There's a specific moment that happens when you travel. It doesn't have a name. It probably should. The sky looks different. The sirens scream a different tune.

You wake to light pouring through tall windows. Coffee that somehow tastes better here. You don't have to carry an agenda. You simply get to enjoy.

Long dinners that turned into three-hour affairs. Gypsy Jazz in a tiny café. Women saying: "Send for my things, we're Paris girls now."

"How busy are our days?" The short answer? Enough. Not too much. Not too little. Just enough. One anchor event, free afternoons, unforgettable evenings.

I didn't start with a spreadsheet. I started with a feeling. How do I want women to feel while they're there? Size, flow, hotels, events, and care — these five always stay.

By day 2.5 you know the corners without your phone. The birds sound different here. You start taking pictures of doorknobs. You smile while you walk.

The tomatoes are finally delicious and I've had 6 root beer floats. Fall is but a blink away. And I know what's waiting — Paris.

There's a point in planning where I should say "that's enough." And then I think of one more thing. A 28-page itinerary, purse cards, bathroom money, handwritten notes…

I just dropped my baby girl off at college. Then I got on a plane and flew to Paris. New website is live. Paris 2027 is coming. And I'm counting croissants.