I met a French woman named Florence at a recent potluck dinner at a friend’s house. Our host had mentioned that I’d spent a year studying at the Université de Dijon through an exchange program at Ohio Wesleyan University. Naturally, we had plenty to talk about.
That year in France was one of the most extraordinary experiences of my young life. I arrived intending to stay one semester, enough to satisfy a requirement for my International Business major. Staying the entire academic year would allow me to pursue a second major in French. The decision was easier than you might imagine. The exchange rate was favorable, and if I ate at the university cafeteria, watched my spending, and resisted traveling every weekend, I could live on less than $150 a month. Tuition was another matter, but that’s a different story.
What I couldn’t have known was how profoundly that year would change my understanding of life, culture, and eventually, economics.
A young American discovers another way to live
Once I committed to staying, I made another decision. I would speak French exclusively. That meant avoiding the comfortable company of English-speaking students, including a few who resented me for distancing myself. But I was a college kid on a mission. I wanted to experience France as the French experienced it, not as an American tourist passing through. And I loved every minute.
The pace of life seemed slower. People took their meals seriously. Vacations weren’t something to feel guilty about. University classes felt surprisingly relaxed compared with what I’d experienced back home. The homework seemed easier, and for the first time in my academic life, I genuinely enjoyed going to school. Imagine that. A young man who had never particularly liked school suddenly found himself loving the experience.
The cafés, architecture, food, conversations, history, and simple pleasure of living somewhere different made everyday life feel like an adventure. Returning to America brought something I hadn’t anticipated: reverse culture shock. Coming home was harder than leaving. America suddenly seemed louder, faster, more competitive, and more consumed with work.
France had offered me something I hadn’t known I was missing: a sense that life could be enjoyed without constantly chasing the next accomplishment. More than four decades later, I still miss that feeling.
The hidden price of a comfortable life
As a student, I admired France’s generous public benefits. Education was heavily subsidized, healthcare was broadly accessible, workers enjoyed substantial protections, and paid vacations were a normal part of life. What I didn’t understand was how the French government paid for those benefits, or what might happen when the cost of maintaining them exceeded the nation’s ability to finance them. Here’s what I learned.
France is a democratic republic with a semi-presidential system and a market economy. Unlike the United States, however, it has traditionally given government a much larger role in providing economic security. That arrangement has advantages. Public healthcare, affordable education, and stronger worker protections can reduce financial uncertainty. But these benefits require substantial taxes, payroll contributions, and government spending. The question isn’t whether these benefits are worthwhile. It’s whether a nation can sustain its promises without compromising future prosperity.
And that’s where France has encountered serious trouble. It’s the same kind of trouble cities, counties, states, and nations face when they can’t manage their spending or the taxpayer’s money.
Which ones? Look for the biggest street protests.
When the numbers stop working
According to Eurostat’s October 2026 report, France’s government deficit reached 5.1% of GDP in 2025, while public debt climbed to 115.7% of annual economic output. Government spending consumed 57.3% of GDP. Meanwhile, the European Commission forecasts continued pressure on public finances.
These numbers matter because governments cannot indefinitely expand their obligations without finding ways to finance them. Borrowing isn’t inherently irresponsible. Governments borrow to finance infrastructure, respond to emergencies, and support economic growth. But persistent deficits increase interest costs, reduce financial flexibility, and eventually force difficult choices: raise taxes, reduce spending, reform expensive programs, or borrow even more.
None of those choices is particularly popular. France’s pension system illustrates the dilemma. Longer life expectancy, an aging population, and pressure on public finances made retirement reform politically explosive. Raising the retirement age from 62 to 64 helped trigger massive demonstrations in 2023. When citizens organize their lives around benefits they believe they’ve earned, changing those promises can feel like betrayal. And when governments cannot comfortably afford those promises, something has to give.
History offers some uncomfortable lessons
Ironically, France itself offers one of history’s most dramatic examples of fiscal crisis contributing to political upheaval. Before the French Revolution of 1789, the monarchy faced enormous debts from expensive wars, an unequal tax system, and resistance to reform. Poor harvests and rising bread prices intensified public anger.
The revolution had many causes, but the government’s inability to manage its finances helped bring the crisis to a breaking point.
More recently, Greece experienced a devastating debt crisis beginning in 2009. Years of excessive deficits, weak tax collection, unreliable fiscal reporting, and structural economic problems left the country unable to finance its obligations. International bailouts brought painful austerity, mass protests, and years of economic hardship.
Venezuela offers another warning, although its collapse involved far more than public spending. Oil dependence, economic controls, declining production, monetary mismanagement, and political repression contributed to hyperinflation, widespread poverty, and mass emigration.
These examples, as well as what we see today in the United States, differ enormously in their political systems and circumstances. None proves that generous social programs inevitably produce economic collapse. Countries with extensive public benefits can prosper when their finances, institutions, and economies remain strong.
Denmark and Sweden demonstrate that generous public benefits and fiscal responsibility can coexist. Both provide universal healthcare, affordable education, and strong social protections while maintaining government debt far below France’s. According to Eurostat, Denmark’s debt was just 27.9% of GDP in 2025, compared with Sweden’s 35.1% and France’s 115.6%.
The lesson is simple: generous benefits aren’t necessarily the problem. Making promises governments cannot afford is. Whether policies come from the political left or right, economic reality eventually demands an accounting.
Then I met Florence
Which brings me back to our conversation over dinner. Florence and her husband moved to Arizona with their two children on visas. They came to work and give their children an education and opportunities they believed would be better here. I asked what she thought about France’s political and economic conditions today.
Her answer surprised me, although perhaps it shouldn’t have. She described a country weighed down by economic frustration, government bureaucracy, and a discouraging environment for people who want to build something of their own. What struck me most was her sense of lost hope. Here was a French woman who had left the country I once dreamed of remaining in because she no longer believed it offered the future she wanted for her family.
Of course, one family’s experience doesn’t speak for an entire nation. France remains a wealthy country with successful entrepreneurs, world-class industries, excellent universities, and an enviable quality of life in many respects. But Florence’s story revealed something statistics alone cannot measure. When people begin losing confidence in their country’s future, the consequences extend far beyond economics.
America’s own uncomfortable reflection
Before Americans become too smug about France’s problems, we ought to examine our own. According to the Congressional Budget Office, the United States faces a projected federal deficit of approximately $1.9 trillion in 2026, with federal debt held by the public expected to reach 120% of GDP by 2036. Our political leaders also promise benefits without adequately addressing their long-term costs. We may have a more entrepreneurial culture and flexible labor market, but we are hardly immune to the same arithmetic.
And France’s difficulties shouldn’t lead us to dismiss what it gets right. Affordable education, healthcare access, family time, and social stability are worthy goals. The challenge is designing systems that can sustain them without discouraging the economic activity needed to pay for them. A healthy society needs both economic opportunity and reasonable security.
Too little security leaves families vulnerable. Excessive bureaucracy, poorly designed taxes, or unsustainable spending can discourage investment and burden future generations. Finding that balance is the difficult work of responsible government.
What I brought home from France
I still consider that year in Dijon one of the greatest gifts of my life. It taught me to appreciate other cultures, question my assumptions, and recognize that the American way isn’t the only way to live. I learned that happiness doesn’t necessarily require more money, greater status, or longer working hours. Sometimes it comes from a slower meal, a good conversation, or simply having enough time to enjoy being alive.
Florence reminded me that a beautiful culture and a troubled economy can exist side by side. Perhaps the greatest lesson is that no nation can guarantee prosperity simply by promising it. Each generation must create, protect, and renew prosperity.
I hope France finds its way through these challenges. I would hate to think that the country that gave me so much joy as a young man might become a place its own children feel compelled to leave. And I hope America learns something from its struggles before we face the same painful choices.