I am 28 years old.

I’ve just arrived in my hotel room. I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into space. I haven’t even taken my shoes off.

I should probably unpack. Take a shower. Call someone.

Instead, I stay still.

A dark cloud has been hovering over my head for weeks now. Not the kind that crashes all at once, but the quiet, persistent kind that follows you everywhere. I’m slowly coming to a realization that feels uncomfortable to admit, even to myself: I hate my life.

And yet, nothing dramatic is actually happening.

Sure, I’m going through a difficult breakup, but it’s not the first time. There’s no crisis, no catastrophe, no single moment I can point to and blame. That’s not really the problem. The problem is everything this breakup forces me to see, all at once.

It’s been three years since I moved back from the US. Five years since I earned my master’s degree in digital marketing. On paper, I did everything right. And still, the reality check is brutal.

I don’t like my job. I don’t like the city I live in. I don’t like the life I’m leading. My days feel flat, predictable, interchangeable. I’m bored. I don’t feel valued. I don’t feel fulfilled or inspired. Every morning feels like a repeat of the day before, and I have no clear sense of where I’m going or why I’m doing any of it.

Around me, life seems to be moving forward for everyone else.

My friends are getting pregnant, buying houses, getting married- sometimes all at once. I open Instagram and immediately feel out of sync, like I’m watching a life I’m supposed to want, but can’t quite recognize myself in.

I chose a path that didn’t quite fit the usual timeline. I don’t know if I lost time or gained it. Right now, it mostly feels like I understand life less than ever. I no longer know what life expects from me or what I expect from it.

My 30th birthday is fast approaching, and that thought weighs heavier than I anticipated. Because when I look at my life, there is absolutely nothing, today, that makes me feel proud of it.

I often think about the 16-year-old version of myself. The one who had plans. Big dreams. A quiet but unshakable ambition. She believed life would feel fuller than this. She would be deeply disappointed.

I thought that by the time I reached my late twenties, my life would be neatly in place. And on paper, it is. A decent salary. A company car. A beautiful apartment. Money saved. Stability. Security.

So why do I feel like a hamster stuck in a wheel, running endlessly but going nowhere?

For the first time, I start questioning everything.

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Two months later, I’m sitting across from my boss.

It’s January 3rd, and I’m about to do what feels, at the time, completely irreversible.

In a post-pandemic world, I make what seems like the most irresponsible decision possible: I quit a stable, well-paid job. I walk away from security and stability… straight into the unknown. I have absolutely no idea what comes next.

The only thing I know is this: I’m moving back to the South, closer to my family. I want to start my own business. I want a fresh start.

I no longer want to endure my life. I want to be proud of it. Proud of what I’ve built. After all, our time on this earth is limited, and I refuse to spend another minute wondering, “What would have happened if I had dared to blow everything up at that exact moment?”

I want the answer.

My boss accepts my resignation. I give back my apartment, my company car, and three weeks later, I’m on the road to the South. My Mini is packed to the brim, and Berlioz, my cat, is sitting in the passenger seat.

For several months, I have no clear business idea.

I explore different paths. I consider going back to what I know best: digital marketing and communication. At one point, I even seriously think about launching a digital communication business for cosmetic doctors.

On paper, it makes sense. I have the skills. The experience. The background.

But something feels off.

I realize I can’t picture myself creating content designed to convince women that something about them needs to be fixed. I don’t want to build a business rooted in insecurity. I don’t want to sell transformation by pointing out flaws.

I start losing sleep. Wanting to launch a business is one thing. But what is my real value in this world?

After three years in a job that didn’t stimulate me, I’ve lost sight of who I am and what I’m truly good at. I know I want independence. I know I want meaning. But I don’t yet know where those two things meet.

And that uncertainty is terrifying.

Until one day, I’m sitting on a friend’s couch when one of them casually blurts out:

“Hey S, we were watching a documentary about wedding planners the other day, and we thought you’d be perfect as a wedding planner!”

I freeze. I look at him. Then I say,

“But… I could actually see myself as a wedding planner too.”

That same evening, I get home and start researching the profession. I read, I dig, I try to understand this world I had never seriously considered before.

And very quickly, something clicks.

I’m an aesthete. I love events. I spent several years working in corporate events environments, and those projects were always my favorite moments of the year. I had never imagined making it my full-time career, but suddenly, everything falls into place.

This is exactly what I’ve been looking for: real human connections with my clients, a constant flow of meaningful projects, and my deep need for independence and entrepreneurship finally fulfilled.

Then I discover the concept of ikigai. And suddenly, it all makes sense. I can’t sleep at night anymore. I’m excited, energized, deeply driven by a gut feeling I can’t ignore. For the first time in a long while, I know I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

I know I’m opening a new chapter.

I know what I want to do: find a career that combines everything I love. Sunshine. Celebration. Project management. Love. Entrepreneurship. Speaking English.

All of it, in what I truly believe is the most beautiful place in the world: Provence.

As I dig deeper, I realize that Provence is one of the most sought-after wedding destinations. I discover that many international couples choose to get married here: British, American, Canadian couples.

These couples dream of Provence, but often without knowing its codes. They need guidance. A lighthouse in the dark. Someone to lead them, reassure them, and support them every step of the way.

I understand their cultures. I understand their expectations. I know the level of service they are used to, the way they need to be cared for. And very quickly, everything becomes clear.

I know exactly what I want to do.

I’m going to create a wedding planning agency specializing in destination weddings in Provence.

Not just to plan events.

But to support people through one of the most meaningful moments of their lives, with the same care, high standards, and kindness I once wished someone had offered me when everything felt uncertain.

That day, at 28 years old, I didn’t just change careers.

I chose to trust myself, and to build a business rooted in meaning, intention, and human connection.

Here, I’ll be sharing what it truly means to plan destination weddings in Provence. The behind-the-scenes. The decisions couples don’t always see. The cultural nuances, the logistics, the creative process, and the human side of this job that goes far beyond pretty tables and floral arches.

Because wedding planning isn’t just about organizing an event.

It’s about guiding couples through a once-in-a-lifetime experience, in a place that often feels unfamiliar to them, and making it feel seamless, safe, and deeply personal.

This is where it all comes together.

And this is just the beginning.

If you’re dreaming of getting married in Provence, you’re in the right place.

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Credit Photo : Hugo Herault