Who cares? Simple enough—I do.

Isn’t it funny how a thing, an event, or a place settles into your subconscious without your ever intending it to be there? That’s what happened to me with Paris. Though I won’t call my interest an obsession (I’ll leave that description to my friends), it’s definitely a fascination.

The idea of all things French began with my name; both my sister and I have French names, spelled exactly the way, the French way, they’re supposed to be. Le français—tiny bits of it—has surrounded me all my life. My sister is named after a saint–no ordinary saint either, one who performed miracles; there is no St. Jacqueline (that I know of, even with 12 years of Catholic school). Yes, I know where my name came from, (it’s the feminine of Jacques/James), but the why remains a mystery to me.

My fascination led me to France and not one, but two novels about Paris. In the larger sense, my love of Paris, and writing about it, really speaks to something bigger and applies to each and every one of us: the importance of making our dreams come true. The size of the dream, the cost of it, the obsession with it doesn’t matter.

It took me a long time to start writing. I’ve finally begun to understand that it doesn’t matter how long it takes to get around to fulfilling your dream, just as long as we have them and try our best to fulfill them. A dream has two parts: getting there and being in the moment. Dreams complete our lives. Loving the process of moving closer to our endpoint, is what brings us joy. So, what are you dreaming of?