Finding Our Place: Building a Life and Home in France

From Nomadic House-Sitting to Creating Stability in a New Country

After months of house-sitting across rural France, the constant moving from one home to another began to take its toll. What once felt like an adventure became a search for something more permanent. Navigating language barriers, adjusting to new routines, and the need for stability grew stronger with each move. While house-sitting offered freedom and exploration, it lacked a sense of home. Now, two years into our journey in France, we’re embracing the slow process of settling down—figuring out what home really means and where we want to build our future.

Seeking Stability

After months of moving around, the appeal of rural quiet and the freedom of house-sitting began to wane. Each time we packed up to leave one house and move to another, the sense of not having our own space weighed on us more. And while house-sitting offered a unique opportunity to explore France, it wasn’t without its complications.

“Maybe we should think about finding something more permanent,” my wife suggested one evening, after we’d unpacked yet again in another home. “Something that feels like it’s ours, even if it’s just for a while.”

I couldn’t help but agree. It all felt unsettled. It takes time to settle into any place, to know it a little, to internalize it.

While house-sitting allowed us to get to know different regions, experiencing rural life firsthand, and living rent-free—the constant need to adjust to new routines, homes, and even pets was hard sometimes. Every move felt like starting over, and it was becoming exhausting. Still, the idea of settling permanently in one place felt daunting.

“Where do we even want to be? ” I asked, not really expecting an answer. There’s a lot to love about France—the food, the countryside, the slower pace of life—but settling meant making a decision. Committing to a single place, after spending so long on the move, wasn’t something we took lightly.

France is really big, after all. It’s larger than all the northeastern U.S. states combined, including New York, Pennsylvania, Maine, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut, Vermont, and New Hampshire. All of them together. Big.

The Language Barrier and the Slow Build

Language had been one of our biggest hurdles since arriving in France. I’d always imagined that by this point, I’d have a better handle on it, but - nope.

“Pourquoi est-ce si dur ? Donne-moi la baguette !” (“Why is this hard? Just give me the baguette!”) I muttered after yet another miscommunication at the grocery store. I could manage basic conversations, sure, but anything more complicated left me feeling frustrated and isolated. Sometimes, the bakery was complicated.

“If we’re going to stay here long-term, I really need to get serious about learning,” I confessed to my wife. There was no way around it—if we wanted to build a life here, mastering the language wasn’t optional. The fact that we were still having this conversation two years in says a lot. We're improving, but there's still a long way to go.

Learning a new language, especially as an adult, is slow work. It’s not just about memorizing vocabulary—it’s about building the confidence to engage with locals, navigate bureaucracy, and form connections. Every conversation, no matter how small, felt like a step forward, but progress often seemed painfully slow.

And as someone who's spent 20 years teaching language acquisition, I now have a whole new level of empathy for my former students.

House-Sitting & Rural France

House-sitting did teach us a lot about what we wanted—and didn’t want—from life in France. Each home we stayed in, each new village or town we explored, gave us insight into different ways of living here. We saw firsthand the benefits of both rural solitude and small-town community, and we learned that, as much as we loved the idea of living in the countryside, we needed more human connection.

“There’s something to be said for village life,” I said one morning, looking out over the rolling hills of this beautifully situated house, listening to the only noise we heard every day, the hourly church bells. “But maybe not too rural. There aren’t even cows here.”

Living in homes scattered across France gave us a unique perspective on what life might look like if we committed to one place. Some homes felt like havens, with gardens and quiet mornings, while others—isolated and far from any kind of social interaction—reminded us that solitude, while peaceful, could easily become loneliness. It was a balance we were still figuring out.

I mean, I like people, but not all people all the time. I like individuals, but I’m not sure I like humanity as a whole. Something like that.

But I like you, Dear Reader. Rest assured.

Building a Future in France

The journey has been anything but straightforward. We’ve wrestled with uncertainty —visa renewals, language barriers, bureaucratic hoops—but with each, we’ve gotten a little closer to understanding what home means for us.

Our most recent visa renewal felt like a small but significant step. The process, which had been so daunting the first time, now felt routine. It was a reminder that we were building something here. Piece by piece, we were crafting a life that was beginning to feel more permanent.

“Do you think we’ll ever feel completely settled?” I asked, half-joking, as we walked away from the prefecture after renewing our visa.

“I’m not sure,” my wife replied. “But I think we’re getting closer.”

I’d love to hear from you!

Have you made a move like this? Was yours easier? Tell me how!

If it was not easier, I empathize - I’d love to hear about it.

K

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