Moving to the South of France

From Crunching Numbers to Munching Croissants: How I Swapped Spreadsheets for Spectacular French Sunsets

Written by Denise G. who moved to France in the middle of a Midlife Crisis after attending a From Troubled to Triumphant: Find Solid Ground during a Life Quake retreat in the sun-blessed southwest of France

#LifeQuake Series

Let me start by saying: I never planned to move to France. Heck, I didn’t even plan to leave my job. I was one of those “stick to the schedule, keep your head down, and don’t rock the boat” types. You know, the kind of person who doesn’t even cross the street until the little green man shows up on the pedestrian light. But somewhere between yet another soul-sucking audit and the realisation that I’d just spent an entire decade colour-coding spreadsheets, something inside me snapped.

Or maybe it was just the third coffee that day. Who knows?

The Day I Said “Au Revoir” to My 9-to-5

I was sitting in my office—if you can call a cubicle with beige walls and a suspicious stain on the carpet an “office”—staring at a client’s expense reports. “$4,000 for ‘team-building snacks’? Seriously?” I muttered under my breath. (For the record, it was mostly tequila. That’s a red flag if I’ve ever seen one.)

It wasn’t just the absurdity of the job, though. It was the monotony. The same numbers. The same complaints about the coffee machine. The same coworkers with their passive-aggressive Post-It notes in the communal fridge.

So, on a random Tuesday—because big life decisions should always happen on a random Tuesday—I opened my browser, Googled “remote jobs,” and started clicking around. That’s how I stumbled into the rabbit hole of freelance work.

Wait, People Get Paid to Do This?

I wish I could tell you I had a grand plan, but honestly, I was winging it. I created a profile on one of those freelancing platforms (you know, the kind where everyone says “I’ll do X for $5” but secretly charges $50). I figured, “Hey, I know accounting. People need accounting, right?”

The thing is, freelance accounting isn’t just about crunching numbers. Suddenly, I was answering emails at 9 PM because some panicked small business owner couldn’t find their receipts. I became a part-time therapist for people who “just don’t understand taxes.” And let’s not even talk about the guy who tried to pay me in cryptocurrency. (Spoiler: I said no.)

But it worked. Slowly but surely, I started to build a client base. And as much as I’d love to tell you I was instantly making six figures while lounging in my pyjamas, the truth is I spent the first three months eating instant ramen and Googling, “How to price freelance services without sounding desperate.”

The France Idea (AKA My Midlife Crisis, But Make It Fancy)

Now, here’s where things get interesting. One night, I was scrolling Instagram (because obviously, that’s what you do when you suspect you’re burnt out). I saw a post from someone I barely knew—a “digital nomad,” apparently—living their best life in a little French village.

The picture? A cobblestone street lined with flower boxes, a sunset in the background, and a caption that read, “Work from anywhere.” I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly fell off the couch. But then I started thinking… could I actually do that?

I mean, I hated my job, sure. But what I hated even more was that my life felt small. I was in my 40s, living the same day over and over, like some accounting version of Groundhog Day. Wasn’t this the time to do something crazy?

The crazy thing I did, a week before, in a desperate attempt to cope with my debilitating midlife crisis, was to attend a From Troubled to Triumphant: Find Solid Ground during a Life Quake retreat in the southwest of France. It changed EVERYTHING.

I fell madly in love with France during the retreat, so I grabbed a piece of paper, wrote “Why Not Move to France?” at the top, and started a list. Pros: cheese, wine, croissants. Cons: my non-existent French, and… moving to another country leaving everything and everyone I know behind, a rather daunting list.

A week later, I applied for a visa.

Learning to Say “Bonjour” Without Sounding Like a French Toddler

Fast forward three months, and there I was: standing in a tiny apartment in Bordeaux, surrounded by several suitcases, a bottle opener and a bottle of cheap red wine in my hands.

Now, let me tell you, moving to France sounds glamorous until you’re the one trying to explain your Wi-Fi issues to a technician who speaks zero English. (My version of French was basically just pointing at things and adding “s’il vous plaît.”)

The first few weeks were chaos. I got lost constantly. Once, I ended up in a boulangerie trying to order a baguette and accidentally asked for “a very large grandmother.” The cashier laughed so hard she gave me the bread for free. (Bless her.)

But slowly, life started to feel… lighter. I’d wake up, make my coffee, and open my laptop in the corner of a little café. I worked, yes, but I also took long lunches, strolled through markets, and sat by the river with a book. I learned to appreciate slowness in a way I never had back in the grind of corporate life.

The Big Lesson (or, Why One Should Do the Scary Thing)

Was it terrifying to leave my stable job and start over in a foreign country? Absolutely. Did I have moments where I questioned everything, cried into a glass of Bordeaux, and called my best friend screaming, “What have I done?” Also yes.

But here’s the thing: life’s too short to stay stuck. Whether it’s a job, a city, or even just a mindset—if something isn’t making you happy, it’s okay to change it.

I won’t pretend everything’s perfect. French bureaucracy is a nightmare, and don’t even get me started on how long it takes to set up a bank account here. But when I think about where I was a year ago, stuck in that cubicle with the beige walls, I wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

So, if you’re reading this, wondering if you should take that leap—whether it’s switching careers, moving abroad, or even just saying “no” to something that’s not serving you—this is your sign.

Trust me, the almond croissants alone are worth it.

Here’s to messy, beautiful, unpredictable life changes. Or as the French say, “A la Votre!”