A Life in France. Lived Well
From the author of Get Frenched: Stories, guidance, and lived experience from someone who actually made the move, and stayed.
Most people arrive here with a plan that fits their dream — and miss the parts that actually matter.
They know the destination and the feeling. Turning that into a livable day-to-day is the real work.
We Got Frenched grew out of learning that the hard way. Repeatedly.
Paying attention. Choosing things on purpose. What we live with. What we notice. What we allow into our days. None of it is accidental. This isn’t a pitch or a promise. It’s a place to look more closely at the small decisions that shape daily life, and whether they’re actually supporting the life you want. In France, or anywhere.
This is where that attention turns into something practical.
Get Frenched
Get Frenched is a clear-eyed, lived-in guide to what actually matters when you’re thinking about moving to France.
Not the fantasy. Not the Instagram version. The parts that decide whether the life you’re imagining actually works. Told honestly, without pretending it has to be grim to be useful.
“I just wanted to let you know how fantastic and invaluable your book/blueprint is and thank you for the obvious time and effort you put into it. You paint the full picture, and make sure your reader is aware of the rewards but also the hurdles they face in this potential adventure. In my mind, it is a masterpiece.”
Some people eventually want more direct help.
One on One assistance along the way. From planning to getting settled. f you’re seriously considering a move, explore working with me here.
An excerpt from the upcoming book, Savoring the Chaos
A Morning, a Ruin, and a Fig Tree
Most mornings, after feeding the dogs, I sit with my coffee in the yard. Outside of harvest season, mornings are quiet here. Not empty quiet. Alive quiet. Blackbirds, cuckoos, robins, and wood pigeons announcing their presence like they have appointments to keep. Chaffinches and the occasional blue tit streak across the property, flashes of color against the gray Loire sky. Sometimes the air smells faintly of damp stone, sometimes of earth just waking up. It’s the sort of moment where you can sit, breathe, and remember: holy crap, I live in France.
My eyes usually drift past the fence to the house next door. “House” might be generous. At this point it’s more of a suggestion. Vines, weeds, and a chimney waiting for the right gust of wind to announce its retirement. The roof sags like a drunk uncle in a lawn chair, stubbornly holding on but not inspiring much confidence.
And then there are the fig trees. A thicket of them, standing guard. Every summer they pump out figs like they’re on quota. I don’t bother fighting my way in. I just lean over the fence and grab a few. Sweet, messy, guaranteed to stain your shirt. A small tax for having the view.
This story continues in Savoring the Chaos →
Savoring the Chaos is an upcoming collection of stories about the small, funny, and occasionally absurd moments that show up when you start a new life in France.
Some of these pieces first appear in the We Got Frenched blog, usually not long after they happen. You can follow the chaos in the blog here →
Want a fun quiz to see where you might live in France?
I put together a couple of short quizzes for people who are curious, undecided, or just like thinking out loud before making big moves.
