The very end of August is the time that Paris suddenly fills up. It literally happens in a matter of days. For most of the summer, particularly in August, the regular residents give way to tourists wandering the boulevards. In our 6 story apartment building I think there was a time during the last month when we were the only ones here. But in the closing days of August bronzed families straggle back and make for the grocery stores to restock their refrigerators.
For many of the families at Jane's school, the summer was spent in the US. I had coffee with one of my American friends on her first day back in Paris. As we took the first sip of our espressos she asked for a moment of silence to give proper reverence to the wonderful taste of french coffee. Jen actually lives in the same L.A. neighborhood in which I grew up. She are her family moved to Paris last year for a one year adventure that they quickly realized was going to be too short. They were convinced that they had to stay longer and so they are back. I asked how she felt upon arriving that morning. She told me that as the plane began its descent she started to cry. Happy and emotional tears.
I could completely relate.
I have asked myself many times what is it about Paris, about France, that has captured me so? I realize that it is a complete cliche but judging from the number of books written on just this subject, it is a real syndrome for many real people - not just today but throughout history. And it is not that life is idyllic in Paris. It is far from it. In fact it is downright inconvenient at times. When French people ask me where I lived before moving here, I believe that they imagine I will respond "Wichita" or some such place. When I tell them San Diego through their surprise I can see they become actually misty eyed! Ohhh..I have always wanted to visit there, they tell me. I hear that it is the most wonderful place!
They are right, it is. I do not think that they understand when I explain that I loved it there, that I led a wonderful life there, that I have some of the most fantastic friends in the world living there, that I have left my beloved family back on the West Coast. So why are you here? they ask.
SUCH a good question and I wish I had the answer. Usually I have to just respond simply because I wanted to. The opportunity to come, that tiny window, opened a crack and I decided if I didn't squeeze through it I may regret it for the rest of my life.
Jen and I talked about the scary fallout of doing just what both of us have done over our coffee on Saturday. We have entered a weird sort of no man's land where we belong in both places and in neither at the same time. I told her how when I think about not living in France, I actually feel sick. At the same time, it is indescribably sad to think of never living "home" again - as in America, and even more wrenching to have 3 of my 4 daughters so very far away. I think in some ways I have really blown it.
But as we discussed, for some reason we chose to come here - were drawn here - where the layers run deep as my friend described. Paris feels almost tactile with its richness and for now we are both wrapped within its folds.
My former husband, temporary Buddhist monk, (still hurts to think of him like that) repeated the phrase Be here now often.
That's the only thing I can do.
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