The glow from my laptop screen had become my primary source of light. At 31, my life in Mumbai was a relentless cycle of KPI reports, endless PowerPoint presentations, and chai breaks that had morphed into coffee-fuelled sprints. I was successful, my LinkedIn profile was polished, and my parents were proud. But I was also profoundly, bone-deeply tired. Burnout wasn’t just a buzzword; it was the grey filter through which I saw my world.
Compounding this was the silent hum of being single in my thirties. Dating apps felt like a second job, a series of interviews where the primary questions revolved around career trajectory and five-year plans. Romance had been demoted to a checklist item, somewhere between “file taxes” and “renew passport.” The vibrant, curious woman I once was had been replaced by a highly efficient, deeply uninspired automaton.
From Mumbai Burnout to a Parisian Epiphany
One rainy Tuesday, scrolling through my phone during a particularly soul-crushing Zoom call, I saw a picture of a friend sitting at a Parisian café, a glass of red wine in hand, looking effortlessly alive. The French have a term for it: joie de vivre. The joy of living. It felt like a concept from another planet.
That’s when the mad idea struck. What if the antidote to my monochrome existence wasn’t a wellness retreat or another productivity hack? What if it was a radical change of scenery and a dive into a culture that supposedly perfected the art of living? And what if, just for fun, I populated that experiment with a string of dates with French men?
Two months later, I landed in Paris. My mission wasn’t to find a husband, but to find a pulse. I downloaded a dating app, set my location, and braced myself for my deep dive into French dating culture.
What Dating French Men Is Really Like
My first date was with Jean-Pierre, an architect. We didn’t meet for a rushed coffee. We met for a two-hour lunch on a Tuesday afternoon. We spoke about the way light hits old buildings, the politics of public spaces, and his passion for baking bread. He asked me about the books I was reading, not the targets I was hitting. It was bewilderingly refreshing.
Then there was Matthieu, a musician. Our date was a walk through Montmartre with no destination. He stopped to point out a hidden garden, bought me a warm crêpe from a street vendor, and complimented the way I laughed. There was an ease, a focus on the present moment that felt utterly foreign to my goal-oriented mindset. The flirtation was an art form – a delicate dance of words and glances, not a means to an end.
Of course, not every date was a scene from a movie. There was the philosophy student who was more interested in the sound of his own voice and the banker who was just as burnt out as I was. But even the less-than-perfect encounters taught me something. The conversations were rarely about work. They were about passion, travel, food, art, and life. Dating in Paris wasn’t a prelude to marriage; it was a celebration of connection, however fleeting.
The Real Lesson: Finding Joy Beyond the Dates
Slowly, something began to shift. It wasn’t about the men, I realised, as I sat alone by the Seine one evening. They were simply the catalysts. The real change was happening within me. I was learning to savour my food, to walk without a destination, to find beauty in a conversation that led nowhere. I was unfurling a part of myself that had been crushed under the weight of ambition and expectation.
Did a string of dates with French men bring back my joie de vivre? The answer is a resounding yes, but not in the way I expected. They didn’t give it to me. They simply held up a mirror and showed me a different way to live, reminding me that joy isn’t a destination you arrive at after hitting your targets. It’s in the leisurely lunch, the pointless walk, the shared laughter over a glass of wine.
I came back to Mumbai not with a French boyfriend, but with a piece of Paris tucked away in my soul. My life is still busy, but it’s no longer grey. I now schedule long lunches with myself and take walks just to feel the sun on my face. The French men didn’t save me; they just reminded me how to save myself.
