for quiet moments and let my mind wander. And somewhere in all that wandering, I started thinking about words.

I mentioned on Instagram that I was going to share a French vocabulary word each week leading up to la rentrée. It started with one word, and then another came to me, and another. So, in the spirit of back to school, I thought I would give you a little vocabulary list of your own.

Five French words to take with you into your la rentrée, wherever and whenever it may be.

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La Pause (click here to hear it pronounced)

I spent a whole newsletter talking about la pause, so I think you get the drift. The moral of the story is that it looks slightly different to each of us, and that is okay. For some, it is a three-week vacation in the sun; for others, it is taking time to have a perfect coffee date in the middle of the day (with others or alone). It’s so present in Paris right now that I cannot help but focus on it. It’s that moment between the inhale and exhale, where time seems to stand still, but magically starts moving again.

A pause is the space between what was and what comes next. It is the moment when the usual noise quiets just enough that you can hear yourself think again.

I’ve started to wonder if we sometimes rush so quickly from one thing into the next that we miss the opportunity to decide whether we actually want to bring everything with us. La rentrée is coming. The energy will return. The calendars will fill. Paris will fill. But before they do, there is this little precious bit of space.

What I love about la pause is that it doesn't give you the same sense of a break. It doesn't suggest that something has stopped or is over. Instead, it suggests you're simply shifting your energy elsewhere.

Physics tells us that energy never disappears; it simply changes form. You only have to look at Paris in August and then look at the French countryside to see that in real life.

And that's the beauty of la rentrée. That energy returns to Paris, but it returns transformed. We never have the excitement of la rentrée without first having la pause.

This is your reminder to take yours, however it may look.

P.S. This is one of the reasons I created Les Saisons Retreats. Three days of your personal Paris Pause to connect with yourself and others. FYI, my last one of 2026 is La Vendange, purposefully named after the wine harvest….if you want to prendre une pause in Paris with other fabulous women, I am waiting for you. Find out more here.

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Bouquiner (click here to hear it pronounced)

(FYI, Bouquiner is slang)

This might be one of my favorite French verbs.

Bouquiner means to read, but it suggests something different from simply lire. To bouquiner is to read for pleasure. Reading a book because you want to. Enjoying lingering over it, getting lost in it - letting it transform you.

Maybe even letting it teach you—which, for me, is the true test of literacy. Not the ability to read, but the ability to understand. With all of the noise we have today, I’ll admit that finding the time to read, being fully present and concentrated enough to make sure that I have clearly understood the author, is easier said than done. Just for this alone, I try to keep exercising that muscle, because it's so easy to lose it in the noise of everything else.

It also makes me think of the bouquinistes, those beautiful booksellers along the Seine whose green boxes are filled with old books, prints and other treasures; did you know they've been there for more than 450 years?

I love the idea of bouquiner as part of la pause. It’s a beautiful way to travel - without ever packing a bag. It expands your ideas, your thoughts, and sometimes even changes your mind.

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Profiter (click here to hear it pronounced)

This is a word I heard over and over as Paris began emptying for the summer.

Profite bien. Profitez.

Enjoy. Make the most of it. Take advantage of it.

I’m not an etymologist, but I love thinking about words, what they mean, and how differently they can land depending on where you come from. And of course, I love to make comparisons with words that feel like they could be similar between French and English.

As someone from the U.S., whenever I see profiter, I can't help but see the English word profit. When I hear profit, I immediately think of financial gain. Revenue. Perfectly wonderful, but something entirely different.

Profit (in the English sense) is what is left over at the end.

Profiter (in the French sense) is the gain you find in the middle.

Maybe the real profit is the freedom of an afternoon you didn't schedule. Or the excessively long lunch with a friend? Or the conversation that went on longer than expected? Or the walk where you were curious enough to take the small streets? Or maybe the space and time to create something simply because you wanted to?

Maybe this is the real profit, after all.

So as we head back into the year, profitez. Make the most of it. And maybe think a little differently about what counts.

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Oser (click here to hear it pronounced)

Oser means to dare.

This was the first word I shared on Instagram in my little countdown to la rentrée, and I keep coming back to it because I love how much possibility there is inside this very small four-letter word.

Another word that means something different to every one of us. For one person, oser might mean taking action. Starting the business, sending the email, asking the question, saying yes, getting on the plane; or another, it may mean doing something so small that no one else would even notice - but you do. Bonus for doing it, especially when a part of you believes you shouldn't.

It's a tiny act of defiance. And what could be more fabulously French than daring just because everyone (including you) expects you not to?

That is what I love about oser. You can look around and be inspired by others (FYI, Colette - above - is a great figure to get inspired by - she challenged expectations about marriage, sexuality, work, and what a woman writer could be), but your dare doesn’t have to look like anyone’s but your own. In fact, it shouldn’t.

So perhaps this is one of the questions to put in that brand-new back-to-school notebook: What would it mean for me to dare this year?

Not what is everyone else doing, but what would that dare be for you?

Oser. Dare greatly!

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Manifester (click here to hear it pronounced)

And finally, manifester.

This word has been on my mind because I see the word ‘manifest’ in it - and this has taken on such a particular meaning in English. While I'm relatively new to the astrology world, I have really been enjoying all the Lions Gate, Solar Eclipse energy encouraging us to set our intentions and dreams so that they eventually come true.

In the end, who really knows? I would rather err on the side of finding something positive and hopeful.

So there is a lot of conversation around manifesting the life we want. We imagine it. We visualize it. We put it out into the universe.

But I love what happens when I think about the French version of manifester.

To manifester is to make something known, to express it, to make it visible. And, of course, you will have seen that the larger action of this is une manifestation (a demonstration). People take to the streets for something they believe in.

But here is the beautiful thing - it’s kind of all the same thing. The French version simply takes it one step further: into action. And that is what I really love.

You don’t just wish for something. You show up for it. You make it visible. You stand behind it. You fight for it.

Manifesting isn't simply imagining the thing you want. It's deciding you want it enough to act.

So as we head toward la rentrée, maybe the question isn’t what do you want to manifest? It is: what do you believe in enough to make visible? What are you willing to show up for? What are you willing to fight for?

Dream it, yes -dream it wildly, dream it almost ridiculously - and then do something about it.

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So wherever this new season finds you, whether you’re heading back to school, back to work, back to Paris, or simply back to yourself, I hope you'll carry these five words with you. Consider them your little homework from Paris.

Pause.

Bouquiner.

Profiter.

Oser.

Manifester.

Pause long enough to hear yourself think. Bouquiner, and make room for things that not only give you pleasure but also expand you. Profiter, and reconsider what it means to gain something. Oser, and dare to decide what you actually want. Then manifester. Show up for it. Make it visible. Fight for it.

Maybe back to school isn’t only for the kids. Maybe that is the real gift of loving another culture, not simply acquiring new words, but discovering entirely new ways to think.

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A prompt I’ll leave you with until next time.

À bientôt, mes amis!

-Jane

The Paris Pirouette - I’ve already got 2027 on my mind! Applications are now open for our next cohort, beginning in January 2027. I’ve taken your feedback to heart, especially the idea of starting our journey together with a celebration here in Paris before continuing virtually. So, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Between les soldes in Paris, the New Year, and setting our intentions for 2027, it’s going to be quite a couple of days!

→ Find it here.

The Paris IncubatHER is growing! Thank you to all of you who have been so generous to share my survey. We are getting closer to my goal of 250 (yes my goal grows - as all should)!!! Thank you to each of you who have taken it and shared it in your communities!

Please help me by doing two things today….

1. Take the survey if you haven’t

2. Forward it to a friend, share it in your community groups, post it on LinkedIn - the more responses, the merrier! I appreciate each and every one of you for doing so.

→ Find the survey here.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about the in-between. And after toiling around with the idea a little more, I’ve come to realize that the in-between might actually be the best place to be. It’s the ultimate argument for being present; literally and figuratively.

From the in-between, you can see where you’ve come from and where you’re going in equal measure. But the real magic is realizing that, when you take the time to actually be present, things that once appeared to oppose one another can begin to complement each other. That is a power reframe I need from time to time.

And in its own way, the in-between requires a perfectly timed pause. A moment when you are neither rushing away from what came before nor racing toward what comes next. You are just smack dab in the middle.

Once again, la pause is an important part of the process.

And it just so happens that Paris gives us a masterclass in it. Every single summer.

You’ll know that the city empties out, restaurants and shops close for weeks at a time, and everyone else has fled for that sacred French institution: les vacances.

Paris has a whole new rhythm. And that rhythm right now is calm and quiet.

A girlfriend recently told me she felt like summer was ending as she packed up her belongings and prepared to head back to the U.S. It struck me because here in France, I feel exactly the opposite. Summer somehow feels as though it is just beginning.

There is still all of August ahead of us, and even September has a way of holding onto summer before everyone eventually reunites for that wonderful period called la rentrée.

But we’re not there yet.

For now, we are in la pause.

And as I write this, it gives me pause to tell you something.

A confession.

As much as I talk about la pause, it is one of the hardest things for me to do.

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Just days ago, a friend left me a voice note reminding me of the importance of taking a vacation - something that can be particularly hard for any business owner when being “away” can so easily translate into working from somewhere else. She reminded me of the importance of really taking time away and allowing myself the benefit of a fresh perspective.

She was right. And the timing was not lost on me because only days earlier, I had posted on Instagram reminding everyone else of the importance of doing exactly that.

Apparently, I’m much better at talking about the pause than actually taking one. (Some might say I’m generally quite good at giving advice that I don’t always take myself. I suspect I’m not alone there.)

It’s not that I don’t enjoy what another friend calls “summer brain.” I love summer brain. I just happen to like a summer brain that is still toying around with ideas. I like having time to think, wander, notice things, and let my mind go somewhere it normally doesn’t have the space to go.

And that’s when I realized something important about what la pause actually means to me.

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For me, taking a pause isn’t about tuning out. It’s about tuning in.

Tuning in to the dreams and ideas that have been trying to get my attention. Tuning in to what excites me, what I’m curious about, what I might more - or less- of. Tuning in to the thoughts that are nearly impossible to hear when they are competing with emails, responsibilities, deadlines, and the endless things that need to be done.

For me, time to sit with my creativity is rest.

And perhaps that is exactly the point. A pause doesn’t have to look the same for each and every one of us.

We hear so much about the importance of disconnecting and doing nothing, and I absolutely understand the value of both. But perhaps we also need to understand what actually works for each of us.

For one person, that might mean shutting off the phone and lying on a beach with a novel. For another, it might mean walking for hours, cooking, gardening, seeing friends, or finally having the mental space to play around with an idea that has been sitting quietly in the back of their mind.

Maybe the important thing isn’t what we do with the pause.

It’s what we remove from it.

The urgency. The stress. The rush.

Because taking a break is hard. Really hard.

We live surrounded by messages telling us to act fast, do it now, buy now, respond now, or risk missing out. FOMO is a powerful motivator.

Add to that noise the very real responsibilities of taking care of other people, running a home, building a career, running a business, and generally attending to the thousand little things that make up a life.

When there is always someone or something that could use our attention, dedicating some of it to ourselves can somehow feel indulgent. It can even make us feel guilty.

Against all of that, taking a pause requires a surprising amount of security and confidence. You have to trust that things will still be there when you come back. You have to accept that perhaps you will miss something (and be okay with it). You have to believe that not every open space needs to be immediately filled.

Most importantly, you have to believe that your time and your peace are every bit as important as all those other things demanding your attention.

Easier said than done.

Which is why, as I walk around a quieter Paris this summer, I keep reminding myself of all the things a pause gives us.

It gives us perspective.

It gives us creative insights.

It can deepen connection.

And perhaps most interestingly, a pause can teach us something about ourselves.

We know all of this, yet it’s so hard to take a break…

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Maybe therein lies the issue.

(You know how much I love reflecting on the nuances of French vs. English).

I still translate la pause as “taking a break.” But in French, it is quite literally: prendre une pause. To take a pause.

A break feels sharp to me. It suggests that something has been broken. Breaking something doesn’t sound particularly gentle. That doesn’t mean a break can’t be positive or absolutely necessary, but there is something about the word that suggests things may not be quite the same afterward.

A pause feels different.

A pause seems to promise that you can pick up where you left off. It is that soft space between that holds the “before” and the “after” together.

When I think about it that way, I realize pauses are everywhere. I think of professional athletes, and that split second before the jump, the swing, or the dancer above, holding her leg in mid-air for just a split second.

There is a tiny suspension before the movement, even if it lasts only a fraction of a second. The pause isn’t working against the momentum; it is part of what creates it.

And that’s precisely where Paris is right now.

But here is where I am defiantly Parisienne about this whole la pause thing.

P.S. I hope you’ll join me.

I won’t wait for a few precious weeks in August to give myself permission to pause.

I can’t afford to save up all my thinking, dreaming, noticing and recalibrating for one time of year. If la pause helps me tune in to myself, then it is up to me to find ways of injecting those pauses into my life all year long.

Some ways I will continue to do that:

Starting the day with morning journaling.

Finding pauses by walking. I will almost always choose my feet over transportation, and I have come to love a detour. Taking the longer route, turning down a new street, looking up.

There is something fabulously rebellious about refusing to make efficiency the goal of every journey.

Sometimes it’s simply being present enough to notice what’s around me. Paris rewards you for that.

And sometimes it’s coffee with a friend, letting the conversation wander from life to business dreams and back again.

None of these requires three weeks in August or an out-of-office message. Just the decision to take back a little of my own time.

And some days it is a battle, but I’m willing to keep fighting for my small act of résistance.

In a world that places enormous value on how quickly we respond, how efficiently we move and how much we can fit into a day, there is something perfectly Parisienne about deciding: Non. This little piece of time is mine.

That is la pause for me. What about you?

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A prompt I’ll leave you with until next time.

À bientôt, mes amis!

-Jane

Before you go:

Les Saisons - La Vendange - My retreat, named after this wonderful period of the year - the wine harvest - will take place this November, and applications are now open! I am biased, but there is so much we can learn from the harvest: what to cultivate, what to gather, and what to leave behind. If you’re looking for three days to step away, tune in, and reconnect with yourself and others, this is for you.

→ Find it here.

The Paris Pirouette - I’ve already got 2027 on my mind! Applications are now open for our next cohort, beginning in January 2027. I’ve taken your feedback to heart, especially the idea of starting our journey together with a celebration here in Paris before continuing virtually. So, that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Between les soldes in Paris, the New Year, and setting our intentions for 2027, it’s going to be quite a couple of days!

→ Find it here.

The Paris IncubatHER is growing! Thank you to all of you who have been so generous to share my survey. We are getting closer to my goal of 250 (yes my goal grows - as all should)!!! Thank you to each of you who have taken it and shared it in your communities!

Please help me by doing two things today….

1. Take the survey if you haven’t

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Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about rituals and how important they are in our everyday lives.

I asked us collectively to consider the role that rituals and ceremonies can play in our day-to-day lives. How can we use them to enhance our lives? How can we use them to spark joy?

I try to use rituals to disrupt the mundanity of reality. I ask myself all the time how I can turn the humdrum into the magnificent (yes, even those who live in Paris suffer).

Having to answer emails seems a bit more elevated if I am creative enough to turn it into an event. Maybe with candles. (Another curiosity: why did candles take on such importance in rituals? I must look into this.) I digress.

But this is not about rituals. Or maybe, in a way, it still is.

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Today, I wanted to talk about the in-between.

It is somewhere I live most days (figuratively), but it feels especially present right now, as we move between the national celebrations of the United States and France.

Earlier this year, I celebrated twenty years of living in Paris. Just last weekend, I celebrated the 250th anniversary of the United States, and now we turn our attention to the national holiday here in France.

And somewhere in the midst of all these celebrations, I finally discovered that the United States has something older than France.

Not the country itself, of course, but the history of the celebrations of our national holidays.

From what I have gathered, Independence Day became a federal holiday in the United States in 1870.

France officially designated 14 July - le 14 juillet, la Fête nationale - as its national holiday by law in 1880.

Technically, we designated a holiday ten years before France.

As you can see, I am preparing fodder for my next dinner party.

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And while I’m at it, I may just add a little sel to the wound.

My flag is older, too. The American flag was adopted in 1777; the French tricolore, as the official national flag in its current form, dates to 1794. Seventeen years later.

I won’t dare suggest that the French copied the colors of the U.S. flag.

Or maybe I shall - just for fun.

Just imagine me launching that discussion at the table at the next dinner party.

Maybe I have become French after all. I do love the idea of a good debate.

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While I can laugh and jest about all of this, one thing is clear: there is a long-standing friendship between these two countries. And it takes good friends and a certain intimacy to jest properly. You have to know someone well enough to argue with them, see their flaws, tease them, and still be allowed to give them a big bear hug afterward.

Which brings me to something I pull out around this time every year.

It is an old issue of Le Miroir, a French magazine that is no longer in print. This issue was published during World War I.

I found it hidden at the bottom of a pile of old newspapers in a brocante. (I love old newspapers. What about you?)

When I opened this issue, dated 14 July 1918, la Fête nationale (you know the French never call it “Bastille Day”), I expected stories celebrating France.

There wasn’t one.

Instead, I found something rare and beautiful.

The issue was all about the friendship between France and one of its closest allies - the United States.

Page after page celebrated that relationship: American Independence Day in Paris, French Legionnaires welcomed across America, Allied leaders standing side by side, and even a map showing how messages crossed the Atlantic long before email or the internet.

I’ve spent a long time looking through those pages. And two things struck me. First, more than a century later, the things being celebrated were so simple. And second, imagine having a friend who, even on their own “birthday,” does nothing but celebrate you. WOW.

Life lessons from 1918: Celebration. Collaboration. Trust. Presence. Friendship.

These pages felt less like history and more like a reminder of what remains important.

And perhaps, too, a reminder of the blessing of having two countries we care about, connect with, and resonate with (most of the time).

What I saw in those pages was not two countries becoming more alike. Their differences remained and, in many ways, were celebrated. It was their relationship, the exchange between them, that created something special.

Something that could only exist in the middle. There was no side to choose. The magic was in the mélange of the middle; the mixing of both.

And I think many of us here know that middle place rather well.

Perhaps this is why I have been thinking about the middle. The in-between.

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Having comfortably lived in the in-between for years. I will never profess, or try, to be French. Au contraire! Being different has allowed me to fit right in.

More than a year ago, I wrote about 10 things I love about France. I recently took a moment to look back at that list, and five things stood out to me. I think they are particularly fitting now because they are really about what it means to live in the in-between.

What you learn when you feel foreign.

And although these are lessons I learned from discovering a new culture, I don’t think you need to move to another country to understand them.

We can feel foreign in our own communities as our ideas expand and change; we can feel it at the beginning of a new journey in our lives; and we can certainly feel it as we become a new version of ourselves.

Through all of it, I keep these five points- and, most importantly, the lessons they taught me- in mind.

1. France makes me work. I have never felt that things came easily. I’ve always felt like I have had to work a bit harder than the rest to make things happen. Sometimes, the effort you put into achieving something is more rewarding than the achievement itself.

   Lesson: Putting yourself in a new environment takes work. But it is worth it.

2. It has taught me to own and use my differences. If you have read my memoir The French Ingredient, you will find a passage where someone said to me, “Jane, you will never be French.” And you know what? They were, and still are, correct. And I am perfectly OK with that.

   In fact, I have come to see its advantage. Being on the outside allows you to observe differently. You ask questions a local might never think to ask. And you get to decide what you want to adopt and what you want to leave exactly where you found it.

   Lesson: Our differences will always be our secret weapons. Lean into them.

3. It has made me love a spirited debate. Differences of opinion are accepted and respected. You only need to attend a French dinner party to appreciate that.

   Lesson: Surround yourself with people who challenge you. Have friends with different opinions - and enough mutual respect to enjoy the disagreement.

4. France has taught me to live in the middle ground and to appreciate the wonderful complexity of dichotomy. I may break out in a sweat if you ask me to return an article to a store (return policies are more flexible now, but I was traumatized in the early days), but I’ll be ready for a fierce business negotiation.

   Lesson: Two things can be true at the same time. Joy and grief can coexist. We can hate and love something simultaneously. I can be deeply American in the values I grew up with and still feel very at home in France. Living in the in-between has made me less inclined to choose one or the other.

5. France and its people made me curious. When you don’t know what you are doing and have more questions than answers, you must learn to observe and ask questions.

   Lesson: Remaining curious is a skill. It is something we have to train each and every day, especially when the mundane sets in.

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And this brings me right back to rituals.

Maybe the point of a ritual is to make us notice something we have stopped seeing. A candle makes answering emails feel different. A national holiday reminds us of history. An old magazine at the bottom of a pile in a brocante can make you think about friendship more than a century later.

I think rituals simply remind us to pay attention. And when we pay attention, we stay curious. We see things differently. We notice the beauty in places we might otherwise rush to leave. Even in the in-between.

Maybe your in-between is not between two countries. Maybe it is between two cultures you love, two careers, or two versions of yourself. Maybe you are somewhere between who you were and who you are becoming.

We tend to think of the in-between as temporary. A place to pass through on the way to somewhere more certain.

But I am beginning to think that in-between might just be the best place to be. The ultimate argument for being present…literally and figuratively.

The in-between allows you to clearly see where you have come from and where you are going, in equal measure.

You can love and appreciate both sides, learn from both, and know both well enough that, despite their blemishes, you continue to love them and be kind to them (Ahem, that includes a little kindness towards past versions of ourselves, too).

The real magic is realizing that when you take the time to be present in the in-between, you begin to see how things that once appeared to oppose each other can actually complement one another.

After twenty years of living between two cultures, I understand that the point was never to become one or the other.

It was learning how to love them from the middle.

Now, the fun will be learning how to apply that to the other parts of my life. What about you?

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A prompt I’ll leave you with until next time.

À bientôt, mes amis!

-Jane

The Paris Pirouette - My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business. Applications close on July 15th! I’m so thrilled to see what wonderful women will come together!

→ Find it here.

The Paris IncubatHER is growing! Thank you to all of you who have been so generous to share my survey. We are getting closer to my goal of 200!!! Thank you to each of you who have taken it and shared it in your communities!

Please help me by doing two things today….

1. Take the survey if you haven’t

2. Forward it to a friend, share it in your community groups, post it on LinkedIn - the more responses, the merrier! I appreciate each and every one of you for doing so.

→ Find the survey here.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about feeling perfectly out of place in Paris. It’s a feeling that, by the way, I’ve come to realize is our sweet spot. The very things that make us different are often our greatest strengths. Those differences are our grain de beauté (our beauty mark), our secret weapon. It’s something I’ve learned to lean into, even when it’s uncomfortable.

Speaking of uncomfortable...if you’ve been following the weather, you’ll know Paris has been experiencing record-breaking heat. Almost two weeks of it.

Thankfully, it finally broke last night with a spectacular thunderstorm. The kind that instantly takes me back to hot summer evenings at my grandmother’s house with fireflies (which, sadly, they don’t have in France!), backyard BBQs, a Slip ‘N Slide with friends, mudpies, and watching the fruits of my grandmother’s tiny garden come to life. All the things that make summer feel like summer.

As it always does, summer officially arrived with the Solstice d’été (Summer Solstice) when the sun lingers well into the evening. Here in Paris, that translates to daylight well past 10 pm. Normally, this is one of my favorite times in Paris.

But this year has been different. We’re used to the occasional heatwave lasting a few days. Not nearly two weeks. I’m almost embarrassed to admit that I still haven’t enjoyed my annual summer ritual: my first pique-nique along the Seine.

And that got me thinking...

Summer feels like the season of rituals and ceremonies.

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I found myself wondering what exactly a ritual is. While the word often carries religious connotations, today we use it much more broadly. The Cambridge Dictionary defines it as “a way of doing something in which the same actions are done in the same way every time.”

That made me think about why rituals are so important.

How do they play a role in ceremonies and in our day-to-day? Why do these small moments enhance our lives? How can we use them to spark joy? And perhaps the greatest joy of all is the ability to find joy in the little moments. My friend always reminds me of that.

I started thinking about this when recently when my friend Delphine returned to Paris for the weekend. Without exchanging a single text about our plans, we both knew there would be one morning reserved for our ritual: an early walk down the Seine, ending with ‘our’ breakfast at Carette on Place des Vosges (btw, Carette is one of the few places that serves breakfast early).

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It’s one of the best-kept secrets in Paris. While the afternoon queue stretches through the arcade, at 7:30 in the morning, we usually have the place to ourselves.

If we’re lucky, we’ll have the same waitress who already knows our order. The same breakfast every time, whipped cream included. It’s our ritual. Our little ceremony that somehow makes our time together feel comfortable, familiar, and especially special (maybe it’s the Crème Chantilly?).

(Shout out to who told me she gave her coffee date with her friend a name, the ‘Sacred Cup’…Delphine and I are going to have to up our game)

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And this time of year, I can't help but think about the rituals and ceremonies that shape our lives, both big and small. I’m lucky to have both France and the US to celebrate. In just a few days, the United States will celebrate its 250th birthday. July Fourth comes with its own rituals: parades, barbecues, fireworks, gathering with family and friends.

France will have its day ten days later (FYI: the French would never say Bastille Day. It's always la Fête nationale or le 14 Juillet)—similar, but different. And while you can get a Weber Grill here in France (pronounced "Veb-er"), the grand luxury brand is the Napoleon. Go figure.

Anyhow, the point is that these traditions and the rituals within do more than mark a holiday. They give us a sense of place. A sense of belonging.

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So of course I paused to think about the rituals I have been exposed to here in my adopted home. Some I happily employ, some I still struggle with, and some I admire from afar.

Speaking of rituals, you’ll know that there is a significant summer vacation period here in France - usually kicking off right after 14 July and continuing through August.

Did you know that the French have a whole language around the vacation period? If you go on vacation in July, you are a juillettiste, if you go in August, you are an aoûtien. More and more people (especially those without children) are taking vacations in September, so there is a new term: septembristes.

All that to say, in my opinion, the French love rituals - big and small. Whether it be the annual holiday, the morning café au zinc (slang for coffee at the bar), or setting the table on a random Tuesday night.

And it makes life feel a bit more sacred.

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This piqued my interest in the ‘French Greats’, and how they used rituals. It seems, after all, that greatness isn’t built on grand gestures; it’s built on tiny rituals that we just repeat over and over. The sum of its parts…

Kings, queens, artists, writers, and philosophers - many of France’s most influential figures were known to use simple, repeatable practices to shape their days. And those days, shaped not only who they were, but who they were becoming,

Here are a few that I discovered:

Louis XIV:
Apparently he started every morning following the same exact routine from the moment he woke - from dressing, to greeting courtiers, to attending Mass, to spending the rest of the day governing.

Honoré de Balzac:
Balzac was said to have had a particular writing practice. He woke around 1 a.m., wrapped himself in a white robe, brewed strong coffee, and wrote in silence for hours.

Victor Hugo:
When Hugo had big deadlines ahead of him, it is said that his servant habitually hid his clothes so he couldn’t leave the house.

Claude Monet:
Apparently, before ever picking up a paintbrush, Monet would spend hours just observing the light as it changed. His creative ritual was to start by just being present.

Simone de Beauvoir:
de Beauvoir's rituals were more around where and how she used space for her thinking. Apparently, she wrote in Paris cafés in the morning and only met friends later in the day.

Jean-Paul Sartre:
Sartre apparently treated Parisian cafés as his office - he is said to have returned to the same tables over and over again to write and think.

Madame de Pompadour:
Madame de Pompadour is said to have devoted time each day to cultivating herself - as a practice. She rigorously spent time each day reading, drawing, and having conversations with philosophers.

Marie Antoinette:
The ultimate rest practice. Apparently, Marie Antoinette slipped away most days to the calm of the Petit Trianon and its gardens to walk, read, and spend quiet time.

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I find so many lessons in these stories. Whether it’s creating a sacred space for yourself to do your best work, establishing a routine that helps you step into the person you need to be each day, making lifelong learning part of your daily practice, or simply remembering to slow down and rest. It’s these little rituals that shape who we become.

And then I look at my own life here in France.

It’s my friends who remind me to make our time together sacred. To choose a leisurely café over coffee on the run. To enjoy the daily trip to the neighborhood boulangerie. To wander through the Marché Bastille on a Sunday morning instead of treating it just as grocery shopping.

It has made me realize that almost anything can become a ritual.

What begins as a chore can become a ceremony. What starts as an obligation can become something you genuinely look forward to.

I'll be thinking about that the next time I sit down to write, respond to the pile of emails, or update the website (maybe not when I'm doing my taxes—that's a step too far).

But what if, instead of simply ‘doing’, I created a little ceremony around it? A favorite place. A candle. A particular playlist. A beautiful notebook. A cup of coffee (or glass of wine). Suddenly, it feels less like another task and more like something I get to experience.

Maybe that’s the fil rouge connecting all of these rituals.

None of them are extraordinary on their own. They’re simply ordinary moments, repeated with intention.

And perhaps that’s the real lesson.

Rituals don’t have to be elaborate. They simply have to be meaningful.

They transform the “I have to” into the “I get to.”

Maybe that’s what the French have understood all along. I’m still learning.

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A prompt I’ll leave you with until next time.

À bientôt, mes amis!

-Jane

The Paris Pirouette - the last of 2026 is now open!

My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business. This is a beautiful place to get uncomfortable, amongst extraordinary women like you. Running virtually August through December - January 13th and 14th, 2027- we bring the magic together here in Paris for two extraordinary days! Champagne and intention setting for the year ahead. Mais oui.

The Paris IncubatHER is growing! Thank you to all of you who been so generous to share my survey - I am ALMOST at 100!!! I’d love to double that.

Please help me by doing two things today….

1. Take the survey if you haven’t

2. Forward it to a friend, share it in your community groups, post it on LinkedIn - the more responses, the merrier! I appreciate each and every one of you for doing so.

→ Find the survey here.

You can sign up to keep track of what I am doing here on my website.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

The last time we were together, we were talking about creation. Such a big topic, isn’t it? And the real beauty of it is that it means something different to every one of us.

I’m lucky enough to know a cross section of people, ranging from doctors and lawyers to painters and writers. What I find fascinating is that even though they have differing ideas and definitions about what creation means, they all seem to agree on one thing:

Creation is messy.

I recently recorded a podcast about mess because you can’t have creation without embracing it.

Mess, after all, is the fabriqué part of creation. It’s the ‘how’ that ultimately gets you to the end result ... if there even is such a thing as an ‘end result.’

In fact, I’ve come to believe that you never really get to the end of anything.

You simply arrive at a version you’re ready to let go of (books are never truly finished; you just have to let them go… thanks to deadlines!). Or you end up with a version that invites you to begin again (renovations seem to finish only so they can start over).

And I have come to think that the same is true of ourselves.

The version of you that made choices five years ago, or even two years ago, or last year, may be very different from the version of you reading this today.

The creative process (even the creation of us) isn’t a destination. It’s a continuum.

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Somewhere inside that continuum, there are moments when you feel out of place.

You feel suspended between what was and what will be.

I’ve had many of those moments. I could reach into the recesses of my memory and tell you story after story about times I’ve felt out of place.

Paris, in particular, has a remarkable talent for making me feel that way.

But I’ve learned to love it.

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I love watching Paris work its magic on someone who is visiting and has fallen in love with her. They seem slightly different somehow, just a little outside themselves, in a way that feels thrillingly out of place.

I have a theory that there is a different version of you that arrives in Paris (there is scientific research to suggest we are different people when we speak another language. I argue that the same can be true of visiting a city.)

That version is familiar, but not quite the same. It lives its very best life until the moment you have to leave, and you tuck it away and ask it to wait patiently for your next visit.

And that feeling, that sense of being wonderfully out of place, even unlike yourself, is one of the greatest gifts Paris offers.

So, if you are like me and find yourself feeling perfectly out of place, let’s remind ourselves that settling into that beautiful place is where the magic is.

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Along that path, sometimes we need concrete reminders. A little proof.

Paris itself is one of those reminders. Paris, beyond all else, honors that when we dare to be different, we often discover that we fit in more than we imagined.

For a city that appears so uniform, look a little closer, and you’ll discover that Parisians have a deep appreciation for what stands apart.

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We have examples all over the city of things that are perfect out of place. The Pyramid at the Louvre, the Center Pompidou, Paris Plage (the Paris beach). All so perfectly out of place, and yet so much a part of the Paris landscape, we cannot imagine the city without them.

Or we can talk about the Pont Neuf wrapped by Christo and Jeanne-Claude forty years ago. Or the La Caverne du Pont Neuf installation we can enjoy today from JR.

Both were completely and unapologetically out of place. And that is precisely what made them unforgettable.

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Or let’s talk about this piece of art that I just found on the side of a bookstore.

Totally out of place - yet instead of painting over it or erasing it, they kept it. Honored it. Protected it.

What was once an interruption has become part of the story.

It’s a perfectly out-of-place piece of street art by one of France’s more celebrated street artists, Jérôme Mesnager.

If that is not enough….

Let’s talk about the people who were ‘out of place’ and all the impact they’ve had.

We’ve talked about Gustave Eiffel and his tower. We’ve talked about Jean de La Quintinie and the Potager du Roi at Versailles. We’ve talked about Berthe Weill and her gallery.

But there are others.

Let’s talk about Simone de Beauvoir, born in 1908. She challenged expectations about what it meant to be a woman. Much of what she wrote was controversial when it was first published, but today she’s recognized as one of the most influential thinkers of the twentieth century.

Let’s talk about George Sand. Born Aurore Dupin in 1804, she wore men’s clothing, smoked in public, criticized marriage…and published under a male pen name. She scandalized Parisian society while becoming one of France’s most celebrated writers.

Let’s talk about Olympe de Gouges, born in 1748. During the French Revolution, she argued that women should have the same rights as men - of course, she was considered radical and dangerous. Today, she is regarded as one of the earliest champions of women’s rights.

Let’s talk about Colette. Born Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette in 1873, she challenged social norms through both her writing and her personal life. Her work was often criticized for being too candid about women’s experiences. Eventually, she became one of France’s literary giants.

And lastly, one incredibly woman I just recently discovered thanks to my friend, - Germaine Guérin.

Guérin was a Parisian designer in the 1920s who focused on handbags at a time when fashion attention was largely directed toward hats and couture.

While most luxury houses treated the handbag as an accessory, Guérin essentially said:

The bag will be the star.

Which was a rather out-of-place idea.

But she stuck to her guns. And it worked.

The idea of handbags taking center stage felt out of place at the time. Eventually, that very thing is what made them fit right in.

Over time, she became one of France’s premier maroquiniers, listed alongside Hermès itself.

FYI - you’ll note the reference that her bags were carried by the ‘plus huppée de Paris’… huppe literally means a crest or tuft of feathers, as on a bird. In this context, it means swanky, high society.

Do you know her? I suspect not.

Even though her bags were carried by Grace Kelly, Audrey Hepburn, etc, she faded from history. Her revival is thanks to the very charming Arnaud Daupeux, whom I had the pleasure of meeting thanks to .

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So what is the fil rouge connecting all these stories?

The buildings. The architects. The artists. The writers. The designers.

They were willing to feel out of place. To proudly stand apart.

They leaned in, even basked in being ‘perfectly out of place’.

Eventually, they became celebrated for it.

Thank goodness they did - they ended up changing the world around them.

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Let these examples remind us to hold our heads high when we feel out of place.

Let them remind us of the joy and wonder that can come when we move through that discomfort of being out of place, rather than resist it.

Better yet, let’s learn to love that discomfort.

Because it is very much part of the process.

And perhaps one day we’ll discover that the discomfort of being out of place is not a warning sign at all.

It is a precious signal to tell us:

We are on our path - exactly where we need to be…

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A prompt I’ll leave you with until next time.

À bientôt, mes amis!

-Jane

The Paris Pirouette - the last of 2026 is now open!

My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business. This is a beautiful place to get uncomfortable, amongst extraordinary women like you. Running virtually August through December - January 13th and 14th 2027, we bring the magic together here in Paris for two extraordinary days! Champagne and intention setting for the year ahead. Mais oui.

The Paris IncubatHER is growing! Thank you to all of you who have taken the survey.

Register here to be the first to know.

Please do two things today….

1. Take the survey if you haven’t

2. Forward it to a friend, share it in your community groups, post it on LinkedIn - the more responses, the merrier! I appreciate each and every one of you for doing so.

→ Find the survey here.

You can sign up to keep track of what I am doing here on my website.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about creation. Here we are again, now celebrating Fête des Mères in France. Always a few weeks behind Mother’s Day in the States, as if France needs a little more time to do things on its own terms.

I am still on the theme of creation. It has loomed large this year, especially now that we are approaching the halfway point. And I keep noticing: it is not just me. Everyone and everything is creating, big and small.

It's been a season of conversations with women building things. Podcasts, businesses, whole new versions of themselves. I’m lucky to have had some deep, thought-provoking conversations with some truly amazing women - I want to share them here, if you don’t know them already, you should: Nicky Denson Elliot, Aggie and Cristy at Badass Women in Business, Louise at Loulabelles Francofiles, or most recently with my long-time friend, for her podcast The New Paris podcast.

And no matter the focus, the conversation always found its way back to creation, in some form or another. So many of the questions that surfaced have lingered with me. They prompted me to think about the questions I am asking myself these days.

Which makes sense. As you may remember, I entered 2026 with two words: Création and Fabriquer; Fabriquer in the sense of making something thanks to the work you put into it - the end destination is the Création.

I am trying to be on brand. And I am checking in with myself, and with you. I hope you do the same.

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The questions I ask myself…

These conversations, and the quiet moments between them, keep bringing me back to the same handful of questions. I suspect you know them too.

Am I building something that is truly mine?

Are the people around me the ones I have chosen, or simply the ones who were there?

Is the life I am living the one I designed, or the one that happened to me?

And, perhaps the most persistent of all: is it too late to change any of it?

These are not small questions. But they are the ones that surface when we are honest with ourselves. And what strikes me, after twenty years of building a life in Paris, is how much they mirror the questions I had when I first arrived - with all good intentions to stay on the path I had worked so hard to be on - in banking. No clue what would lie ahead of me.

It turns out that personal reinvention and building a life in a new city have a great deal in common. Both require you to actively create. And in twenty years of doing both, I have come to believe there are three things at the heart of it.

Creating friends and community. Creating a space of our own. Creating ourselves.

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Creating friends/community in Paris…

I’ve talked about it so many times before, but it is a subject I keep getting asked about, which tells me everything about how universal this experience is.

Paris taught me the hard way. Friendship here is not handed to you. It is earned slowly in the particular way Parisians extend trust. They are cautious, they are testing - what the French call se méfier, a natural wariness that can read as cold, but is simply their way of deciding whether you deserve a place in their world.

And like romantic relationships, where you are ‘dating’ until you discover you are a good match, I have learned over the years that ‘friendship dating’ kind of happens the same way. And it is equally disappointing (probably more so) when you discover, actually, you are not.

I’ve always said that friendship here is heavy. It is weighty. And honestly? I have come to believe that is exactly as it should be. I am more of a person with four quarters than one hundred pennies. I don’t know how I could be a great friend any other way.

I recently posted a podcast episode on this exact topic: This is why you are not making friends in Paris. And it is the reason and I recently sat down together for her podcast (you’ll see that out soon). This experience of seeking friendship and community is universal, whether you are new to the city or new to a version of yourself.

After twenty years in a foreign land, here is what I know: friendship is infrastructure. It is the chosen family. It is what transforms a city, or a whole chapter of your life, from somewhere you are passing through into somewhere you belong. It is incredibly important.

Having been on both sides of it, the newcomer trying to find her people, and the long-timer watching others navigate the same, I see the same patterns again and again. When someone new asks how to build real friendships here, I can’t always say what will work. But I can tell them what won’t:

Collecting people instead of investing in them. A string of coffee dates and name-drops doesn't signal that you want a deep connection, and most of the people I know don’t have time for shallow. Performing instead of connecting. Discretion is everything in French culture; showing off who you know, how you know them, and when you were last together is just poor form.

Treating a friendship as a stepping stone to the next one is noticed- and not forgotten. When someone connects you onward, handle that gift with care. No one likes to feel used or left out of a picture they helped create. This is especially true in France, where relationships are anchors to others — the social fabric here is woven tightly, and people remember how you moved through it.

Moving too fast. Oversharing too soon. Expecting American-style instant intimacy. These all signal that you have not yet understood where you are, nor the time and the care it takes to build a solid friendship.

And finally, perhaps the most nuanced of all, the inability to respect boundaries. If you are not able to operate within the ecosystem around you, you won't get further than a coffee date from time to time. If you want to know more about French culture and how it compares to other cultures, there is plenty of research available. I highly recommend reading the work of Erin Meyer a well respected expert in the area of cultural communitcations.

In the absence of that, here is my simple take: over time, people will open up to you, share with you, and invite you in. And that, here in France, is often the quiet signal that a meaningful friendship is developing. Probing and invasive questions tend to have the opposite effect.

The good news is that everyone wants the same thing: rich, close, sustaining relationships. The nuance is in how we approach it in our new surroundings - and that gap between what we want and how we pursue is the real work.

Exactly like the work of reinvention.

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Creating something of our own…

The French have an expression: se faire une place. To make yourself a place. Not to be given one, not to inherit one, but to make it, through the work of your own hands and your own vision. Moving to Paris requires a LOT of creating your own space. Even getting a word in requires it. In a language whose cadence welcomes people talking over and above one another, you have to be genuinely comfortable taking up space just to be heard.

By now, you probably know my story. When I opened La Cuisine Paris in 2009, I faced constraint after constraint. I had very few answers, but I did have one question I could not stop asking: What would someone who doesn’t know the rules do here?

That question was the whole thing. Not knowing the rules, I learned, means you get to make them from time to time (with respect, of course).

Creating something of your own is not always about building a business or a career. It is about building a place for yourself in the world; something that asks something of you, that grows as you grow, that is unmistakably yours.

The women I know who have reinvented themselves in the second half of life, the ones who are most alive, are not the ones with the biggest ventures. They are the ones who keep asking each and every day: who do I want to become in this space of mine?

The ‘becoming’ and the ‘creating’ have been their passion - the business, the brand, the focus can change along the way. What doesn’t change is the pursuit of themselves. And I find that, frankly, one of the most beautiful things I know.

Se faire une place. That, in the end, is all it really is.

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On creating ourselves…

Perhaps the most unexpected part of building a life in Paris, or of any real reinvention, is discovering that you are not only building a new life. You are building a new self.

Paris has an unexplained magic that alters your personal reality. So many people have become entirely different versions of themselves here. I only hope they remember that the magic of Paris is them.

When we leave familiar environments, many of the identities we carried along the way start to dissolve. We are no longer held to the same roles, the same expectations, the same version of ourselves others have grown used to. And in that space (terrifying and exhilarating at the same time) lies the beautiful possibility of becoming.

The French verb devenir (to become) has no natural stopping point. You don’t devenir and arrive. You are always, perpetually, gloriously, sometimes frustratingly, in the middle of it. Reinvention is not a single dramatic moment. It is the continuous act of choosing, again and again, who you are becoming. Twenty years into life in Paris, I am still creating myself.

I imagine I always will be. At least, I hope so.

We create friends/community. We create a space of our own. And through all of it, we create ourselves.

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And that looming question we have along the way is: How much time do we have to create? Is it ever too late?

According to Molière, it’s only when you reach 60 that you are finally entering your prime…

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So, whether you are just hitting your prime or on the way there, a prompt I’ll leave you with until next time.

À bientôt mes amis!

-Jane

You won’t want to miss this!

There are two more Les Saisons retreats for the year - three days with extraordinary women - mais oui. I’d LOVE to do more, but time is precious. If you are interested in joining, the applications are open.

The Paris Pirouette. My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business owners will run its last session for 2026! Meeting virtually before the grand finalé celebration here in Paris in January 2027 - perfect timing to start our year in the strongest way possible. The waitlist for first-to-know is now up.

MOST IMPORTANT

The Paris IncubatHER is taking shape. This is a program designed for women 45 and over who are ready to begin, or to move forward on, their own journey of creation. Register here to be the first to know.

And to really build this properly, I am spending a lot of time these days at StationF - I will share more on that later. In any case, I am eternally grateful that they accepted me into their ecosystem.

I love imagining businesses into being. I love watching others build - StationF is a hotbed for this. I love walking through start-up spaces and seeing what people dare to make. It energizes me in a way I can’t fully explain. And yet, every time I am in those rooms, scrolling through those communities, I find myself asking the same question.

Why are there not more women my age?

Not for lack of ideas. Absolutely not. The women I know over 45 are some of the most creative, experienced, dynamic, fearless people I have ever met. So what is the gap between the ideas that are so clearly there and the step that isn’t being taken? That question has been nagging me more and more.

And like most things that nag me, I start to feel like I need to do something about it.

Which is why I have one request today.

If you are a woman 45 and over who has ever had an idea (for a business, a community, a product, etc.) and talked yourself out of it, or simply never took the step, this survey is for you.

And then, please pass it on. To the women you are thinking of. To your group chat. To the friend who has been asking herself those same questions. That single act of sharing is how I can achieve the widest possible reach - and that is incredibly important for any meaningful research.

(FYI, for those who are interested, I will be setting up a specific account to keep you posted on my research and developments!)

I thank you in advance for your help and support!

→ Find the survey here.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about the importance of being delusional and daring to dream big. So big. In a way that just seems ridiculous.

I think Paris is made for the perfectly delusional - that is partly why it is so special. A city built for the dreamers - with building facades that look like wedding cakes, door knockers that belong in museums, and café chairs lined up like a row in a theatre. A place where it is easy to imagine a new version of whatever you are seeking. And when you are delusional about what you can create, I think great things can happen.

How appropos to talk about creation. Today is Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day, at its essence, is a celebration of creation - of bringing something into the world, of nurturing it, of releasing it eventually into a life of its own.

But creation, I have come to believe, takes many forms.

(FYI, it is American Mother’s Day. In France, La Fête des Mères arrives at the very end of the month, on the last Sunday of May. One of the small pleasures of bicultural life is that I get to celebrate twice. One of the small confusions is that I can never quite remember which calendar I am operating on. Today, in honour of my American mother, I am celebrating the second Sunday in May.)

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Speaking of creation…

Creation comes in many forms.

And while today may be about those who create children, let’s also think about all of the other forms of creation that women do each and every day: businesses, ideas, communities, art, movements, or entirely new versions of themselves.

I have not been a mother in the traditional sense (though I do have a four-legged two-year-old named Pantoufle). But I have spent much of my life creating - or at least trying. And over the years, I have realised that creation changes the creator just as much as the thing being created.

Perhaps that, too, is a form of motherhood.

To nurture something invisible into existence. To care for it before anyone else understands it. To release it into the world knowing — and hoping — that it may evolve beyond you.

It makes me wonder what the true definition of successfully creating something would be. Perhaps success is achieved when the thing can sustain itself beyond you. When it has, in essence, become its own.

Speaking of becoming…

One of the biggest lessons I have learned is that I do not arrive at clarity through thinking alone.

I arrive there through action. I cannot make something become what I truly want until I have spent a significant amount of time playing with it. If the first version of something is V1, by the time I get to a product or idea or business that I am moderately happy with, it is well into version 1000S. And I suspect it is like that for most things. Developing anything is an iterative process.

In other words : clarity through action. In order to find clarity, I have to create. Not the other way around.

I move. I test. I experiment. I build before I fully know.

Sartre once wrote:

“L’homme n’est rien d’autre que ce qu’il se fait.”

Man is nothing other than what he makes of himself.

I think about that often - the ‘making’ is in fact ‘creating’.

And we must remind ourselves that ‘creating’ is an active verb. Creation is not only about what we build. It is about the building itself - it is about who we become as we build it. It is really about the process along the way.

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Speaking of Process…

I often think about the great ateliers of Paris — artists working publicly, imperfectly, surrounded by critique, experimentation, and refinement.

No work — not art, not a book, not an idea — arrives fully formed.

Creation is messy. Communal. Refined over time.

You have to let the thing leave your mind and exist in the real world: the product, the business, the idea, the identity, the dream, the new version of yourself.

Once something exists publicly, something fascinating happens. You gather information. You learn how the thing actually feels outside the safety of imagination.

Creation, I have learned, is refinement. And to really start creating, you have to do so outside of the confines of your mind. You have to be willing to put it into practice — to, as I say, test in public.

Creation requires movement first. Refinement comes later. And as you refine, you also must prune.

Speaking of letting go…

One of the hardest lessons of all is understanding that creation is not permanence.

We often believe that because we created something, we must remain loyal to it forever. But nothing alive is static.

Not businesses. Not careers. Not relationships. Not identities. Not dreams.

What once felt deeply aligned may eventually no longer fit — because you have evolved, or the world has, or your clients have, or your desires have. All of that is normal. In fact, how could it not be is the real question?

How could we be expected to believe that what worked for us five years ago should work for us now? If it does, that means we are entirely the same person — nothing has changed, we have no new information, we have not evolved by one iota.

How sad.

I hope we regularly go back to the drawing board to reimagine things. That takes creative courage.

Outgrowing something you once loved does not invalidate what it gave you.

Nothing meaningful is wasted. Old creations become fertiliser for future ones. Everything that I have built, every reinvention I have attempted, every success and every failure has become raw material for whatever came next.

And whatever is next is never done alone. It’s always thanks to my community.

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Speaking of community…

Creation does not happen alone.

France has a long tradition of salons — gatherings where artists, writers, philosophers, and thinkers came together not simply to impress one another, but to sharpen one another.

Ideas were discussed and debated. Tested collectively.

This is why the community you are in (the soil you are planted in, as you have heard me say) matters so deeply to your creative process.

And not just any community. A safe one, a trusted one, and most importantly, an honest one. One that nourishes your ideas while also protecting you from your blind spots. One that loves you enough to tell you the truth.

Sixteen years ago, I thought a fabulous idea for a class theme could be Gastro-Vous — a smart little play on gastronomy and you. Clever, no?

Fortunately, a friend reminded me that in France, gastro is shorthand for stomach flu. Not exactly the branding we were going for at a cooking school.

I can laugh at it now, but the point is: thankfully, because I shared the idea early with people I trusted, we killed it before it ever became a thing.

That is the value of a safe community that you can share with. They help refine the idea. They catch what you cannot see. And most importantly, they keep you focused on where you want to go. When things feel hopeless, they can inspire you to keep moving forward.

Speaking of inspiration…

Creativity requires inspiration.

And inspiration becomes difficult to find when life becomes, well — too lifey. When repetition and complacency set in, it is hard to create something new when you are constantly seeing, doing, and consuming the same things.

Even here in this beautiful city, Paris reminds me that inspiration is not passive. It is cultivated. The version of Paris that you love is the one you have cultivated. And maybe, a specific version of yourself along with it.

Paris also reminds me that life, and growth, and development, and creativity, lives between the lines. It sits in the quiet spaces. It lives in long walks, in beautiful bookstores, in meals shared with friends, in slipping into a museum on an ordinary Wednesday afternoon. It lives in allowing yourself to remain curious about life.

Part of the responsibility of being creative is intentionally placing ourselves in environments that nourish inspiration. We need new conversations, new perspectives, beauty, challenge, curiosity, movement, and possibility.

We need spaces that remind us we are still evolving; and that to evolve, sometimes we have to shed the shell we have outgrown.

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Speaking of Evolving…

CCreation and loss exist together.

The other side of creating something new is allowing something old to fall away.

To become something new, an older version of yourself may need to loosen its grip. An identity. A routine. A belief. An attachment. A former dream.

The French have an expression — in essence, the same as every cloud has a silver lining:

“À quelque chose malheur est bon.”

Even misfortune is good for something.

I have often found this to be true in creation.

The ideas that failed. The identities I outgrew. The things I had to release.

None of them was wasted. They became material for what came next. Nothing meaningful disappears entirely. It transforms. It evolves. It becomes part of what comes next.

But creation still requires release.

You cannot fully hold the new while gripping the old with equal force.

Perhaps that is what Paris has taught me most over the years:

A beautiful life is not built through permanence.

It is built through continual creation.

Until next time - get your journal out and ask yourself this:

À bientôt mes amis!

-Jane

You won’t want to miss this!

The Paris Pirouette. My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business owners will run its last session for 2026! Meeting virtually before the grand finalé celebration here in Paris in January 2027 - perfect timing to start our year in the strongest way possible. The waitlist for first-to-know is now up.

The Paris IncubatHER is taking shape. I have some exciting developments to share and I will do so soon. I’d love to keep you updated. We all have a different definition of an entrepreneur - for me, it is a spirit, not necessarily a business. I am designing something for women over 40+ who are longing to take the leap into that space (in whatever form) but aren’t sure where to begin. Paris is a hotbed of inspiration. I am waiting for you. Register here to be the first to know.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about constraints and criticism — some great lessons I have learned here in the City of ‘Non’… Spoiler: if you haven’t read it, I have come to love the creativity that comes from constraints, and the excellence that comes from critique. All thanks to Paris.

And the wonderful thing about Paris is that she still teaches me something new each week — some of which are exasperating, but new lessons nonetheless. Some of the lessons come in the harsher moments, but a lot come in the quiet, softer minutes of the day…when I am daydreaming.

The most recent lesson I have had, and it only took me twenty-plus years, is that Paris is really for the delusional.

Yes, you read that right.

Two years ago, my book came into the world. And as I think about that anniversary, I keep thinking back to all the years that led to it. Leaving corporate, not really having a clear direction, and then pursuing this crazy idea. My friends and family thought I was delusional. They told me as much. And I was.

But when I went fully into the crazy, that is when Paris (and the universe) put their arms around me.

So yes. I have my days when I am perfectly delusional. And my theory is that this is exactly why I have survived living in Paris for twenty-plus years.

Speaking of theories…

You know I love a theory now and then. So here is mine. Paris is best enjoyed by the perfectly fabulous delusional. Even though she is well put together, with a tidy little bow on top, she loves a bit of crazy. She even rewards it.

Let us not forget that Système D was born here — the idea that you will find a way, your way. And the more absurd, almost the better. I tell a story in my book about my manager parking on the median, between two lanes of opposing traffic. I was gobsmacked. His response? Hiding in plain sight. No one would be delusional enough to park there. And guess what. The car was there when we came out of the meeting. Paris rewarded the delusional. It always does.

Paris has always been a city of unreasonable people. She loves those who oser those who dare, those who don’t feel the need to follow the rules. Those who are delusional enough to imagine something different. In the end, it is the butting up against the status quo (the constraint), the pushing against that neat little package, that gives Paris its spark.

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Speaking of spark…

There is nothing like the sparkle in the eyes of the people I get to see visiting Paris. For those few days, they are someone entirely new - shoulders back, proud, arrogant, seductive - all the things they can’t or won’t be back home. They dare to be this new version of themselves, and Paris rewards every bit of it.

I see it most vividly in the women who come to my retreats. They sign up with courage and curiosity (and without much information at all), just a feeling. Their friends tell them they must be delusional to do so. They are. In the most beautiful way.

Because here is what I have come to believe: acting delusional (in a responsible way) means two things. First, to dream it. And second, to have the intuition to actually pursue it — without the answers, without the information, without any guarantees that it will work. All the better, I say.

But the Paris delusional magic isn’t new - it goes back centuries.

A city built on so many dreams and hopes does not belong to the reasonable. It never has.

Speaking of new…

New doesn’t mean easy. Sometimes being first is the hardest job of all. You carry the burden of asking people to accept something completely foreign.

Let’s face it, most breakthroughs start off looking… a little unhinged.

Take Gustave Eiffel. When he proposed the Eiffel Tower, people didn’t just dislike it — they hated it. Artists and writers called it a monstrosity, something that would permanently damage Paris. And honestly, you can see why. A 300-meter iron skeleton in the middle of a historic city? It must have felt completely excessive, even delusional. And yet it has become the defining symbol of Paris. Not in spite of its crazy boldness, but because of it.

Then there is Berthe Weill. In 1901, this delusional woman decided to open a small art gallery in Montmartre (she omitted her first name from the sign to conceal the fact that she was a woman). She backed unknown artists - just a few names you might know…she was Picasso’s first dealer, she believed in him and other artists like Matisse, Modigliani, Chagall, and Rivera before anyone else did. They called her Mère Weill. Mother Weill. Which, in French, kind of sounds like merveille. Marvel.

Fast forward to 1977, and we have the Centre Pompidou. Who on earth said yes, fine idea — let’s put a colorful giant hamster cage in the center of Paris? Le Figaro called it “Paris has its own monster, just like the one in Loch Ness.” Not only is it an architectural feat, with the building's innards on colorful display on the outskirts, but it also remains one of the most visited cultural buildings in Europe.

Then there is Christo and Jeanne-Claude wrapping the Pont Neuf in 1985. If you try to explain that idea in a meeting, it sounds ridiculous: let’s hide a historic bridge under fabric. But that’s exactly why it works. And now, years later, we will be lucky enough to see Pont Neuf transformed once again, thanks to JR. This June, JR will be reimagining Paris’s oldest bridge.

And in 1989, the same story with the Louvre pyramid. When I.M. Pei unveiled it, people were outraged. A sharp, modern structure dropped into the middle of a historic palace courtyard? It felt wrong. But over time, it didn’t diminish the Louvre at all - today, the pyramid is as much a part of the Louvre as the Mona Lisa.

And our most recent delulu example: the 2024 Olympics opening ceremony. No matter what your opinion of it is, you have to step back and consider its boldness. Thomas Jolly was delusional enough to believe he could pull off the first ceremony ever held outside a stadium, on the very narrow Seine. And he did.

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I could go on.

When you line these up, it’s hard to ignore that none of those ideas sounded reasonable. They felt too big, too ridiculous, too out of sync with how things are done. But that’s exactly the point. If an idea makes perfect sense right away, it’s probably not big enough.

Maybe delusion isn’t the right word. But it is the willingness to believe in something before the rest of the world.

Because without that gap between what exists and what someone believes could exist, there would be no innovation.

So consider this your permission slip. Not to build something, not to launch something, not to prove anything to anyone. Just to dream it. Delusionally. Unreasonably. Without needing to know where it goes.

People in Paris have been daydreaming and conjuring up magic for centuries, and look how that turned out.

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Speaking of daydreaming…

Dreaming big matters because it drives innovation - and reinvention, it is what moves us forward. But here is my caveat: dreaming big is not always about what you ultimately create.

Dreaming big is also, no matter what comes of it, very good for your creative practice. Just the act of imagining something new: a new product, a new image, a new version of you. That alone matters. It is practicing and tuning your creativity muscle.

I always say: if you don’t feel you have a sense of creativity, it will negatively affect your confidence. If you don’t feel creative, you can’t reimagine yourself. You can’t reimagine your business. You can’t reimagine your problems. Which brings your confidence down, affects your creativity, and creates a loop you can’t escape.

But being, feeling, and doing creative things take work. The good thing is that we can all do it - especially if we practice dreaming big!

Speaking of dreaming big…

If you haven’t allowed yourself to do that in a while, don’t feel bad. You are not the only one. Just getting through day-to-day can be enough. BUT, if you want to practice, here are a few tips.

One. Let yourself daydream. Give yourself those quiet moments between life as normal - just think (not about your to-do list!). Just allow your mind to wander. For me, a mundane task (mopping is my sweet spot) always helps. If you need thought candy, daydream about what you would like to see and do, maybe even stretch it to what you could become. Or, focus on something tangible - what about that product or service you use every day? How would you improve it? Ask yourself what you would do if you were in charge.

A note on this: this is about exercising your creativity muscle, not condemning yourself if you don’t pursue it. You never know how it might fuel another idea.

Two. Journal on it. When an idea comes to me, I try to be diligent about writing it down (this is a work in progress). I’ll sit with it for a while. If it really excites me, and if I feel my energy rising, I may take one more step. I might start a back-of-the-napkin research to see if something similar exists…I might come up with a name — if I do, I'll check whether it’s already a registered domain. If it’s not, I may buy it. A few dollars a year to set aside for a potential dream is a very good investment, in my opinion.

A note on this: Before I ever have a business plan or a real case, I am willing to do the minimum to just give myself the option. Whether anything comes of it is really not the point. If it does, all the better; I’ve already taken one step.

Three. Find your people. Curate the space where you can speak those dreams — big and bold — with people who can and want to hear them. Sharing these delusional dreams needs to be done delicately. You cannot have people around the table who want to compete with you, who cannot see you in a different capacity, or who simply don’t have the same spirit. This is not the time when you need someone to accidentally squash your dreams.

A note on this: I love my friends and family, but they may not always be the people I have these discussions with. Not because we don’t love each other, but because they are used to seeing me in one particular way. And, imagining me outside of that is hard - and of course, they want to protect! So I work hard to find that circle — the people I can sit with and have the wild, crazy, impossible conversations. The ones who get revved up right alongside me - and luckily, I do have a few friends in that camp. That dream circle is everything.

The real point of this is daydreaming and daring and just being a tad bit delusional; it's not a bad thing. Quite the contrary…and we can all do it. Whether or not we are in Paris.

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I will leave you with two French words to live by.

Oser. To dare. Se rêver. To dream.

They are the beginning of every story worth telling - including yours. That is where it starts. Not with a plan, not with a roadmap, not with anyone’s permission.

Paris has been doing it for centuries. The delusional ones always win in the end.

Until next time - get your journal out and ask yourself this:

À bientôt mes amis!

-Jane

A few things before I go….

The French Ingredient is two years old!

This April marks two years since The French Ingredient was published! You’ll remember that I had been planning something special to celebrate. I planned to send little parcels from Paris, and La Poste said non (with tariffs and customs issues - you can only send the equivalent of a letter to the US through La Poste).

Thanks to that, I had to pirouette.

Two years ago, when I did my petite book tour, at an event in Chicago, this amazing human came up to me and presented me with a beautiful candle - a candle inspired by my book! Handmade with a delicious scent!

Meet The Librarian’s Candle Co., created by Andrea Hetzke, an elementary school librarian from the Chicago area. She is a true artist at heart and has a beautiful small business combining her love of books with literary-inspired products!

For the month of April, while supplies last, you can order a Book and Candle bundle - The French Ingredient bundle! AND at a special discount!

Each book will be signed, and you have the option of dedicating the book to someone special (including yourself) - you just need to enter the name on the purchase form. If you already have the book, maybe this will make a fun gift for someone else!

You won’t want to miss this!

The Paris Pirouette. My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business owners returns in June, meeting virtually before the grand finalé celebration here in Paris during the festive Beaujolais Nouveau season in November. Registration will close soon - join us!! Find out more here.

The Paris IncubatHER is starting to take shape. I am working behind the scenes, and I’d love to keep you updated. We all have a different definition of an entrepreneur - for me, it is a spirit, not necessarily a business. I am designing something for women over 40 who are longing to take the leap into that space (in whatever form) but aren’t sure where to begin. Paris is a hotbed of inspiration. I am waiting for you. Register here to be the first to know.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about les papillons - butterflies. I developed a theory that we have the same type of ‘Butterfly Effect’ with people who come into our lives. I have been thinking about that a lot these days - because as I look around me, I have plenty of butterflies. Those that flutter their wings and change my trajectory — for the better.

It's a beautiful reminder that we can have such an impact on others - just through small acts. Sending the email to tell someone you believe in them. Talking about them when they are not in the room. Sharing their work. Even just clicking 'like' on a post to let someone know they've been heard. Those are all butterfly moves.

But today, I want to talk about something else that Paris has taught me. Something that, at first glance, seems like the opposite of butterflies and beauty and possibility.

I want to talk about constraints and criticism - some great lessons I have learned here in the City of ‘Non‘… ahem, Light.

Speaking of Constraints…

I started today with a real one. One less hour to work with.

If you didn’t know, here in Europe, we finally had Daylight Saving Time last night (what the French call heure d’été). So, with all the things on my to-do list, including my newsletter, I now had to pack them into fewer hours.

Frankly, I deal with constraints all day long. We all do. But owning a business will open up another level of navigation around constraints. And then having that business in Paris?

Paris is the queen of constraints.

Impossibly tiny streets. Impossibly old and creaky buildings. No straight lines - no straight streets. A body of water running through the city center. Rules on what you can and can’t do… like La Cuisine Paris cannot change the colour of the facade without the city of Paris's approval (no building facing the Seine can). And buildings, they can only be six floors tall (thank goodness — we all know what happened when that restriction was temporarily lifted: Tour Montparnasse).

And then there are the cultural constraints.

In the most beautiful city in the world, which I have come to love, if you stay for any extended period of time, you’ll realise that under the beautiful facades, there is an undercurrent of non. And not just non — but non with a detailed explanation of exactly why.

Welcome to the city of critique.

The French are said to be complainers. But I’d rather use the word critical — and I have come to appreciate and even love this. My French friends share the same opinion, but we all wonder where this tendency came from.

In three separate conversations, as always happens with my French friends, we got into culture, history, and philosophy — one of them rationalised that this really began during the Renaissance, during the time of François Iᵉʳ, when intellectuals were really recognised as authorities. And authority meant having an opinion.

But opinion means real opinion. Not just fluff. What some might consider a critique.

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Speaking of Critique…

I grew up with the saying: if you have nothing good to say, don’t say anything at all.

If I were to translate a similar sentiment into French, it would be: if you have nothing of importance to say, you are ‘simple.’

And here I need to pause. Because one of the worst things you can be called by a French person is simple. And simple is not the opposite of complex.

Simple is the opposite of intelligent.

So, opinion of importance means notably adding to the discussion, having an opinion that adds value. And, right or wrong, that adding of opinion can often feel like criticism.

If your opinion is meaningful, it must improve on what already exists. Saying the colour in the presentation is good or fine doesn’t add anything (I twitch with memories of twenty years ago in the bank) - saying it would be better if it were two shades darker shows that you have really considered it. It couldn’t already possibly be perfect or excellent. Nothing ever is.

Your opinion should be doing your part to make it better.

Welcome to the land where nothing is amazing - nothing is spectacular.

The closest you will get is:

‘C’est correct**’: it’s correct - which is actually very positive.

‘C’est vraiment pas mal**’: the operative word being vraiment. Now you are in gold-star territory: it’s really not bad.

And then of course we have the somewhat confusing ‘c’est pas terrible**’ — it’s not terrible. Which actually means it pretty much is terrible.

(**grammar police: I am writing these the way we tend to hear them spoken)

This is the world of nuance, complexity, and constraints. But this is why I have come to love Paris. And I think you do too.

Would you love her if everything were big and straight-lined and vast and easy? Non.

Speaking of ‘NON’…..

And here is what I have come to realise (twenty years later): all of that non made me better.

Before I approach anyone - a potential partner, a new supplier (yes, even though I am the ‘buyer’, I cannot take for granted that they will want to work with me…), I have to think of every possible angle before I even walk in the door. I have already considered how they might push back. I already have ten examples of how it can work. I have already thought about what would make this a win for both of us. Some people might call these negotiating techniques.

I call them living in ‘French’.

Paris trained me never to assume the answer is yes. And, in doing so, to be more prepared, more thoughtful, more creative in how I show up.

The city of non turned out to be the greatest school of achieving a oui I ever attended.

Speaking of teaching…

Here’s what Paris taught me: constraints don’t limit creativity. They ignite it.

Think about Haussmann. He came along and essentially said: same stone, same height, same facade. A city in uniform.

And what happened? People got creative in the margins. The doors. The ironwork. The courtyards hidden behind those identical facades.

The constraint didn’t kill the creativity. It concentrated it.

And then we have Jean de la Quintinie, whom we talked about last time.

Louis XIV tasked him with building the royal kitchen garden, le Potager du Roi, near the château, so the king could enjoy it. There was just one problem: the site was a marais (a swamp). So swampy, it was known as the étang puant - the stinking pond.

Any reasonable person would have said: impossible. Find another location.

La Quintinie said: d’accord, on y va.

He installed an underground aqueduct, drainage systems, and raised beds. He engineered microclimates. And because that terrible terrain forced him to think differently about how plants grow, he ended up harvesting asparagus in January and strawberries in March — producing fruits and vegetables entirely out of season, something nobody had done before.

The stinking pond became one of the most extraordinary gardens in France.

So whether it is a garden from more than 400 years ago, or a present-day iPhone that solved the constraint of how to travel with a computer, a camera, and a phone all at once, the pattern is the same.

The constraint wasn’t the obstacle. It was the catalyst for invention.

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Speaking of (re)invention…

I am still working on my list of what you need to invent - and reinvent. But I have pretty much fine-tuned the list of what you don’t need.

You don’t need: prior experience, less or more time on the earth, the right ‘time’, the right network…none of it.

And you certainly don’t need permission.

In 2009, I founded La Cuisine Paris. I had no prior entrepreneurial experience. No culinary training. And at the time, not even a strong foundation of French. If you are keeping a list of constraints, those rank pretty high.

But here is what I didn’t see at the time: those very limitations forced me to look at everything from a completely different angle than the people I was working with. I couldn’t rely on the way things had always been done - because I didn’t know how things had always been done - thank goodness.

I had to ask different questions. I had to listen harder.

And what I have come to realise - years later - is that this is one of the greatest reminders of the importance of all the things YOU bring to the table - and how precious they are, especially when they are different from anyone else.

When I embraced them, my constraints helped fuel creativity.

Indeed, you can build something, not in spite of gaps, but because of them. Even if people critique you along the way.

Speaking of critique…

Critique, or let’s face it… criticism, is just a constraint with a voice.

I cannot say I enjoy it all the time, but I recognise criticism can sharpen you. Not just your ability to deliver it in a constructive way, but your willingness to receive it.

It prepares you to defend what you believe in, or it shows you where you were soft. Either way, you come out more solid. More ready.

The French, with their relentless nuance and their refusal to say “that’s amazing,” have been training me all along. And in the best way.

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Speaking of training…

La liberté, c'est la faculté de choisir ses contraintes - Jean-Louis Barrault

Freedom is the ability to choose one’s constraints - Jean-Louis Barrault

When you are in the middle of evolving -I mean, really changing - one of the biggest constraints is the story you tell yourself. Not just what others see when they look at you, but what you see.

But what if you trained yourself to use that constraint - that old self-image. What if you had your La Quintinie moment? What if you took that tiny jardin secret and used every single centimeter to fill it with beauty? What if the tiny-ness of it made you think very carefully about what you will plant and where? How powerful that garden would be!

We all face constraints each day. One of the most powerful: your environment. The same apartment, the same commute, the same mirrors, the same conversations. When everything around you reflects who you were, it can be very hard to see who you are becoming.

This is one of the reasons why I continue to build what I am building. My retreats, Les Saisons, exist because sometimes the most creative thing you can do is change the setting entirely. Step into a different garden. Let Paris flutter its wings on you. And The Paris Pirouette - my six-month mastermind for women entrepreneurs. Constraints can be turned into helpful frameworks - if you look at them this way.

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Speaking of looking closely…

These days, more than ever, I have been looking at the most precious constraint of all, the finality of things. I went back to Palais Royal to show my friend the Magnolias, and they were pretty much gone.

That made me think about my biggest constraint - our biggest constraint: my one little finite life.

And the many versions of it I could live - if I dared.

What about you? How many could you have? How many can you imagine for yourself?

That creativity to imagine doesn’t come despite that constraint. It comes because of it.

The real question is what we are willing to do about it.

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Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with :

À bientôt mes amis!

-Jane

One more thing before I go — a little avant-première for you…

This April marks two years since The French Ingredient came out. I had been planning something special to celebrate. It involved care packages from Paris, filled with beautiful things from the small businesses I love here. And then La Poste said non (with tariffs and customs issues - you can only send the equivalent of a letter to the US through La Poste).

I sat with that non for quite a long time - it was pretty deflating. And then it forced me to get creative. More coming in April - but it is the best thing that could have happened. It involves a beautiful soul from the Midwest, a hand-poured candle, and a story that started two years ago in Chicago. You are hearing about it here first. Stay tuned for April 1st!

Retreats in Paris. For the fabulous women who need to rediscover their magic. The retreat calendar is updated - and with more to come!

The Paris Pirouette. My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business owners returns in June, meeting virtually before the grand finalé celebration here in Paris during the festive Beaujolais Nouveau season in November. Registration is open now!! Find out more here.

The Paris IncubatHER. We all have a different definition of an entrepreneur - for me, it is a spirit, not necessarily a business. I am designing something for women over 40 who are longing to take the leap into that space (in whatever form) but aren’t sure where to begin. Paris is a hotbed of inspiration. I am waiting for you. Register here to be the first to know.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about le printemps. Despite the fairly cold temperatures we have had as of late, spring is here - with or without March 21st.

Somehow, the image of birds, bees, and les papillons (butterflies) conjures up in my mind.

Did you know that France has around 260 butterfly species and is apparently one of the richest countries in Europe for butterflies? Even if the most interesting ones live around the mountains in France, we do find them in Paris- most often in Jardin des Plantes, Jardin du Luxembourg, Jardin des Tuileries, and obviously anywhere you have flowers and plants.

Basically, butterflies will appear in most of les jardins…even in the secret ones, like yours.

You know I was going to go there. Everything leads back to our Jardin Secret, and this is the season to think about what and who you want to cultivate in it.

(BTW - if you didn’t see, I updated the Free Journal Prompts Workbook. You can download your copy via my website)

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Speaking of cultivating…

I have been cultivating a new theory. Bear with me.

You have probably heard of The Butterfly Effect. The scientific definition is something like this: the idea that a small change in one place can result in large differences elsewhere. The famous example being: a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can cause a tornado in Texas.

In essence, it’s chaos and mathematics - it’s real, even if the butterfly part is metaphorical.

You’ll remember in my last newsletter, I suggested that we each need to play scientists in our own worlds, seek understanding, find theories, test them - in our own gardens…very much like Jean de La Quintinie in Le Potager du Roi.

So I have been doing the exact same - and I have a theory:

The Paris Papillon Effect.

I think Paris is a Butterfly Effect type of city. A liminal city. A place that sits between who you were when you arrived and who you become while you’re here. I have watched it happen to others. I have lived it myself. Something about this city has a way of fluttering its wings on you, without warning, and sending your life in a direction you never saw coming.

And here’s what I’ve come to believe: it’s not the Eiffel Tower doing it. It’s not the Seine, or the café crème, or even the light.

It’s the papillon - the butterflies - the people. The ones who land in your garden for a moment and leave everything rearranged.

I’ll be the first to tell you that I’ve been lucky to come across so many beautiful species of these butterflies - and I only wish I had known it at the time, rather than in hindsight.

But today I want to talk about a different kind of butterfly.

Not the ones you spot on a walk. But rather the ones that show up in your life, stay for a moment, and somehow change everything.

I’m an introvert - I’ve been pretty open about that - so sometimes I genuinely have to push myself to get out, meet people, be in the room. And I say push because that’s exactly what it feels like. But here’s why I keep doing it anyway.

Every meaningful shift in my life - the opportunities, the ideas, the moments that took me somewhere new - they didn’t happen because I sat quietly and waited. They happened because of a person. Someone who looked at me and said, I see something in you. Or asked me a question I couldn’t stop thinking about. Or simply said yes when they could have said no.

Those are the butterflies we all need.

With one little flutter, they can change everything - they can be a beautiful disruption to your life.

I know this because I have had a few of my own.

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Speaking of a beautiful disruption…

There are so many butterflies that have crossed my path, but there is one in particular that changed everything. One manager in the bank I worked with so many years ago. The person who said ‘oui’ to bringing me to Paris.

That one yes.

Had he not said yes, there is no Jane, twenty years later here in Paris. There is no La Cuisine Paris. There is no book, The French Ingredient. There is no me, writing to you right now from the 12eme. None of it. I mean that literally.

He was not an easy butterfly, I'll tell you that. He was tough, demanding, and meticulous in ways that weren't always comfortable. But looking back? I thank him for each and every tough moment — not because I enjoyed them then, but because I have come to realize that we are inextricably connected. All of those parts are very much a part of me. At the time, I certainly didn't feel like it was what I needed — but it was exactly what I would come to need, and I didn't even realize it.

He didn’t just open a door for me. He made sure that if I found one closed, I would open it myself.

I am forever grateful. Forever indebted. And I think about him every single time I sit down to write to you.

That is what one person’s yes can do.

Who is your butterfly? The person whose yes, whose question, whose belief in you sent you somewhere you couldn't have gotten to on your own. Do they know what they did?

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Speaking of wandering into someone else’s jardin…

Sometimes you have to be the butterfly. Courageous enough to explore, to wander, to step into the unknown. Because the most extraordinary beauty is often found just beyond the path you always take.

There’s a story in my memoir about Jardin du Palais Royal. I lived three minutes away. Three minutes. And I missed this garden, and the magnolias in bloom, because I was too stuck in my routine to turn a corner I’d never turned before. Same walk, every day. Safe. Familiar. Predictable.

And then one day I just…went a different way*.

There it was. This gorgeous oasis right in the center of Paris. Stunning. And I felt a little ridiculous that I had been that close and that oblivious for that long.

I go back every year now when the magnolias bloom - to make up for that one year I missed them. It’s become a little ritual. Not because the magnolias are the point, but because that moment is the point - the reminder of what happens when you step off your usual path, even just slightly, even just once. You might be dazzled by what you find.

That day, I was the one doing the wandering. I flew into someone else’s garden, a world that had nothing to do with my usual routine, and I came back different.

And these days, the gardens I wander into aren’t always green ones. Sometimes they’re filled with people instead of plants. A room full of strangers who turn out to be anything but. A community, where the whole point is to show up, be open, and see what grows. Those gardens count too. Maybe even more.

Whose garden have you been walking past without stepping into? Where have you been sticking to the same path, literally or figuratively, and what might be waiting just around the corner?

*You’ll know that the story is also an analogy for daring to take a new life direction.

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Speaking of keeping the gate open…

Your Jardin Secret is yours to tend, to protect, to love. The people in it matter enormously. But a garden that never lets anything new in goes very quiet, very fast. And a gardener who never wanders into someone else’s? Well. She might just miss the magnolias.

Open the gate this spring. Go somewhere a butterfly might find you. And while you’re at it, be willing to be someone else’s.

You don’t always know the impact you have.

Neither did my manager, I suspect. Neither did I, the day I turned that corner at Palais Royal.

Speaking of creating the right conditions…

I actually did a little search on comment attirer les papillons dans son jardin - how to attract butterflies into your garden. Once again, Mother Nature has so much to teach us.

The primary feedback from most sites was: 1) keep your garden natural (i.e., be yourself), and 2) it just takes time (good things cannot be rushed).

And France taught me this lesson better than anywhere.

Building relationships here was nothing like anything I had known before. I had to learn to think completely differently.

As I wrote in The French Ingredient:

“The French are like feathers themselves, I thought. I just had to leave my hand open and let them slowly drift down in their own time. If I tried to grab them in midair, the air from my hand would push them away. I had to be patient and adapt and move to let them land, delicately.”

Butterflies are the same. You don’t chase them. You create the conditions. And then you wait…with an open hand.

Here’s how:

• Show up somewhere new. Butterflies don’t find closed gardens. Say yes to the thing that feels slightly outside your comfort zone - the event, the introduction, the coffee with someone you don’t know well yet. You have to be findable.

• Be genuinely curious about people. Not networking-curious. Not transactional-curious. Actually curious. Ask the question you really want to ask. Listen like the answer matters. Butterflies come back to gardens that make them feel good.

• Let people see what you’re growing. This one is hard. But if nobody knows what you’re working on, what you care about, what you’re reaching toward -how will the right butterfly know to land? Share your work. Share your thinking.

• Be the butterfly for someone else first. Tell the person in your life what you see in them. Make the introduction. Say the thing you’ve been meaning to say. Generosity attracts generosity. It always comes back around.

• Tend your garden consistently. Butterflies return to the same gardens year after year - but only if the conditions are right. Show up for your community. Stay in touch. Be the person who remembers. The relationships that change your life are rarely built in a single moment; they’re built in all the small ones.

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And lastly - maybe most importantly - you need to be ready to be your own darn butterfly. Your own cheerleader.

Enjoy fluttering around and caring for your own Jardin Secret. You have to love building your jardin — your project, your business, your dream — when no one else is looking. Fall in love with the act of creating your own beauty, especially when you are feeling like a lowly caterpillar.

Throw those wings back and soar. You never know who you might inspire and dazzle…most importantly, yourself.

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Bon jardinage, mes amis!

Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with :

À bientôt mes amis!

-Jane

Retreats in Paris. For the fabulous women who need to rediscover their magic. The retreat calendar is updated - and with more to come!

The Paris Pirouette. My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business owners returns in June, meeting virtually before the grand finalé celebration here in Paris during the festive Beaujolais Nouveau season in November. Registration is open now!! Find out more here.

The Entrepreneur Paris Boot Camp. This is coming soon, so keep an eye out! Designed for women over 40 who are longing to take the leap into entrepreneurship (in whatever form) but aren’t sure where to begin. Paris is a hotbed of inspiration. I am waiting for you. Register here to be the first to know.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about l’amour. I did feel mildly guilty about my title, Finding Love in Paris… a handful of people told me that the newsletter wasn’t what they expected. But I hope in a good way. Sometimes it is good to be surprised.

Kind of like I am surprised that March is already here!

Bienvenue, Mars.

The long-anticipated month- March. The month that feels synonymous with spring. It is one of my favorite months, simply because it is when we really start to see change and transformation- a subject you know I love.

Nature reinvents herself once more.

On the 21st of March, we will have our first official day of Spring, and there in Europe, just before the end of the month, on the 29th of March, we officially leap forward by one hour.

While those are weeks away, if you look around Paris right now, spring is not waiting for whatever date we’ve circled on the calendar. She never does. She gracefully arrives on her own time - and who really is to decide if it’s early or late? She is already here, already moving, already becoming. And I love that.

It reminds me that growth does not consult our schedules. It responds to readiness.

So, in preparation for the spring that seems to be arriving whether or not we are ready, here in my Paris apartment, I continue to grow a small garden. And while I don’t have a green thumb, I like to think I have a dream thumb (sometimes).

I plant with optimism. And yet I am human…I water inconsistently. I forget. I find my dream shriveled up in the corner. I begin again.

But even in my small corner of the city, the rules of gardening remain: what is not cared for does not grow.

BUT- if you do dare to care for it, you might just create something absolutely magical.

Magical, like one of my favorite potagers in the world.

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Speaking of potage…

A small note before we go further: a jardin is created for aesthetic enjoyment (think Jardin des Tuileries), all symmetry and beauty. A potager is something else entirely. It is a working garden, grown for food.

I love the play on words here. Potager is the word in French for a vegetable garden, and potage is what most English speakers will recognize as soup. How perfectly apropos.

Life, I think, is more potage (soup) than jardin.

It is a thick soup. Composed of everything we choose, or neglect, to throw into the pot. In any case, we will end up feasting on whatever we take time to cultivate.

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Speaking of cultivating…

I love the Potager du Roi not because I am a horticulturalist, nor an avid gardener. And I’ll be honest, it’s not simply because it’s French (you know me by now).

I love it because it is a spectacular example of dreaming big.

The Potager du Roi was commissioned by Louis XIV as a passion project and a 40th birthday present to himself. He chose an impossible site: a marais behind the Château de Versailles. And not the chic Marais you may be picturing here in Paris.

The word marais means swamp. The head of the project was even more improbable- a stuffy lawyer by trade: Jean-Baptiste de La Quintinie.

Out of sheer perseverance, creativity, and perhaps a little royal stubbornness, one of the most famous gardens in the world was built on land that was once unusable, uninhabitable, and written off.

And yet, through the ingenuity of Jean-Baptiste de La Quintinie, that swamp became one of the most extraordinary kitchen gardens in the world.

This is what really sticks with me: the reminder that improbable is very different from the impossible.

La Quintinie was not simply a gardener. He was, in his first life, a lawyer. A man heading toward a perfectly respectable, perfectly mapped-out future. It took a trip to Italy and the sight of a beautiful garden to change everything. He walked away from the law and never looked back.

And he went all-in (we’ve talked about that before). He was truly a scientist of his secret garden.

He experimented. He engineered. He developed pruning techniques (thank him for developing the pruning tool as well!) that shaped how we garden today. He trained fruit trees against stone walls to coax warmth from unlikely surfaces.

And yes - he failed.

Crops didn’t take. Seasons turned against him. Plans and techniques that looked promising on paper collapsed in real life (ahem, we all know this).

But he approached the garden like a scientist, which meant nothing was wasted.

What didn’t grow became information (and compost). What failed became data. Each misstep allowed him to refine, adjust, and try again.

He perfected techniques of season extension, used glass frames and protective structures, mastered espalier to trap and radiate heat from stone walls, and created microclimates to grow fruit entirely out of season.

He was obsessed with controlling the environment to allow for maximum growth.

He treated absolutely everything as something that could be engineered.

Most importantly, he didn’t wait for perfect conditions. He engineered them. WOW. Now there is a lesson.

That mindset transformed not just a swamp, but a culture. What was grown for the king reshaped the French diet. People wanted to eat what the garden produced. One man’s disciplined experimentation influenced a nation.

Dreams, it turns out, can grow anywhere.

And guess what, this more than 340-year-old plot of land is still there today, and more relevant than ever. I hope you visit it one day. Just like its master, the garden itself has reinvented itself into one of the most prestigious learning grounds in Europe. It is now the site of the École nationale supérieure de paysage - where each plot of garden is meticulously cared for and studied.

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Speaking of plots of land…

As we move into this season, coming out of winter, where I hope you’ve done some quiet preparation, I want us to remember a few key gardening techniques for our own jardin secret.

That small plot of land in the mind and heart where we cultivate our personal and professional lives.

Let’s make La Quintinie proud.

In a land where agriculture is absolutely revered, we have much to learn from the people who supply us with what ends up on the table.

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1. Organize your planting.

You don’t see corn, soybeans, and cabbage thrown randomly into the same patch of soil. Farmers are strategic. They plant according to light, soil, and season.

Your goals deserve the same respect. Not everything belongs in the same space. Separate them. Evaluate them. Let each one grow where it has the best chance to thrive.

2. Tend to your soil.

Soil is everything. It is the nutrient bed that determines whether your seeds survive. For me, soil is community - the rooms you place yourself in, the conversations you entertain, the people who water you with encouragement, or drain you of light.

Farmers know that healthy soil is not an accident. They rotate crops so the same patch of life is not asked to give the same output endlessly without replenishment. They test for what’s missing…not just nutrients, but the capacity to absorb them. And sometimes growth isn’t about adding more. Sometimes it’s about loosening what has become too rigid and too compacted.

Be intentional about your soil.

3. Prune and prioritize.

A garden can explode with possibility. So can your imagination. Every idea may feel brilliant. Every opportunity, exciting. But not all of them are meant to grow right now.

Pruning is not rejection. It is wisdom. Some things need to wait for another season.

4. Pull the weeds.

And don’t be fooled! Some weeds look like beautiful flowers.

We’ve all nurtured ideas, projects, and even people that dazzled at first and depleted us later.

Pluck them out unabashedly.

5. Don’t let it overgrow.

Neglect leads to overwhelm. An unattended garden becomes tangled and heavy. The longer you wait, the harder it is to re-enter.

Small, consistent maintenance prevents overgrowth.

6. Marvel at what appears.

Sometimes something grows that you didn’t plant. A seed carried in by the wind. An unexpected opportunity. A joy you didn’t plan. Leave room for magic in your jardin secret.

And when it happens, pause. Enjoy it. Study it. Celebrate it.

7. Plant in the light.

Every garden requires sunlight. If you want something to grow big and robust, you must bring it into the light. Speak it. Give it air. Share it.

That said, be thoughtful about who you invite in. Tend your delicate seedlings with care, and share them only with those who will treat them the same way. Not everyone needs access to your jardin, and the seeds you are quietly growing deserve protection.

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And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom. - Anaïs Nin

So — what is in my garden this spring?

I’m so glad you asked. Because this year, I am being intentional about what I plant, where I plant it, and how much light I give it.

I organize the seedlings of my jardin secret into different plots. I’m sharing a few of them below. `

PS- If you need a little help organizing yours, be sure to sign up here for my free prompts. I will soon be updating them for the Spring!

Plot One: Health and Fitness

This is the most tender plot. The one I tend to keep private, but I want to bring it a little more into the light this year. And when I say health, I mean whole body - including mind.

I am growing both movement and stillness - both have a time and a place, and this year I want to really cultivate each of them.

I am also growing curiosity. More walks with no destination. More noticing. More saying yes (which is hard as a natural introvert).

This plot is not really for show. But it feeds everything else.

Plot Two: Cultural — The Cultural Garden

I am finally taking advantage of Paris the way she deserves. Spending time discovering the many cultural outlets we are spoiled with. I haven't done so as much as I'd have liked; I simply didn't make time.

I am growing my voice as a speaker. I want to step onto more stages and lock eyes with the women out there who realise that reinvention is theirs to have, at any age. Those who need to be reminded that they ARE the magic, and may just need a little gentle push to see that again. Those who recognize that the story I wrote is not only mine - it’s all of ours.

If you know of a conference, a gathering, or an event where this story belongs, please send it my way. I will travel.

Plot Three: Professionnel — The Professional Garden

This is the plot I tend with the most discipline - and the most joy.

PS_ As many of you know, La Cuisine Paris is my first baby. Like any proud Founder, I've watched her grow. At 16, she is mature enough now to let me tend to other things I love.

1:1 Coaching. I am continuing to work alongside a handful of remarkable women. If you need a business-savvy partner with 20+ years of French sensibility, I would love to chat. This work is among the most rewarding I have ever done.

Retreats in Paris. For the fabulous women who need to rediscover their magic. Every woman who has joined me has been exceptional - and you know the saying, birds of a feather. The retreat calendar is expanding to cover all seasons. If you’d love to stay updated, sign up here.

The Paris Pirouette. My mastermind group for women entrepreneurs and business owners returns in June, meeting virtually before the grand finalé celebration here in Paris during the festive Beaujolais Nouveau season in November. If you’d like to be notified, register here.

The Entrepreneur Paris Boot Camp. This is coming soon, so keep an eye out! Designed for women over 40 who are longing to take the leap into entrepreneurship (in whatever form) but aren’t sure where to begin. Paris is a hotbed of inspiration, and I intend to make the most of it. Register here to be the first to know.

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And whatever you are growing in your jardin secret, I hope that before too long, you taste the sweetness of something you once planted quietly.

And once you harvest that little dream, continue.

Because there is no end to a garden.

It does not finish. It does not conclude. It simply moves from season to season: planning, preparing, blooming, harvesting, and beginning again.

Bon jardinage, mes amis!

Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with :

À bientôt mes amis!

-Jane

Hope to see you in Paris one way or another!

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we talked about finding miracles in Paris. I confessed that I ask for a miracle most days, and without fail, they show up. But we both know that seeing a miracle (and beauty) is always in the eye of the beholder. I guess that goes for love, too. So today, I want to talk about l’amour.

I may have misled (and possibly seduced) you into this newsletter with that clickbait of a title. But welcome to Paris. She is the ultimate seductress, making just about anyone- man, woman, or child- fall hopelessly in love with her.

Fitting, I think, since Février is the month of love, and we just passed Valentine’s Day, which the French have wholly adopted. For a city so synonymous with romance, you might be surprised to know that when I arrived many years ago, there were very few Valentine’s chocolates to be found, nor was there much celebration of Halloween. But now there are, and I love it simply because it brings a little joy. And yes, it is absolutely okay to have joy. Even now.

So Paris and its habits have evolved. And so have I. And I can tell you, after twenty-plus years of living together, we haven’t always seen eye to eye. But we are still together.

Which brings me, naturally, to the subject of real love. Profound love.

Twenty years of living in Paris has taught me a thing or two about love, and the biggest lesson is this: you can fall in love, and out of love, and back in love as many times as you choose.

‘Choose’ being the operative word.

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Speaking of choosing…

I have something to tell you. What I’m about to say might shock you, but it needs to be said. And I think by the end of this, you’ll understand — you might even take away a nugget or two for the next time you fall out of love with something.

Let’s start with Paris (look away if you are sensitive.)

I hated Paris.

I never thought I would end up here. Quite the contrary. I couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. After my very first experience, I made up my mind: this was not a city I ever wanted to live in.

As a teenager who desperately wanted to fit in, my first trip to the City of Light reminded me, over and over, that I just couldn’t.

Every time I came back after that, it was nothing more than a jaunt, a little weekend getaway. Convenient, yes. Two hours and a bit on the Eurostar and you’re in a different land. Interesting, but not fascinating. There was no pull whatsoever.

And then, because life can be cruel and beautiful at the same time, an opportunity arrived. A wonderful role in banking…(wait for it) in the Paris office. I was crestfallen, and yet, how could I say no?

Even as a local, trying my best, Paris smacked me down at every turn. As an only child, I came to imagine her as the very beautiful, very popular big sister who made me feel like a toad at every possible opportunity. It could be as simple as someone asking if I was injured because I’d worn gym shoes to work, or a shop assistant informing me, without a trace of hesitation, that the blouse I’d chosen was “far too small for my frame.”

It’s only been through years, time, and healing that I’ve come to love Paris.

And I do love Paris. Truly love her - probably not for the reasons you’d expect.

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Speaking of reasons you’d expect…

You may think that I love Paris for the beauty, but after all this time, I have to say that I look past that and see something a little deeper.

First and foremost, I love her profoundly because loving Paris means I can love myself. Paris is twenty years of me. She has shaped so much of who I am, even the tough, ragged parts. All those times Paris knocked me down? Paris actually taught me I could get back up. Again. And again. And again.

So, no. I didn’t love Paris in the beginning. But I eventually managed to fall in love with her.

I’ve fallen out of love with her several times as well. And, I’ve even threatened to break up with her on several occasions.

But we are that love affair that always finds its way back. And this is why:

1. Paris taught me that truly loving something (or perhaps someone) means you really know it. It means you can see it for what it is. It means having a love so intimate that you can clearly see all the deficits, the issues, the blemishes—and still choose to love. Paris taught me that.

2. Paris taught me that it is perfectly normal to fall out of love with things. It’s hard, maybe even impossible, to stay enchanted with our work, our situations, our lives… But here is the magic in that: it gives you the wonderful, exciting chance to fall back in love—if you’re willing.

3. Paris taught me to be confident in who I am. Not to search for someone or something else to become. Once I fully adopted and accepted myself, strong American accent and all, Paris accepted me too. In fact, this is when Paris loves me most: when I am unapologetically, entirely myself. How very Parisienne.

4. Paris taught me how to be strong. Most of my life’s disappointments, pain, letdowns, and failures have happened here in this tiny city. And somehow, not by magic or courage, but by sheer stubbornness — I just kept going.

   Paris’s motto is, after all, Fluctuat Nec Mergitur ; tossed by the waves, she does not sink. Paris demands that same spirit from her citizens, on all levels. From getting a delivery to applying for citizenship, to descaling - wrote a lovely piece about this.

5. Paris taught me to stand my ground. Literally and figuratively. There is no such thing as a queue here; lines of any form are not respected. You only need to look at the streets, the way traffic moves through the city, and of course, the ‘typical’ queue to get in somewhere (spoiler: there is none, it’s more of a mosh pit). And figuratively, if you want a seat at any respectable dinner party discussion, there is a great reward in the art of debate. Having an opinion counts; having the guts to share it counts even more.

6. Paris taught me when it's better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Just recently, I found myself sneaking a photo of a beautiful old wooden clock at Gare du Nord, just tucked away behind the Eurostar check-in and customs area, no longer in public view. I knew I probably shouldn't. I did it anyway. I was duly reprimanded and promptly redirected the conversation to the elegance of French clockmaking. The guard, I could tell, took personal pride in that (there is another lesson there, but I digress). And so yes, I have broken a few rules from time to time, but then again, anyone learning the French language will tell you that rules are meaningless; exceptions are the rule.

7. Paris taught me that you can make the mundane exciting. Nothing here feels left to chance, not the seating placement at the dinner party, not the way you greet someone*, and not even the simple concept of receiving a delivery. It is always ‘extra’ and in the most fantastic way.

   
   *There is a debate, even amongst the French, as to when you can say Bonsoir. Some will argue it is a hard and fast rule of 18h/6 pm, some will say according to the sun.

   “Être parisien, ce n’est pas être né à Paris, c’est y renaître.”- Sacha Guitry

   To be Parisian is not to be born in Paris, it is to be reborn there.

And we must remember that the name ‘Paris’ is just a label. The Paris that each one of us knows is very unique - it’s personal.

But one thing we know for sure is this: Paris is nothing but the sum of her parts. A mosaic of all her pieces, some beautiful and brilliant, some rugged and ugly (just like all of us) - but when you step back and take them in as a whole, they are magnificent.

And for me, that magnificence isn’t really the Eiffel Tower, or the shimmering Seine, or the gorgeous golden horizon (albeit I will enjoy a gander and will take photos from time to time.)

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It is the people.

The community that comes together, on a grand scale and a micro one. The artisans who start shy and abrupt, but by the end of it, are posing for a photo. The artist who takes pleasure in the workmanship in the tiniest of details. The vendor who takes time to tell you about their favorite huîtres (oysters), and then the fun of eating them on the market - with wine at 10 am - merci and .

The little shop where the owner hasn’t changed in decades (and that, you realize, is exactly what you love most about it), the artisan who takes time to invite you in to really learn about their work. The friend that you can enjoy a three-century-old rug with, because you know seeing through their eyes is what will make it special - merci , the friend that in your community shares your work, and the work of other small businesses, merci .

It’s all those beautiful little things that make me fall in love with Paris (and my life) - even when I have broken up with her.

And so, I want to offer you something to sit with.

Paris didn’t teach me about love by being easy or beautiful or endlessly charming. She taught me by being complicated, and demanding, and occasionally infuriating- and still showing me that I could make it here anyway.

If I chose.

Because choosing to love something, or someone, or perhaps even ourselves, is a choice we can make every single day.

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Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with :

A bientot mes amis!

-Jane

PS - I updated my journal prompts to focus on your Jardin Secret this winter! This is the perfect time to tend to your garden.

If you need to step away from the noise and have a refresh and reminder of how fabulous you are, take a look at my retreats, Les Saisons. They are built around you and for you - to reflect the various seasons we are all in.

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

Last time we were together, we spent a good deal of time talking about the concept of Going All In - and what it really means.

The beautiful thing is that it can mean something different to each of us. These days, when it feels so heavy and tumultuous, it is even more important to remember. You can do the right thing your way, which might look very different from mine. There is room for both. There is a place for both. All good deeds and gestures count.

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Speaking of counting…

Being 161 years old and still relevant is quite an accomplishment.

Not too long ago, I spent a few hours with a 161-year-old Parisian gallerist, Berthe Weill - and I have to tell you, I am completely enchanted with her (she is firmly ensconced on my list of role models).

In just a few hours, boy, did she teach me a lot (thanks to the incredible Lynn Gumpert, who brought Berthe to life for me and so many others). You can read about the exhibit I attended in this excerpt here.

Berthe Weill (1865–1951) was a trailblazing French art dealer. She opened Galerie B. Weill in Paris in 1901, making her the first woman to establish a professional art gallery in the city.

She was the first person to sell works by Pablo Picasso in Paris, and she is known for having provided early support to masters like Matisse and Modigliani. Her gallery hosted the first group exhibition of the “Fauves,” a movement that redefined the use of color in the early 20th century.

On top of that, in years where it was unheard of, Weill actively promoted female artists, such as Emilie Charmy, ensuring they had a platform alongside their male counterparts.

In 1917, she hosted the only solo exhibition Modigliani had during his lifetime. It was shut down by the police on opening day for “indecency” (too scandalous even for Paris!) because of the nudes displayed in the window.

She also happened to be Jewish, and if you look at the dates of her life, you’ll know that meant surviving a harrowing period here in France. Wow.

And despite all of those obstacles, she made it, Quand Même!

She was a miracle to so many young artists. And in the final years of her life, they became a miracle to her.

In a beautiful full-circle moment, the community she had nurtured stepped up to support her when she needed it most. All the dots she connected along the way became a thread that held her together in her final days.

Speaking of being connected…

Guess what?!

161-year-old Berthe and I have something in common (PS—aren’t we all connected in some way?).

The city of Chicago.

Seeing this letter on display in Paris, written by the Mayor of Chicago in the 19th century, completely knocked me over. I could have easily overlooked this small letter in a glass case, but seeing it reminded me of my own connection here—the unlikely connection of this Chicagoan in Paris.

Isn’t it wonderful when we discover these beautiful, unexpected connections? I suspect the harder we look, the more we find.

In any case, I thought it was a small miracle. And it kind of was.

But I shouldn’t have been surprised. In my morning journaling practice, I ask for a miracle—and, like always, when I am present enough to see it, it arrives.

And the most astonishing thing is this: miracles are magnetic. Once one appears, others begin arriving, one after another.

Ever since my afternoon with Berthe, I have been overflowing with small miracles.

Speaking of small miracles…

And before you ask, the miracle of winning the lottery hasn’t arrived just yet, but I haven’t asked for that just yet either.

My miracles are small but mighty. Yet, they can be elusive. It’s hard these days to stay present enough to see them when they appear. But if I can (and I have a personality that tends to lean toward the critical), then you can too.

We actually come across them every day, if we choose to see them: they often show up as the people who cross our paths.

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Speaking of people who have crossed our paths…

Not too long ago, I crossed town to visit my favorite café to work and write. Had there been a split-second difference, I might not have arrived just as the wonderful woman I follow online was leaving. Right there in the doorway, we had our first in-person meeting.

That feels like a miracle to me.

Or when a dear friend was able to join me at the last minute to sip coffee and share thoughts on every topic imaginable.

I count that as another miracle.

And sure enough, yet another miracle appeared. While at a café, I asked the woman sitting next to me to watch my belongings for just a moment. We started chatting, and it turns out she’s a local writer. We now have a writing date planned.

And it gets better.

In the same week, I snuck into Le Bon Marché for a “quick look.” I was in the neighborhood and couldn’t help myself (you know I’m a Right Bank person, so this was rare). But ever since discovering the stationery department earlier this year, I will absolutely travel for paper and pens.

While browsing—adding a few more items to my ever-growing pen collection—I suddenly heard my name. I spun around to see two beautiful women I know who were visiting Paris, standing there in the same department. They too were shopping for stationery. The best part? They called me a journal influencer. I could not have been prouder.

Before leaving, I wandered down to the ground floor to mooch around the artist pop-up area and ended up meeting the lovely Charlotte, who created La Ferme Angel.

A true test of my French fluency followed when I tried to explain that I have always loved her name, thanks to the animated film from my childhood, Charlotte’s Web.

(Which I now now is called La Toile de Charlotte in French…)

Not knowing the name in French, I tried to describe the storyline. Somewhere along the way, I must have conjugated something very wrong, because her face grew increasingly confused as I attempted to explain this beautiful story. At one point, I realized she might have understood that I was suggesting a pig and a spider had a love affair, that the spider had children, and that the spider then died, etc (remember, there’s no word for “like” in French).

So, no, I don’t think I quite captured the magic of this charming and touching story, but Charlotte and I shared such a wonderful moment.

Two people who might never have crossed paths are laughing about a love affair between a pig and a spider. And it doesn’t escape me that I had just been talking about my reverence for artists and my ability to go all in, and now here I was, chatting with one in Le Bon Marché.

And the irony, of course, is that Charlotte’s Web is really just a story about amitié, deep friendship between two unlikely friends. They were complete strangers, held different beliefs, and led very different lives. And yet they managed to love each other.

How novel that feels, especially today.

So, you see, I believe the real miracles are the beautiful souls who surround us. The people who, for a moment, remind us that we have more in common than not. That joy can be found in small exchanges. But I also believe we recognize these miracles only when we’ve begun weaving our own inner web of kindness, hope, and attention.

Those beautiful webs we weave not only connect us all—they are miracle catchers. Catchers of kindness. But here is what took me longer to understand: those webs don’t begin between us.

They begin within us.

Speaking of begining with us…

It is still winter here in Paris—cold and beautiful. Whether you follow the meteorological calendar (last day of winter: February 28) or the astronomical one (March 20), winter is with us a little while longer.

And thank goodness, because winter is beautiful. Especially in your Jardin Secret d’Hiver—your Winter Secret Garden.

In the spirit of Going All In, I invite you to go all in on this season in your own winter garden: the garden of your hopes and dreams.

It’s hard to find glimmers of light on these dark winter days, which is why it feels especially important to look inward. Because before we can catch miracles in others, we must grow the capacity to recognize them in ourselves.

We must seek out hope and joy, and find those glimmers inside ourselves first. Once we do, I believe it becomes easier to see them in others. Perhaps these are the seeds we are meant to plant for the spring ahead.

And despite the current weather, we know spring will come; it always does.

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Speaking of the Spring ahead…

Winter is a wonderful time to go deep within and quietly plan what comes next. Winter is preparation. It shifts our focus, asking us to slow down, to listen, to tend the soil. The Jardin Secret is still growing, just beneath the surface, preparing for the season to come.

As the gardener of your Jardin Secret, like any farmer, you might:

• Let the soil rest

• Draw out your plots for the year ahead. What do you want to grow personally and professionally?

• Consider the soil you’ll plant your seeds in and the community that will help you nourish and care for them. And if you haven’t found that community yet, don’t worry, you still can!

If you need a little help getting started, use these two worksheets.

And yes, in the midst of everything going on in the world, is it okay to seek out hope and joy?

Yes, it is.

And I believe one of the best places to find them is in your Jardin Secret.

Happy gardening.

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Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with :

A bientot mes amis!

-Jane

Spring is a wonderful season for gathering.

If you are a woman business owner and Entrepreneur and looking for a community to help you grow, take a look at The Paris Pirouette - applications close on February 8th!

If you need to step away from the noise and have a refresh and reminder of how fabulous you are, take a look at my retreats, Les Saisons. They are built around you and for you - to reflect the various seasons we are all in.

Et The Pod!

I will be recording the last episode of Season Two for the GenerateHER podcast this week! I am already excited about what we will be discussing in the season ahead. If you have ideas, please let me know!

Bonjour Les Amis – Welcome Back.

We started the year with me talking about eight very French things I’ll be doing in this New Year. I continue to work on them, and yes, I continue to fall short, but I’m still ‘going all in’ on committing to these small actions for 2026.

That list has loomed large for me over the past few weeks. Especially because there was one item on that list that really seemed to resonate with so many of you: number seven, Going All In.

That surprised me.

Even if we may describe it differently, we all seem to understand it instinctively, especially when I referenced the artisan: someone who makes something purely for its beauty. Not because it scales. Not because it sells. Not because it’s strategic. Just because it must be made.

The concept of ‘going all in’ seems so opaque and unclear, yet it has landed so deeply.

So, of course, I couldn’t help but look for the French equivalent. I am in France, after all.

I asked a few friends, and the first answers were aller jusqu’au bout or tout donner (to go to the end, to give everything). Both are close, but neither felt quite right.

Two of the friends I solicited paused and said, non, en fait… we would say ‘all in’.

I tried to clarify: no, I mean, what is the French expression?

And they responded that French people use a lot of English words… and going all in really just explains it so well. Does it? Explains ‘what’ so well?

That moment stayed with me. Not only have I been struggling with what ‘going all in’ means, but the fact that this idea of giving yourself fully to something doesn’t translate cleanly either says a lot.

Maybe it’s because it’s not a strategy or a technique. Maybe it’s a way of being. And our unique way of being is so different for each of us.

It made me stop and really sit with it.

What are we all seeking when we say we want to go all in?

My current hypothesis is that we are seeking flow and fulfillment. That rare experience of doing something we love so much that we would do it regardless of outcome, regardless of reward.

Wow. Well, that is heavy. And no matter what the translation, it does leave the sentiment that going all in… c’est dur, c’est compliqué.
(It’s hard. It’s complicated.)

That, however, makes sense to me.

And the reason it’s hard is that we have so many things that matter to us, and so many obligations and responsibilities pulling at our attention: work, family, friends, cortisol levels, geez….everything.

Choosing what to go all in on can be a zero-sum game. If we choose to give our full energy to one thing, we are choosing to be less invested elsewhere.

It means willingly being strategically mediocre in some areas so we can be fully devoted in others.

And there’s the rub.

I’ll speak for myself, but “mediocre” isn’t exactly a word I love to associate with myself — and throwing the word “strategic” in front of it doesn’t really make it feel better.

But what it really means is accepting “good enough” in certain parts of life so you can give your best where it truly matters (at that time). It’s not negligence. It’s a choice.

And yet, making those choices is uncomfortable. Because it forces us to consciously ask: what is the priority worthy of my full attention?

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Going all in with work and business

I’d love to go all in on an idea just for the sake of it, but I know there will come a point where I have to make a tough decision. I cannot just keep on because I alone find my ideas beautiful and charming.

As a businessperson, I have to make choices. I have to think about sustainability. I have to think about viability. Going all in, in this context, has nothing to do with lofty ideas, dreams, or pleasure…

In my business, I am responsible for others, so going all in means ensuring what I’m building can last. It means thinking beyond my own needs. I’d like to be romantic about how I treat all my ideas, but the reality is that I do have to think about how theyare perceived and how they perform.

And sometimes, going all in means making the very hard decision to stop something, not because it isn’t loved, but because it isn’t working. That is my modern-day reality. Good intentions are wonderful, but they don’t always pay the rent.

I have to make tough decisions to ensure a sustainable business. So my version of ‘going all in’ can’t just be about beauty and pleasure.

And then there is the flip side of the coin, enter the remarkable Berthe Weill, who, if you don’t know about her, I hope you take time to discover.

I was introduced to Weill thanks to the phenomenal Lynn Gumpert, who curated and brought her exhibition here to Paris.

Weill was a Parisian art dealer and the first woman to exhibit Picasso, Matisse, Modigliani, and so many others, long before they were safe bets. She showed their work not because it was profitable, but because she believed in it. She went all in for young artists for their sake. And she paid the price for that devotion. She struggled financially for most of her life.

That, too, is going all in. And in such a beautiful way.

Two things can be true. Berthe had her way; I have mine.

And both, I hope, are admirable, because both I know are done with care and love.

Going all in with relationships

This one, for me, is the hardest.

Because going all in with people is not about ease, it’s about toil. It’s about being there for the hard parts.

It’s about honesty and integrity. It’s about sacrifice. It’s about difficult conversations. It’s about loving someone enough to tell them the truth, even when that truth might change the relationship.

Not long ago, I had a conversation with a girlfriend in which we agreed that we would love each other enough to have hard, profound discussions. Because it’s easy to love when everything is wonderful. And it’s easy to have plenty of people to have coffee dates with - but the real mark of friendship to me (likely something I have learned here in France) is honesty.

What do you do when a friend lets you down? Or when you feel they are letting themselves down?

Speaking to that head on, to me, is going all in.

And if I add the French factor to this, we come back to something I’ve written about in many ways: time.

Going all in with people here in France means taking time. It means being thoughtful. It means being present (and persistent). It means that when you say you’re going to do something, you do it.

French friends might be slower to let you in, but once you’re in, you’re in. Relationships here are built, not consumed. They don’t confuse frequency with closeness. They don’t confuse enthusiasm with commitment.

Honesty and consistency are the love.

That is toil, the good kind.

For me, being willing to toil with or for those I love is going all in.

Going all in for yourself

And then there is the final piece. Sometimes the hardest one of all: Going all in for yourself.

It’s not selfish. It’s necessary. Being a better friend, a better businessperson, a better family member always requires being a better us.

But going all in for ourselves is also a lot of work. It takes thought and planning, and yes, sacrifice.

It means making choices that aren’t always convenient, and keeping promises that no one else is watching.

We already know the hopes we have set for ourselves. The habits we want to keep. The question is whether we are willing to commit to them. Are we really ready to go all in, even for ourselves?

Sometimes going all in for ourselves means choosing people and circumstances that enrich us, which also means letting go of those that don’t. Sometimes it means moving our bodies and caring for our health. Sometimes it means stealing away for a quiet café, a pause, a moment to think.

And sometimes, it’s simply choosing to surround ourselves with people who go all in for the love of something - because that devotion is contagious and beautiful.

Enter my Sunday morning bouquet.

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Remember when I said I was sharing my list to keep myself accountable? Well, it worked. Thanks to you, I kept a commitment to myself.

I was very comfortably sitting on the couch this morning, debating whether I wanted to go out at all. And on a last-minute whim, I decided I wanted flowers. That meant I had to go to my favorite florist, Christophe at Marché Bastille.

Not because he’s close. Not because he’s inexpensive. Neither of those matters to me. I went because I love the experience of getting flowers there. He is truly someone who goes all in for the love of flowers.

So the priority of getting flowers started to weigh a little heavier than the priority of sitting on the couch. I finally forced myself to go ‘all in’ and hit the market.

That, to me, was my small act of going all in. It didn’t have to be grand or lofty. Getting off the couch on a Sunday morning, walking to the market, and spending a bit too much on flowers was enough — because I said I would, for me.

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And maybe that’s the real meaning of going all in after all: choosing, again and again, what is important to us, managing it the best way we can, and adjusting our priorities as life changes.

Life, after all, is like an orchestra. A beautiful piece of music isn’t made by every instrument playing full blast all at the same time. It’s made when many instruments come together in harmony, each with its own timing.

We just have to remember that, whenever we can.

For me, that reminder of how I can ‘go all in’ came in the form of a stroll to the market and a beautiful bouquet.

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Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with :

A bientot mes amis!

-Jane

Et Voila!

I am so excited to announce that The Paris Pirouette Mastermind Group for Women Entrepreneurs and Business Owners is open for application!! When you are ‘going all in’, there is nothing like having a community of like-minded people who feel the same and want to support and uplift you. Find out more here.

April is now on the calendar 2026 ‘Le Printemps’ for the Spring and ‘La Vendange’ for the Autumn are in the planning for 2026. Applications are open - please join me!

If you want to chat to see if we are a good fit for the summer, get in touch! Learn more here.

Bonjour Les Amis – Bonne Année et Meilleurs Vœux!

Here we are—we made it to 2026!

May this be your best year yet, filled with love, health, wealth, and most importantly, the time to enjoy them all.

We’ve covered quite a lot together in a year, haven’t we? You can always look back through the archive, but one thing has stood out to me: what you really seem to enjoy is when I “talk French” to you.

Not the language—you’d know immediately that my accent is terrible (and not in the French sense, which, confusingly, can mean something good. Yes, the French are tricky that way). But when I talk about French culture.

Always with a grain of salt, of course—this is just my little corner of experience in Paris. Others may differ.

So I thought, let’s start this very first newsletter of 2026 with eight Very French things I’ll be doing in this New Year.

And for those who love French culture, I invite you to join me. No plane ticket required. No French lessons necessary.

And just so we’re clear—this will not be about how to tie your scarf, which ballerina flats you should wear, or what lip color is “in” - I think there are a few more interesting things that French culture has to share with us.

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Very French Things I’ll Be Doing in this New Year

While every culture has something to teach us, these are the lessons I’ve gathered over 21 years as an American living in France. (January 2 marked my 21st anniversary of arriving in Paris.)

It took time to distill them, and I’d love to know whether any resonate with you—positively or negatively.

What I’m carrying forward into the new year is this:

1. Strategic Procrastination*

France is the tortoise in the story with the hare.

People here take time to make decisions. They sit with things. They let them breathe. And while that can feel slow, especially if you come from a culture that prizes speed and efficiency, it often leads to better, more thoughtful outcomes.

One of the things I’m taking into the new year is allowing myself more time to decide. Not reacting immediately and not rushing. Trusting that not everything requires an instant answer.

The emphasis will be on getting enough information to make the best decision, not the quickest one.

(*I always credit Adam Grant for discovering this term and how it applies.)

2. Conversations Over Transactions

I was scrolling through Instagram recently, listening to someone I genuinely enjoy following.

They were advising leaders on how much time they could save by declining those “Can we have a quick chat?” requests, arguing that they consume too much time and deliver very little. And I would agree with that if all you are looking for is a quick transaction.

But then I thought, wow. This person has clearly never done business in France. And likely never will. Nor do they want to, I suspect.

Because the French people I know love to talk and discuss, especially on the phone. My phone has not rung this much since the 1980s.

When I first arrived in a professional office here many years ago, I felt like my colleagues were thirteen-year-old high school students, constantly on the phone. It was downright perplexing, especially coming from a culture where everything was handled by email.

I quickly learned that, in my new land, very little is solved over email; in fact, quite the contrary. Everything is solved through connection. Through discussion. Email, at best, is a follow-up if needed at all.

Every once in a while, I still catch myself asking, “Did you get it in writing?”
My friends here look at me, almost puzzled, and reply, “No need. That’s what they said.”

And isn’t that refreshing?!

I love that this is still how things get done here, by welcoming those “Can we have a quick chat?” moments, not refusing them.

A word is a bond. And that bond is what holds relationships together for years.

So one of the things I am committing to in the new year is prioritizing conversation. Making time to connect, listen, discuss, and, of course, bond.

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3. Relishing Culture

I’ve said this before, and I’m repeating it. Partly to share with you, and partly to hold myself accountable in this new year.

Seek out culture.
Read more.
Write more.
Take in more museums and exhibits.

Speaking of exhibits, they're so important to the French that we are seeing a rise in doctors’ prescriptions for museum visits. See photo.

Paris is the land of culture—and of the cultured. And what I love about my circle here is that being cultured isn’t treated as a frivolous pursuit or dinner-party fodder (though it certainly comes up). It’s considered part of everyday life. Part of the rhythm. Part of the routine.

That also means it’s intentional.

Like anything meaningful, I know this requires prioritizing time for what’s good for me. And I do have to remind myself, from time to time, why that matters, and all the benefits that come from exposure to creative expression, from being challenged, from having my viewpoint expanded.

Which brings me to literature. One of France’s most exalted pursuits. If you want to bring something very French into your new year, it’s this: make room for reading, reflection, and writing.

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4. Living Analog

France can feel like it’s still living in a different decade. That can be frustrating, but it can also be beautiful, and even charming.

“Living analog” has become a popular catchphrase on social media. Here, it’s simply life as usual - and even more so if you are in the countryside.

That said, living analog isn’t a rejection of technology, nor is it a refusal of modernity. France is a hub of modernity and innovation that effortlessly blends with its past.

This is a country where businesses that still don’t have websites exist alongside one of the most prominent centers of entrepreneurialism in the world, Station F.

To me, living analog isn’t about refusing modernity, it's about reverence for the disconnect, for the personal in person, for the non-digital, for the small moments.

This requires an understanding and acceptance that two opposing things can hold space at the same time. The art of sitting down and writing a letter has as much value and relevance as developing an app to do it for you. Everything has its place.

In this new year, I am going to ensure I enjoy those ‘analog’ moments as much as I can while fully taking advantage of all the technology available to me.

5. The Art of Being Discreet

And I don’t mean shrinking yourself.

The French people I know don’t shrink from anyone. They carry themselves with pride, elegance, and a quiet sophistication that is beautiful to witness.

But they are discreet in their actions and their words. Not hidden. Not diminished. Simply intentional about what they share, and how they share it.

To the people I know, “showing off” is considered vulgar.
(Keep in mind, this is a country where it was more socially acceptable for a president to quietly slip away at night on a scooter to visit his lover, because that was his business, not ours, than it was for a president to very publicly flaunt a luxury yacht vacation. François Hollande versus Nicolas Sarkozy.)

On a deeper level, I think this speaks to a fine distinction the French make: sharing is welcome; showing off is not. One builds relationships. The other creates distance.

Living here has made me much more aware of that line, and of how often it gets blurred today.

We live in a world where we’re constantly invited into other people’s lives, where visibility is rewarded, and attention is currency. The pressure for likes, clicks, and virality is constant. So choosing not to lean into what I know will instantly grab attention isn’t passive. It’s a conscious choice.

There are simply things I won’t do, and won’t share.

(I know, never say never. But you will very likely never see me sharing my beauty regimen “for likes.” And if I do, you’re welcome to remind me of this.)

And it’s not because I judge those choices as wrong. I genuinely enjoy and celebrate watching others share as much as they wish, in whatever way they wish. It’s simply because it’s not who I am.

Who I am is someone who wants the person on the other side to feel uplifted, included, and hopeful about what they can create, not diminished by what they don’t have.

6. Reciprocity (But most importantly, not being indebted)

The French don’t like debt.

There are no real credit cards in the way you might imagine, and it is close to impossible to borrow more money than you can realistically afford. But that isn’t really the point here.

The real point is that the French people I know also dislike feeling indebted, and I mean that in the most complimentary way.

What this often translates to is a deep thoughtfulness around returning gestures. If you invite someone to dinner, they will genuinely want to return the gesture. I don’t particularly love the word obliged; it feels closer to a moral responsibility. There is a strong sense of reciprocity: you did for me, so I must do for you.

And that spirit is something I genuinely love, even if it sometimes comes more from a sense of responsibility than from pure pleasure.

In a world where people feel constantly solicited, always being asked for help, time, or support, this feels especially important.

One of the reminders I’m carrying into the new year is this: relationships are banks. If someone continually makes withdrawals from others without ever thinking to make a deposit, it may be time to pause and rethink.

So I’m trying to begin every request with a simple question: how can I support this person? Or better yet, how can I surprise them with something thoughtful before I ever need to ask for anything?

7. Going All In

Another very French value I admire deeply is: going all in.

This comes from watching artisans, people who approach their work with excellence and focus, regardless of the outcome, including financial ones.

There is something profoundly beautiful about loving something so much that your primary concern is the beauty of the work itself.

Not whether it scales.
Not whether it performs.
No matter who sees it.
But whether it’s done well.

I want more of that in the new year. More devotion to what I am working on. More attention to excellence for its own sake.

8. Individualism with a Strong Sense of Fraternity

France deeply recognizes and exalts individual excellence.

Experts are revered. They stand alone. They are awarded. But what’s interesting is that excellence doesn’t isolate; it includes.

There is a strong sense of fraternity among those who pursue mastery. Communities are built around crafts: Légion d'honneur, MOFs, Confréries, guilds; structures that honor the individual while anchoring them in the collective.

Excellence is personal, but it’s also shared.

And I think that’s something worth taking away: being exceptional in your own right, but never forgetting the power of belonging to a community of peers who value the same things you do.

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Et Voila!

That’s quite a list, isn’t it?

And yes, there’s an equally long list of very French things I won’t be taking into the new year (and btw, there’s a dark side to each of the eight I’ve listed above…maybe that’s a conversation for another time.)

I’d like to believe I’ll excel gracefully at each of these. The reality is, I’ll fall short more often than not. But the joy is in the pursuit.

I think I’ll be better off if I can improve, just a modicum, and:

• slow down instead of rushing,

• choose conversation over transaction,

• make more room for culture and reflection,

• honor both the analog and the modern,

• share thoughtfully rather than perform loudly,

• give before you ask,

• go all in on what you love for the beauty of it,

• and pursue your own excellence while staying connected to a meaningful community

What about you?

Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with

(PS - if you want to get into a journal routine and need a little help, don’t forget I have a free 30-day Journal prompt for you on my website!) :

À bientôt, mes amis.

Jane

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2026 ‘Le Printemps’ for the Spring and ‘La Vendange’ for the Autumn are in the planning for 2026. Applications are open - please join me!

If you want to chat to see if we are a good fit for the summer, get in touch! Learn more here.

The Paris Pirouette details are almost ready; keep up to date here.

Bonjour Les Amis – welcome back.

The last time we were together, we talked about Full-Circle moments. Nothing says “full circle” quite like the closing of a year. Once again, we find ourselves at a fresh start—though I must add my usual caveat: you are entitled to a fresh start at any point you choose.

I recently looked back at my first official newsletter from January 1st, 2025. It made me reflect on where I was just one year ago. Back then, I wrote:

“The pleasant surprise as I entered 2025 was discovering a new version of myself. But isn’t that the wonderful thing about each new day? We have a chance to see ourselves in a different light.”

While that sounded promising, I “lost” that version of myself almost as quickly as I discovered it…and in the best way possible. I like to believe that this signals that I am constantly evolving. There is such freedom in not being fixed to a ‘set’ version of yourself, but rather being enchanted by the constant evolution of it.

I have come to believe that to evolve, you must sprinkle a bit of hope and a few wishes into your learning—not only to find direction, but to find joy in the creation of your journey.

As Charles Perrault said: “And since your happiness depends entirely on your wishes, think carefully about them before making them.”

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Speaking of Creation…

Creation is about experimentation—fine-tuning, pirouetting (pivoting), and changing direction. This past year, I’ve done a lot of that, thanks to many of you.

As we close this year, I’ve realized that my greatest lessons have come from sharing this space with you. Specifically, I’ve been looking for the fil rouge (the ‘red thread’) in my work that carries through a constant theme. I found it running through both my Substack and the GenerateHER podcast: the need for a safe space to express - and to share that expression with a community.

And self-expression is so important because it fosters that ever-important self-efficacy. It allows you to work through things outside the theater of your mind. And while it can be scary, the true miracle is that through expression, you find your community.

If you dare to share, you’ll find the most amazing people who will resonate with you. That in itself is a great learning lesson.

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Speaking of learning…

Both my podcast and newsletter are currently “profitless” in a financial sense, but I value them deeply. There is wisdom in realizing that the most extraordinary things we possess are often those that make the soul rich rather than the wallet.

As I take another spin around the sun, I’ve embraced a humbling truth: the wisdom to know how little I actually know. The real fun, I’ve found, is in the constant discovery of the new—including me.

Throughout the year, I’ve shared the beauty of writing and podcasting in the hopes that you might be curious enough to try them yourself. What I know for sure about the value of expression (whether written, oral, or whatever form feels right to you) is how much it gives back to you. So, I’m making one more push before the year ends: I encourage you to put self-expression on your New Year’s resolutions.

Here’s the honest truth about ‘Substacking’ (is that a word?) and podcasting—or any pursuit where you compose your thoughts for the world. There is magic in these learning lessons.

Five key things I have learned (including a few confessions):

1. There will be moments when you’re convinced you have nothing to say. Without fail, when it comes time to draft my newsletter or prepare for the podcast, I feel like I have nothing left to say (my friends will be smirking as they read this).

The importance of this is that I have found it to be a warning signal: it tells me I am more focused on how I think I sound or appear than on being fully present. That little weak signal is precious.

2. Practicing how you express yourself and your point of view is crucial.

There’s no surprise here, but sometimes we need to be reminded. For me, it took 15+ years to get the hint. We know all the reasons why it is essential, and to that list, I’d add the need in today’s environment to be focused and articulate (two things I am still working on).

For founders especially, having a place to speak outside of and separate from your business is a must. It is exhausting and frustrating to not feel the joy of having your own space.

3. The stories that resonate most are rarely the polished ones.

It’s the messy, unfinished parts that create real connection. I’m always talking about the importance of community, and I realize that my amazing community (you out there) is here because we fit together. We are birds of a feather. But we will only authentically fit together if we can ‘see’ each other. I try to show you who I am through my writing; I wish it weren’t so one-sided, but I hope that we will fix that one day over a glass of wine in Paris.

4. Finding your ‘voice’ is a never-ending treasure hunt.

Just like I mentioned above, I thought I had discovered this new version of me. And I had. But as soon as I discovered it, she changed! The same is true with this voice; we are always looking for it. Your voice, beliefs, opinions, and values evolve through growth and experience. Your voice is as dynamic and ever-changing as you are. Let’s enjoy the hunt and the discovery.

5. Creating space for conversation is transformational.

This is one of the reasons I created my retreats. There is a beauty in gathering—and I have been lucky to this point in having the most extraordinary women join me in Paris. In the end, it doesn’t require a visit to Paris (though I would love for you to join me); however, in a loud world, slowing down, sharing, and listening really do change things. When we share openly, others feel safe to do the same, even if it is simply via a Substack newsletter.

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I hope the excitement of expressing yourself in a completely new way tickles your fancy—the bonus will be learning about this magical, wondrous, and uniquely special person called you.

How exciting would it be to spend these final days of 2025 uncovering something new about yourself, just before we close the door on this year?

Speaking of closing out this year…

At the end of 2024, my words were Reinvention and Expansion. I’ve lived those, but I hope there is more to come.

I’ve decided my words for the coming year are Création and Fabriquer. Création in the sense of giving existence to something; Fabriquer in the sense of making something thanks to the work you put into it. For me, Fabriquer is the journey—the end destination is the Création.

I am still discovering what those two words will mean to me in the year ahead, and I am not immune to the fear that comes with taking risks to create something new. My secret sauce is to rely on my four pillars to pull me through: Community, Curiosity, Creativity, and Courage. I don’t need them all at once; I just need to be in a position where one of them can take the lead.

The journey will be paved with doubt—it always is. But thanks to Galileo, I know that even when we question our choices, and even when it feels like we are standing still, “and yet, it moves”—we are on the right path.

But in any case, no matter what we do, my biggest revelation has been this: we are always in creation mode—especially with our most precious work of art: ourselves.

Creation is not a switch we turn on only when we are feeling inspired or productive; it is a constant, underlying current. We are creating our lives in every choice and in every moment. We create through the risks we take and the ones we avoid; through the stories we tell ourselves and the ones we let go. We create through the pursuit of our dreams, and just as surely, through the abandonment of them.

So, we are infinitely creative in every sense, and in creating, I believe we find the magic of us and all that we are capable of.

The question is: what are we creating? This coming year, let’s all keep each other on track to choose wisely.

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Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with

(PS - if you want to get into a journal routine and need a little help, don’t forget I have a free 30-day Journal prompt for you on my website!) :

Next time I see you, I can officially send you a New Year greeting (in France, we don’t send New Year wishes until the year actually arrives)!

À bientôt, mes amis.

Jane

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Let’s create together - join me!

2026 retreats are online: Les Saisons GenerateHER retreats. You’ll see ‘Le Printemps’ for the Spring and ‘La Vendange’ for the Autumn in the planning for 2026.

My early 2026 coaching is filled, but if you want to chat to see if we are a good fit for the summer, get in touch! Learn more here.

I’m currently putting the finishing touches on an intimate global mastermind designed specifically for women entrepreneurs and business owners. I’m so excited about this. It will kick off in March, virtually, with an in-person celebration in Paris in September 2026! If you’d like to be the first to know when The Paris Pirouette details are available, keep up to date here.

Bonjour Les Amis – welcome back.

The last time we were together, we talked about le fil rouge. This fantastic concept of a ‘red thread’, the tiny string that runs through everything we do. After decades, I finally located mine. For me, it is really about community, gathering, and belonging.

Some might still ask: how does someone who loved working in banking end up starting a cooking school in Paris? And how does someone who runs a cooking school begin a new business centered on bringing people together to reconnect with themselves and others? If you look closely, it’s not all that different after all; they each have something in common (what a great reminder for all of us that we have more in common than we think). If you look hard enough, you can always find a little thread that holds everything together - even if loosely.

(The best advice I have for those who are in search of ‘what is next’ is to go on the most beautiful treasure hunt to find that little thread - there are clues there).

As we close out this year, the search of my fil rouge, has led me to another concept that is looming large for me right now—the Full-Circle moment. And while it is hard to explain, it is so lovely to be surprised by all the wonderful ways it presents. Trying to describe the magic of a ‘Full-Circle Moment’ is like trying to translate into words one of those sherbert colored sunsets we get here in Paris.

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Speaking of translating…

In a recent chat with my friend Davina, with whom I worked during my banking days here in Paris on rue Paul Cezanne, we talked about the concept of the full-circle moment. By the way, if there is such a thing, our relationship itself is such a magical form of a full circle. Twenty years ago, we would have been in suits, rushing here and there, and today, we sit as entrepreneurs, sharing and advising one another (some things never change, even if we think they do).

Beyond just sharing our life experiences (and her’s are so rich), it inevitably leads us to a discussion of French vs. US culture. While Davina is very French, she is equal parts very international. I was trying to share with her all of those special full-circle moments I have had recently, and I wanted to express that sentiment in French. I searched for a French equivalent that could carry the same emotional weight. The closest I found was boucler la boucle (to finish the loop is the literal translation).

And while that works linguistically, it still feels a bit too tidy for what these moments actually feel like. It can loosely translate into: Se retrouver à l’endroit d’où l’on est parti (to find ourselves in the place where we started), yet for most people I know, it gives the sentiment of ‘to close the loop’.

To close the loop feels finite - too permanent. And for me, at this very moment, all of my full circles don’t feel like a finite closure; they feel more like a beautiful, but very different continuation.

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Speaking of continuation…

One year ago today, I published my first Prompts from Paris Newsletter! If you’ve been with me since the beginning, witnessing all the machinations of discovering a life, navigating its complexities, its beauty, its questions, its reinventions, and all of which layered with life in Paris - I thank you. If you are new to me, I thank you too.

Each and every one of you is why I continue to write. You have allowed me to practice in public - and to find my ever-changing voice, in a safe and beautiful way.

Speaking of finding my voice…

I wrote about this a while back, but I think it is ever-present. Our voices (literally and figuratively) change as much as we do. With that understanding, I am fully prepared to enjoy discovering how it changes and evolves over the years ahead.

But I did have the most magical, full-circle moment when I met my voice, face-to-face, here in Paris.

Yes—literally.

If you’ve listened to the audiobook of The French Ingredient, then you’ve already heard her. But what you might not know is how fascinating, and strangely intimate, it is to choose your voice. To decide who will represent you, speak for you, carry your words into the world. WOW. Probably one of the most surreal things I have ever done.

The process is surprisingly simple: the publisher sent me a handful of short audio clips, and from those brief moments, I had to decide. I listened carefully, shared it with a couple of people who were close to me, and finally chose. With very little information (probably best!) I had to figure out: Who am I? Who sounds like me? Who feels like me?

We spend so much of our lives trying to find our voice. And suddenly, I was being asked to choose another one. And I am so happy with who I chose. Meet .

To meet Barrie online was special enough. But to have her here in Paris, sitting together in a café, talking, laughing, sharing stories, was darn extraordinary. She is a remarkable woman, with an incredible body of work behind her and so much still ahead.

What struck me most was how much we had in common. Several times during our conversation, one of us would say something, and we’d stop, look at each other, and laugh - we were often thinking the same thing.

Another full-circle moment, but the loop is not closed. I suspect and hope that this encounter will develop into something else just as magical.

Speaking of Magical…

“Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” - Roland Dahl

One of the most magical moments of my book publishing experience was being at the Rizzoli Bookstore in New York for my first official book launch event. Thanks to my fabulous friend Pam, who worked magic behind the scenes to make that happen.

Back in April 2024, I was side by side and ‘in conversation’ with the amazing . A moment that is really hard to put in words - and something I hadn't even dared to dream of - yet, as we know, impossible and improbable are two different things.

So, to find myself, just a year and a bit later, figuratively on the other side of the table, hosting a conversation in celebration of her new book, was a beautiful full-circle moment. In both cases, I know most of the crowd was there to see her in action, but being by her side is a moment I will cherish.

And here again, there is a circle, but no loop to close. Instead, it’s just a beautiful memory and the continuation of a friendship with one of the most amazing people I know (I include Michael, thanks to our dinner-party sparring).

The only thing I regret is that it was virtual (I would have loved to be in person). I dialed in from my hotel on a quick trip to London.

And that is where it really hit me - the symmetry of a perfect circle, and the circle of life.

Speaking of Circle…

If you didn’t know, a move to London was what brought me to Europe many, many years ago. Even though the city is ever-changing, and even though I left London more than 20 years ago, I can still navigate it reasonably well and have a decent sense of direction.

So imagine my surprise while circling around the hotel I was staying at; by chance or not, only to realize I was five minutes from the exact apartment building where I lived when I first arrived in London in January 2000.

A full twenty-five years ago (going on twenty-six in a few weeks). More than a quarter of a century.

I arrived then with no idea that my life was about to shift so completely. What was meant to be a six-to-nine-month assignment became an entirely new chapter—one that set me on a path toward Paris, entrepreneurship, writing, and all the escapes I could never have even imagined.

In hindsight, that apartment represents uncertainty, courage, transformation, and a new beginning. To realize I was just minutes away from it, without intending to be, stopped me in my tracks. It felt more than a coincidence. It felt like the universe was telling me a beautiful new circle was about to begin, very much as it did so many years ago. I wish I had been more present to see it those many years ago.

Speaking of being present….

I like to imagine there’s a reason behind these moments. That they’re not just coincidences, but something closer to kismet, serendipity, magic of the universe; whatever you want to call it.

But no matter how you look at it, magic or not, you’ll only see messages and signals if you are present - and when you do see them, I hope they prompt beautiful questions. Frankly, learning that the real magic is in being present - watching the moon, noticing the holiday sparkle, taking time to message a friend - is more than enough of a lesson for me.

(If it is a little magic, I’ll take that too - honestly, we could all use a little of that these days.)

While I don’t follow astrology much, I do enjoy seeing all of these messages suggesting that we’re at the end of a cycle - that closing this year, 2025, means we are coming full circle to start another cycle. That something is ending, so something else new can begin. We need not wait until a new year to begin something, but if you need a reason, there is another one.

For me, the idea of starting something new is filled with equal parts of fear and excitement. They always go hand in hand- no matter how many years of experience I have under my belt. The only thing that has changed is that I leave myself open to allowing the magic to come in from time to time - and I hope you do the same.

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Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with:

See you one more time before the end of 2025! À bientôt, mes amis.

Jane

I’mm expecting magic in 2026 - join me!

My 2026 retreats are online: Les Saisons GenerateHER retreats. You’ll see ‘Le Printemps’ for the Spring and ‘La Vendange’ for the Autumn on the planning for 2026 - I hope to see you here in Paris!

After a two-year pause, I’m reopening 1:1 coaching. I pour everything into those I am coaching, which is why I only take four people per session. I’m opening conversations now, so if we’re a good fit, we can get started in January! Learn more here.

Women Entrepreneurs and small business owners need community more than anything. And when you bring them together, the magic they can create is astounding. I’ll be crafting a Mastermind Group that will kick off in March, virtually, with an in-person celebration in Paris in September 2026! If you’d like to know more about The Paris Pirouette, keep up to date here.

Check out the Pod:

I am sharing five pieces of advice I would tell myself (if I listened!). Everything I know I should know about starting anything new. Listen here.

Bonjour Les Amis – welcome back.

The last time we were together, we talked about the things I’m taking into the new year with me - along with my unabashed love of November.

November is the month when my New Year begins. I know for some, this feels like rushing it, but for me, it’s a thrill. Right after my own personal Harvest, I start planting a few seeds for the year ahead.

“The best way to predict your future is to create it.” ― Abraham Lincoln

November has always been one of my favorite months. Whether it’s the first bits of holiday sparkle in Paris or the excitement of imagining the year ahead, the month is made even better by its grand finale: Thanksgiving.

And upon reflection, yes, this month and this holiday arrive every year without fail for all of us (at least those who celebrate Thanksgiving). Still, I didn’t fully realize until writing my memoir that Thanksgiving has always been my fil rouge (a term you’ll often hear in French to describe the recurring theme that quietly threads its way through everything you do).

I suspect I’m not special in this; it’s likely true for many people living far from their natal ‘home.’ We all search for familiarity, for comfort, for something that anchors us. For me, it has always been this one glorious food-filled holiday that asks nothing of you, except to gather.

But the truth is, the big turkey and the table full of people are just the surface. What the real fil rouge reveals about me is… plenty.

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Speaking of plenty…

I’ve learned plenty over the many Thanksgivings I’ve spent abroad, many of them right here in Paris.

Over the years, through this one holiday, I’ve come to understand that my fil rouge is really about community, gathering, and belonging. Despite my introverted ways, I recognize the power of sharing—and, most importantly, the gift of being able to show up as your authentic self in a place where you truly belong (rather than trying to simply ‘fit in’). But that sense of belonging doesn’t happen overnight. It asks for patience, and time, and effort along the way.

Here are a few lessons I’ve picked up over the years, thanks to creating Thanksgiving in a country where, once upon a time, finding a turkey in November was no small feat.

(I will say, I do very much miss the iconic little Paris boutique that once shared the same name—Thanksgiving.)

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1. Rituals can be created and re-created, and are best when shared.

The beauty of rituals is that they become what you make of them. Sometimes starting fresh is a good thing; it allows you to take old traditions and reimagine them. In my case, it meant learning to blend them with a new culture and new people. I may not be able to find sweet potato casserole slathered in marshmallows (nor am I likely to get my French friends to eat it), but I can create my own dish… with a French twist.

Most of my French friends love Thanksgiving. It’s not just the novelty, it’s the camaraderie. It’s the sharing of a culture that seems to touch them the most. There’s something special about inviting someone into your world, and in France, that goes a long way in building strong lifelong friendships.

A perfect reminder that you can choose and cherry-pick your own special rituals.

2. Every year will be different.

Each Thanksgiving is different, including the friends gathered around the table. Being away from home means many people in my community are in the same situation. Some stay and make Paris their home; some don’t. Over the years, I’ve learned to truly savor every face around my table, knowing that the following year they may not be with us—a lesson that is easier some years than others.

A gentle reminder never to take the people we care about for granted.

3. We all speak food.

No matter our religious beliefs, cultural norms, political views (anything at all), we all share one universal language: food. In times like these, when so many things can divide us, there’s something profoundly beautiful about gathering around a table for a meal. As my friend often says, the table is one of the most powerful places available to us - when used wisely.

A special note about being at the table in France: it often comes with a robust debate, spirited discussion, and plenty of disagreement. I’ve come to love that banter, and love even more that despite our differences, we can still leave the table as friends. I hope I always have that.

A beautiful reminder to invite different voices around your table (literally and figuratively!)

4. Mistakes can be happy ones.

I once ordered a Jurassic Turkey—the Godfather of the French Turkey world.

In a miscommunication with my butcher, where I was trying to tell him I needed a bird that would feed at least sixteen people, he thought I meant a bird that would weigh at least sixteen kilos. You can do the math—that’s over 35 pounds. We both looked surprised (and oddly proud) that such a thing was possible. He more than me… especially when I came to pick it up and pay for it.

You can imagine what that did to my holiday baking plans. Everything I intended to cook in my tiny French oven had to be rearranged. I was in quite a tither to say the least. And by the way, even the Butterball hotline couldn’t help me; they don’t offer advice past 30 pounds.

But you know what? It all turned out fine in the end. Not only was the turkey delicious, but almost everyone took a moment to pose and take photos with my Jurassic bird (at least the side that wasn’t pressed up against the oven wall). The turkey became the star of the party… and it ended up being one of the most memorable Thanksgivings I’ve ever had.

A good reminder that somehow things will work out. And I’ll try to keep this in mind for all the other mistakes I make during the year - there is always a positive to be found.

5. Community is everything.

Chosen family is just as precious as those we are born into. When you live away from home, and particularly overseas, you have to work all the harder to recreate the spirit of holidays like Thanksgiving. The beauty of this is the people who show up and share that with you.

The miracles we ask for often arrive in the form of the people that show up for us—but we only notice them when we choose to see them clearly.

This is a magical reminder that ‘community’ can be created - and in many forms.

Speaking of Community…

Looking back at the past year(s), things can sometimes seem a bit haphazard. How does someone who loved being in banking end up starting a cooking school in Paris? And how does someone who runs a cooking school begin a new business centered on bringing people together to reconnect with themselves and others?

(FYI — you can see what I’m up to below, and I would love to have you join.)

But in the end, I guess it’s not haphazard at all. Community, in all its forms, has always been my fil rouge—my North Star—my raison d’être. I’m so grateful to have so many wonderful people in my community, whether in person or reading along (yes, YOU). Thanksgiving is a beautiful reminder of that community, year after year. And the most important reminder is that I don’t need to wait until the fourth Thursday of November to celebrate all the beautiful things it stands for.

And the thing about the fil rouge is this: even when it’s hard to name or see clearly, it’s always there—quietly holding everything together.

It just took me 30 years to see mine. What about you?

Share Prompts From Paris

Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with:

See you next time. À bientôt, mes amis.

Jane

Here we come 2026!

I am so excited to share a few new things with all of you. Things that I have been working on for quite a while.

And by the way, this has been years in the making. I planted seeds 30 years ago…a good reminder that nothing (good) grows overnight.

I’d love to see you in 2026:

My 2026 retreats are online: Les Saisons GenerateHER retreats. You’ll see ‘Le Printemps’ for the Spring and ‘La Vendange’ for the Autumn on the planning for 2026 - I hope to see you here in Paris!

After a two-year pause, I’m reopening 1:1 coaching. I pour everything into those I am coaching, which is why I only take four people per session. I’m opening conversations now, so if we’re a good fit, we can get started in January! Learn more here.

Women Entrepreneurs and small business owners need community more than anything. And when you bring them together, the magic they can create is astounding. I’ll be crafting a Mastermind Group that will kick off in March, virtually, with an in-person celebration in Paris in September 2026! If you’d like to know more about The Paris Pirouette, keep up to date here.

Check out the Pod: Leaving Space for Magic with

Speaking of sharing. You know I am so cautious about what I consume on Social Media. We need to be soaking up information that inspires and restores. There is no one better than . If you don’t know Lili, I hope you take time to discover her (PS- she has a fabulous Newsletter, including in English!)

I was thrilled to have Lili join me on the Pod. I think you will LOVE this discussion. Come listen here.

Bonjour Les Amis – welcome back.

The last time we were together, we talked about the Harvest. A time in France, I have really come to love and appreciate. It is the moment when ‘on récolte ce qu’on sème’ (we ‘reap what we sow’ - and hopefully in the most positive sense).

If you didn’t know, there is a special term for the harvest of grapes - specifically those grapes destined to become the wine we will one day drink. The wine harvest is called La Vendange. And the concept of reaping what you sow is far-reaching in the wine world.

In a recent conversation with my extraordinary friend Jane Anson, she reminded me that the entire life cycle of wine (and its ecosystem) hangs in a few precious weeks in Autumn. The impact of the harvest isn’t just about what we drink - it’s about all of the work, all of the hands, all of the toil that goes into those grapes.

Not only is the harvest important to the people who are working on the ‘front lines’ (wine makers and such), but think of all of those who use wine on the back end. Just imagine the world without the grape harvest.

How different the world would be if we couldn’t have a glass of wine with our meal, or how sad it would be to never have discovered bœuf bourguignon slow-cooked in wine. If we didn’t have those leftover skins, seeds, and stems from grapes, we’d never have le marc (the product of all the leftovers)….and of course, that means we never would have enjoyed the liquor that shares its name. And in the case of Burgundy, that would mean never enjoying the beautiful fromage, Époisses de Bourgogne, the fromage that is washed in the liquor le marc de Bourgogne.

And, if you have traveled in France, you’ll know that regions are little ecosystems that rely on one another. Life would be different if the winemakers didn’t have le marc to share with local artisans who often use it to make grape seed oil, pigment for dyeing, and the list goes on.

And of course, how different life would be if we didn’t have those leftovers that are returned to the soil, back to nature. The vineyard that feeds itself this way, season after season, would look very different.

All of the work, and hopefully all of its success, is measured in this little period of time. And the real beauty is that the harvest is not the end; it is a celebration. The start of a new cycle.

This time of year is a wonderful reminder of how important it is to do your own personal harvest, and you can do it as many times as you choose.

If you needed a reminder that one grape (read: person) can’t possibly make a difference, there you are. There is a beautiful, intertwined, and complex system in which we all play a role.

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Speaking of complex…

November is a complicated month for me. Maybe that’s why I love it so much. It’s the great month of contradictions, a season that can’t quite make up its mind. Very Parisian, really, to thrive on contradictions.

November is the excitement of the coming holidays… and the fear of the holidays.
The thrill of a new year coming… and the dread of a new year coming.

For many, it’s a strange blend of sparkle and celebration mixed with moments of loneliness or sadness.

And for me personally, I do love November:
even with those same anxieties,
even with the heaviness of November 13th in Paris,
even with the nostalgia I feel for Thanksgivings past…especially the ones I took for granted and will never have again.

Yet despite all of that, I ride the excitement of La Vendange to try and pirouette toward something positive: the year ahead. And for me, that always begins in November.

Right after my personal harvest, I start imagining what comes next. I toss new ideas and new dreams into my mental germination box (in the jardin secret, of course). And some seeds, I even plant right away, letting them take root.

Because November, for me, is the quiet beginning.

I’m not trying to hurry 2025 out the door, but I am excited about what is on the horizon for 2026. I’m looking forward to everything the year ahead might hold.

(PS - one of my November rituals is going to pick out my calendrier for the year ahead. It was quite an eye-opener this year - yes, mine is still in paper.)

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Speaking of holding…

I wanted to share some of the things I am holding on to and taking me into my 2026 journey.

I love the sentiment of ‘what got me here may not get me there’… It’s a powerful reminder not to take things for granted, to check in on your toolkit, and to be ready to adapt.

Yet, that doesn’t mean we’re starting from scratch. Far from it. Over the years, we've all gained a lot of experience and learned some pretty valuable skills. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, especially as I ramp up my new business.

20 years of my life experience and skills were born in France, and among them, one is a ‘mother skill’ that all the rest have branched from. And that is: building relationships.

France Is A Relationship and Social Economy.

Living and working in France has made that lesson crystal clear. France is a country of social norms, not market norms, and we see this play out every day.

(PS- I highly recommend Dan Ariely’s excellent book, ‘Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces That Shape Our Decisions’).

Here, business is done based on who you like, who you trust, and how you work together - and that means relationships, relationships, relationships.

That understanding has changed the way I do my daily business and will undoubtedly shape my future business.

There are a few lessons from this relationship-driven world that I want to share with you. Lessons I’m absolutely taking with me into this next chapter. Even if a few seem very ‘business’ oriented, with a word substitute here and there, I think they can apply to many parts of life.

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1. Know Your Value

If there’s one thing France has taught me, it’s that people here know their worth. France is a world of experts in every domain. They are the kings and queens of their craft. The consumer isn’t king here; the expert is.

And that’s taught me something powerful: you have to know your own value. You have to understand what you bring to the table, no matter what it is - and own it - fiercely.

FYI - If you had any doubt, the unique, beautiful person you are ALWAYS has a value, you just may need to spend time reminding yourself of that.

2. Be Transparent

Honesty is everything. We have talked about this before. The worst thing a French person can say about you is that you are not clear with your words. It means you lack integrity and are not to be trusted.

And the trickle-down of that in business can relate to money. When it comes to selling a service, talking about money is highly problematic in France, so you have to be very clear about it. Know the value and cost of your service, and communicate clearly and concisely.

(PS - In a country where discussing money is very difficult, the most awkward thing you can say to a future client is “What’s your budget?” When you ask someone their budget, you’re essentially asking them to declare how much they value something, and that’s uncomfortable.)

What I take from all of this, money or not, is that transparency builds trust and therefore relationships. Being clear is kind.

FYI - You can apply the same transparency rule when it comes to relationships. Be clear and communitcate boundaries, rules, or expectations.

3. Protect What’s Sacred in Relationships

Still on the topic of relationships, one thing I’ve learned living in France is that when someone shares something personal or special with you, it’s sacred.

When a French friend or colleague lets you into something private, whether it be a story, a favorite place, or a hidden gem, that’s a real moment of trust. That is letting you into a special part of their lives.

In today’s world of social media, we’ve seemingly slipped into a strange psychological loop where, unless something is witnessed online, it doesn’t feel like it happened.

Not everything needs to be shared on social media. Quite the contrary, without intending to do so, you can suggest that what mattered most to you wasn’t the special moment of what they shared with you - it was your social feed.

FYI - I think it is important to protect special moments that people share with us. Honor what’s given to you in confidence, and be fully present to take it all in - that is hard to do so wtih your phone in hand.

4. Move Beyond Transaction — Become a Trusted Advisor

Another thing France has taught me is the power of moving beyond a transactional service into a relationship service.

If you’re a service provider (whether you make templates, design websites, or create systems), your real strength comes when you elevate yourself above just doing the task.

Be a trusted advisor.

That means you don’t just deliver a product; you deliver a new, expanded version of your client. You know their business so well that you can help them ask questions they didn’t know they needed to ask. You think deeply about what they need, not just what they requested. That shows you’re invested. You care.

Transactional providers are easy to replace; cookie-cutter is everywhere. A template is a template. But those who build trust and genuine partnership, who think alongside their clients, are irreplaceable.

FYI - I have found that this same sentiment goes for investing in friendships in France. No one will dedicate time just to have coffee with an empty relationship. Transactional friendships just don’t work.

5. The Pursuit of Excellence

Another lesson I’m taking with me is the pursuit of excellence.

One of the most wonderful things about living in a country of experts is how deeply excellence is valued, whether it’s woodworking, glassmaking, or chocolate, or yes, dressing your window display. Craftsmanship is revered here. That devotion to mastery is inspiring.

FYI - This is a wonderful sentiment to carry into everyhing we do. We’ve all heard ‘how you do anything is how you do everything.’ Even if you are hanging coats in a coat room, be the very best at it. At least Kellie Gerardi, astronaut and bio-astronautics researcher, would agree. You can hear her interview here.

6. Honor Expertise — Don’t Perform It

There’s another piece to this idea of expertise in France: you don’t pass yourself off as an expert.

Because experts are so highly regarded here, people are also very sensitive to those who pretend to be experts. In France, you’ll rarely hear a true expert in one field pretending to be an expert in another. They will be thrilled to refer you to someone else.

And that’s actually a mark of confidence. Real experts know what they offer, and they have the confidence to shine a light on others.

FYI - I think very carefully about how I use other people’s information; not doing so correctly doesn’t just make one lose credibility, it makes one lose relationships. How wonderful it is to shine light on someone else - when I do, I usually find it is reflective.

7. Practice Strategic Procrastination

A term I first discovered via Adam Grant, and I love it.

Strategic procrastination is a very, very French skill. It’s not avoidance, but rather the intentional pause that allows information to come in and ideas to ripen. In France, people don’t rush decisions; they give things space so the right answer, not the fast answer, can emerge. It’s a form of discernment and respect, and I’ve learned that stepping back often leads to better work, better relationships, and better outcomes.

FYI - This helps me to make decisions when my intuition, not pressure or comparison, tells me it’s time. Giving myself that pause keeps me out of the comparison trap. Strategic procrastination is really just trusting my timing, not everyone else’s.

8. Owning who you are.

And finally, this one is personal. But again, thanks to France.

I’ve done okay here (knock on wood) because I’ve learned to own who I am. And I haven’t always been that way.

When I started my past business, I stepped into an industry I had no experience in, not as an entrepreneur, not in the culinary world, not in decoding how business is done in France. None of it.

But that was (and hopefully will continue to be) my secret weapon.

I really believe this: you can be wherever you think you’re meant to be. You might need some support or a reminder of what you’re capable of, but you are capable of so, so much. So much is possible.

Going through your personal harvest might help you to remind yourself of all the wonderful things you are - especially all of those things that make you different.

FYI - And all that is possible doesn’t doesn’t require moving across the world or changing industries. It simply means believing in yourself.

Share Prompts From Paris

Until next time, a prompt I’ll leave you with:

See you next time. À bientôt, mes amis.

Jane

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Check out my new website!

Speaking of starting 2026 now, I am so thrilled to share my new website with you. It’s been such a beautiful, creative process that will continue to grow so stay tuned!

FYI: For those who have expressed interest in the Jardin Secret 2026, you’ll be hearing from me soon!

In the meantime, take a peek.

Don’t forget to grab the newly revised 30 days of journal prompts!

Check out the Pod:

Don’t forget to tune into my podcast. A new episode drops every other Monday. And if you listen, please take time to rate it!

I’d love you to join along - and tell me what you’d love to hear about! You can find more here.