Back in 2016, like many Americans, I was gripped by a certain level of political anxiety. My chosen candidate wasn’t winning, and the alternative, well, let’s just say it felt like the world was about to end. In a fit of despair, I declared, “If Trump wins, I’m out of here!” My friends laughed, but I was serious. The idea of living in a Trump-led America seemed unbearable.

My “escape plan” involved a one-way ticket to a charming little village in the south of France. I envisioned myself sipping wine in a sun-drenched cafe, surrounded by kind, open-minded people who wouldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The reality was, of course, far more complicated.

Turns out, getting a visa for France isn’t as simple as hopping on a plane. It requires mountains of paperwork, a hefty bank account, and a whole lot of patience. The language barrier didn’t help either. I ended up with a half-baked French phrasebook and a crippling fear of ordering escargots.

The real kicker? Trump did win. But, to my surprise, the world didn’t end. Instead, it continued to spin, and the sun still rose and set. Life went on. My “escape plan” fizzled out, replaced by a sense of resigned acceptance.

I still dream of that charming village in France, but now, my yearning is less fueled by political fear and more by a longing for croissants and a slower pace of life. Perhaps, one day, my dreams will come true. But for now, I’m content to stay put, armed with my newfound perspective: sometimes, the best way to escape is to stay and fight.