I just read an interesting discussion on the process of human psychological maturation in the New York Times. One of its points was that as we mature some of us develop what is called complexity. This is the ability to look at ourselves and our situation from varying points of view and a certain "3rd person-ness". This ability is only learned over time and is an asset as we enter mid-age and beyond. Those of us who develop complexity can look at losses in our life and gain insight from them. We can look at regretted choices and see what was gained from them as well as lost.
The only problem that I see in this is that it is a hell of a lot of work. And it also requires that the bubble that I, for one, gripped so tightly, burst. I think this is called "growing up". Our parents, it turns out, were once again right. As we hurried ourselves along towards being "grown up", they constantly told us to enjoy being a kid, that being an adult was no fun. Of course we didn't believe them, what could they have possibly been talking about? Didn't they remember the torture of not being able to stay up past 9 o'clock to watch the forbidden show on TV? Our being made to eat yellow squash when it made you want to puke? Or the crushing embarrassment of being the ONLY girl at the 8th grade pool party in a one-piece "modest and appropriate" bathing suit while all the cute and popular girls had on string bikinis? Oh, if only we were adults! All of these problems wouldn't exist. I for one, could hardly wait. At the time I would have gladly traded a mortgage for the freedom of buying all the Sugar Pops I wanted. Afterall, what was so hard about writing one of those little scraps of paper called checks that my mom stressed over so often in comparison to having to constantly hide the telephone under the covers every time Dad passed down the hallway?
It is true, youth is wasted on the young. But wait! This is where complexity comes in. Without the growing pains suffered in childhood readying us for what we were to face in adulthood, we would be totally unprepared. They got us into shape - kind of like training for a marathon. And the better able we are to incorporate all that training and pain, the better we cope with what comes our way.
Okay so now the Paris part. This IS, afterall, a blog on new beginnings in Paris. But, as in everything, we bring ourselves with us wherever we go. And thank God, as it turns out. For without honing my senses breathing the tingly salty air of southern california beaches, how could I possibly appreciate the rush of cold air making my eyes tear as I pedal my bike under the Effiel Tower while racing to cooking school in the dark mornings of November? Or revel in the ability to weave in and out of shoulder to shoulder crowds in the metro if I hadn't spent hours on clogged freeways? Or cocoon in a crowded sidewalk cafe' over a glass of wine with my french girlfriend Sylvie, if I hadn't already been blessed with countless hours of girl talk on long walks, Starbucks, slumber parties, the telephone......
When I tell people that I moved to Paris not because I didn't like where I was, but because I wanted to add more to an already fantastic life, it is true. I was not running from something, but to something. Without what came before, there is no now.
I will get back to more actual "Paris" stuff next time, I promise. Now I have to go pack.
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