My Greatest Risk

Taking a risk can feel like standing at the edge of a cliff, toes curled over the precipice, wind whipping your hair into a frenzy. All logic demands you step back, but something—maybe hope, maybe stubbornness—refuses to let you retreat. Well, my "cliff moment" involved an airport, a broken shoe, and a painfully romantic dash through Charles de Gaulle. Oui, it’s as dramatic as it sounds.

Let me set the scene.

Love in the Time of Croissants

In my early twenties, I was living my literary dream in Paris on a semester abroad. Imagine it: narrow cobblestone streets, cafés perfumed with strong espresso, and just enough existential crises to make things feel authentically Parisian. Life had that sepia-tinted glow of a bad Instagram filter, but it also had a plot twist—Étienne.

We’d met in a way you only seem to meet people in movies or in Europe. (Because, let’s be real, no one’s locking eyes over a bag of russet potatoes in a Montreal Metro.) Étienne was standing outside Shakespeare and Company, holding a copy of The Great Gatsby, looking tortured in a way French men seem to excel at. We struck up a conversation about Fitzgerald and the value of doomed romance, which snowballed into non-stop talks about everything from Camus to Céline Dion (because she’s practically a deity back home in Quebec).

There was just one tiny hiccup: My impending flight back to Montreal.

Our "relationship" was wrapped in the gauzy sheen of something temporary—a romance bound by an expiration date. And yet, as the days crept closer to my return, I found myself teetering dangerously close to thinking: "What if this wasn’t just temporary?"

The Airport Epiphany

On my last day in Paris, I was all packed and ready, my suitcase brimming with thrifted scarves and French novels I’d never actually read. Étienne and I had parted ways the night before, melodramatic goodbyes and all. As I rolled through the halls of Charles de Gaulle airport, my chest felt tight with that sour mix of regret and yearning. (Or maybe it was the questionable airport croissant I’d eaten that morning. Who’s to say?)

Then, I stopped dead in my tracks. No, this wasn’t how our story would end. I refused to be a side character in my own life. Channeling my inner Nora Ephron heroine, I decided—with exactly zero planning—to go back to Étienne’s flat.

Here’s the problem: running through a major European airport is very different from the glossy montages in romantic comedies. For starters, my left ballet flat fell apart mid-sprint, forcing me to hobble like a goose with a vendetta. Security gave me side-eyes, a janitor laughed outright, and one old woman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "madwoman." By the time I caught a taxi and slumped into the backseat, I looked less "impulsive romantic" and more "escaped from a PTA meeting."

Not Every Leap Lands Gracefully

When Étienne opened the door, his expression was somewhere between shock and mild panic. I blurted everything out—how I wasn’t ready to leave, how I wasn’t sure what came next, but that I wanted us to be part of it. I felt like a contestant on reality TV spilling my soul directly into the camera lens.

And then he said the words no one wants to hear when making a grand gesture: "C’est compliqué."

Turns out, Étienne was being transferred to Lyon for work the following week. We both knew a relationship wasn’t in the cards. But rather than slamming the door shut on my very sweaty, breathless self, he invited me in. We spent one last afternoon together, sharing clumsy kisses, red wine, and stale baguette pieces as we laughed about my destroyed shoe. It wasn’t the ending I’d envisioned, but it felt—oddly—right.

What I Learned When the Dust (and My Shoe) Settled

When I finally made it back to Montreal, dragging my suitcase and slightly bruised dignity, I realized something important: Taking a leap doesn’t have to end in success for it to be worth it. Here’s what I’d tell anyone weighing their own cliff moment, romantic or otherwise:

  • Clarity often comes through action. I’d been paralyzed in Paris, stuck between wanting to stay and fearing I’d regret not trying. Making the leap helped me see things clearly, even if it didn’t "work out."
  • Rejection isn’t the end of the world. I won’t lie: hearing "it's complicated" stung. But the experience didn’t destroy me—it stretched me. I learned how to survive the sting and move forward with grace. (Okay, after an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s first.)
  • Every risk rewards you, just not always in ways you expect. Étienne didn’t become my forever, but chasing after him gave me a story I treasure to this day. It also reminded me that I’m capable of being bold—a useful skill in love, career, and life in general.

Your Leap Is Waiting

Would I recommend chasing someone through an airport on a whim? Probably not, unless you’ve got excellent cardio. But I will say this: there’s no script for love worth following. Sometimes, the best stories are the ones where you take a risk, knowing the odds might not be in your favor, knowing you might fall flat on your face—or your shoe—along the way.

So, if you’re on the edge of your own cliff moment, ask yourself: What’s the worst that could happen? If it’s temporary embarrassment and a good story, I say jump. It might not end the way you’re hoping, but it will end in growth. And that’s the kind of romance—even if it’s with yourself—that’s worth every risk.