We’re going to be moving to LV any day now. While I am thrilled that my commute is going to now be a 10-minute walk, I am a little heartbroken to leave the grandeur of our Champs-Elysees office. Yesterday, shrugging off a day at the gym, and embracing the brisk autumn temperatures that usually leave me shivering and complaining, I walked to work instead of cramming myself onto the Metro. It did wonders for my spirits.
(Gee, I wonder why?)
(Still want to take pastry classes here)
Later, reflecting on my recent moods and struggles with Julie, I realized that I am now at a point of being in Paris as if I were in a relationship (yes, I think I remember what that feels like). It’s been eight months. The first six months were nothing but bliss; the city could do no wrong. Then I went to New York and felt alienated, tormented and just plain weird. I couldn’t wait to get back to Paris.
And since I’ve been back, in twisted karmic revenge or something, I’ve been having a hard time. I’ve realized that the love of my life has its faults. The bureaucracy and pace kill me, as do my current workload and the exchange rate. When it’s cold and dark out as it is in November, it’s a little less magical than when everyone is sprawled out in the park or on café terraces until the sun finally sets at 10 o’clock, like it does in July.
This walk reminded me of my first days here in Paris, when I would find my way from the crummy hotel to the office. Mingling with the locals, going about my new routine, I felt so inspired, happy, in awe. Just plain lucky to be here.
I guess it’s inevitable that you can’t hold onto that high forever. But it’s just as important that I remember those feelings and try to see the beauty and magic with fresh eyes, an un-jilted heart and all the appreciation that this incredible city deserves.