For the First Time In Months

On admitting I'm due for a break.

Oops I’m in France.

Well, technically I’m on a plane on my way to France, but it’s more fun to imagine that I’m already there and skip the two hour layover in CDG, my least favorite airport on the planet. (Never check your bags through a connection here—it won’t work out in your favor and you’ll be left scrambling to buy fresh undies for the remainder of your stay).

I’m on my—checks calendar—fifth work trip in five months and I am just a tiny bit over traveling. That is a sentence I never thought I’d write, but when I reflect back on the last 18 months, I’ve hit four continents, 48 flights, and a million and one time zone changes that have put my already fragile sleep schedule through the ringer. I know, I know, woe is me, but I’ll attest there is a difference between traveling for pleasure and traveling for work. With the former, your time is your own, and taking a leisurely nap, stroll, or seat at the bar is not only encouraged but expected. That’s typically not the case with work travel. You gotta be on the entire time, and, at the end of the day, you are… working, no mater what country you’re in at the present moment.

In my natural habitat.

I’ll never take my extremely fortunate situation for granted, mind you. Even now I have to pinch myself that I’m, once again, traveling to the south of France with a luxury beauty brand to experience things I wouldn’t otherwise have the opportunity to see. It is a privilege, period, full-stop, and I am so lucky to do what I do, all over the world and back. But I’m also allowed to say that I am really fucking tired. Not to mention, this has all been happening during one of the most tumultuous periods of my entire life.