The French Exception

A note from the threshold between two worlds — one I’m leaving after twenty-eight years without ever feeling I belonged, and one I’m returning to as a stranger.

I’m afraid of losing my American culture by moving to France.

I’m afraid of losing my ability to write in English, the same way I lost my French writing skills.

Immersed in a French-speaking world, I might end up unable to write properly in any language — losing my audience even before I’ve found one.

But I’m also afraid of the French exception — that quiet confidence woven into the national psyche, the belief that the rules binding everyone else somehow don’t apply to us.

Funny how the French exception isn’t so different from the academic exception.

Academics, too, take for granted that the laws of the world don’t quite concern them.

I’m trading one exception for another.

At least the French have croissants.

Fort Collins → France, October 2025