When I returned to France from California, where time didn’t wait for jet lag to pass. The days were full — intensely so — and yet, it’s in that fullness that I’m reminded why I do what I do. Some people fill their suitcases. Others fill containers.
Either way, when people come on a French la Vie, whether with a group, join in with a group, or solo buying – they bank on us knowing where to look, what to see, and how to choose. When you know how to hunt for beauty, it’s not long before space runs out. That’s what happens when you’re guided by instinct, by history, and by a little magic passed down. My mother, who used to say, “Don’t go shopping with Corey. She won’t buy anything, but you’ll buy everything.”
This summer has been a tapestry of contradictions: Sitting with my mother, chasing after grandchildren, guiding clients, picking blackberries, posting about Gaza, laughing with friends, dreaming, mourning. I live in the space between — between joy and grief, privilege and pain, the beauty of everyday life and the ache of knowing too much.
But isn’t that life now? To be awake is to carry both. To walk through antique markets and headlines. To feel the weight of the world while holding a bowl just right for apricots. The heart expands to hold both — must expand — or else it turns away.
There’s no middle anymore, not really. But there is presence. And I choose that. I choose to keep my eyes open — to beauty, to suffering, to all of it — and still find ways to live with reverence, with passion, and with hope.
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