Why I have yet to make the journey to Paris is a mystery to me. A combination of reasons -- timing, expenses, fear, and the fact that if/when I go, I may never return -- have contributed to today's travel resolution. The dream of getting "lost in Paris" still thrives deep within my wanderlusting soul.
I started taking ballet lessons at age three in a dance studio run by an old school French-style ballet genius, a difficult find in smalltown suburb, Ohio. She was in her late 60s when I knew her best, blonde gentle curls, shoulder pads, gold bangling bracelets, cigarette in hand, poodle at foot, propped in her short white director's chair. The piano player pounded away at the keys while we trained at the barre. I was physically there, but mentally, I was in France.
The language entrigued me, almost felt like a part of me I had yet to discover. The more I learned, then more I yearned to see The Louvre, The Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and stroll down the Champs-Elysees. But even more than visiting the many tourist attractions you simply must see, my ultimate dream would be to get caught up in everyday life in Paris. To sip wine and people-watch from a cafe on a bustling avenue and graze on freshly made baguettes, croissants and croque monsieurs would be the perfect day. Follow that up with a walk through the city at night, hand-in-hand with the man I love, gazing at the moonlit City of Lights, and I would be one happy lady. Might as well even throw some rain in the mix. Fine with me. We'd get lost in the beauty of Paris, just reveling in the history, lifestyle and emotion that is undoubtedly French.
Someday. 
Until then, I'll watch and rewatch Amelie, Sabrina and Midnight in Paris to get my fix. I'll listen to my Edith Piaf radio station on Pandora, read travel posts, and Google images for Paris. Oh, to get "lost in Paris" ... I'm sure I'd find another missing piece of myself.
