Walkin's Easy When the Road is Flat

I have written a lot, recently, about being homesick. About missing America and about everything that I look forward to when I get home. In the hustle and bustle of packing, finals, and everything that my life here has become, I forgot to mention one thing:

Coming to Paris, this semester, was the best thing that I have ever done for myself.

Being here, for the past 5 months, has been the hardest thing that I have ever done. For 20 years, I have floated along a relatively placid sea- but more than that, I faced few challenges, ran into minimal obstacles, and the term "instant gratification" applied to pretty much everything.

Within hours of being in Paris, I knew that these ideas, ones that I had taken for granted, would not apply in this new world. I had to work for things. If I needed something, I also needed to do it myself. If I couldn't find something, I had to find a way to get it.

More than anything, this semester has taught me a kind of temerity and self-awareness that I know I could not have acquired in any other way.

On January 8th, 2010, waving good-bye to my dad at the airport was the boldest move I have ever made. Never one to step out of my comfort zone, I was suddenly diving into the uncertain at a frightfully high pace.

Getting on that plane, tears welling up in my eyes, I couldn't help but think- this is not the kind of thing that you do- what if you can't handle this? what if you can't handle the change?

Now, as I sit here, at a quaint corner cafe in Paris, I can't help but smile in recollection and think that now this IS the kind of thing that I do. I can handle this- and at this point, it is difficult for me to imagine a challenge that I would be unable to overcome.

Paris has changed my definition of the conceivable. It has changed my image of what I am capable of and it has forever revolutionized my own self-confidence.

Sitting at this cafe today, the server walked up to me and smiled "you have proven your french! and with that, I will give you the menu- in french"

But mastering a basic understanding of a foreign language, creating a home for myself, and starting a life in this new and unfamiliar place were small troubles in exchange for the transformation that they caused.

Adlai Stevenson once advised "when you leave here, do not forget why you came"

I came to Paris because I was unchallenged and unfazed by my life in America- the days were the same and I couldn't help but think that falling into a pattern of …well, patterns, was setting myself up for a life of the same. I needed change, i needed difference, and i needed obstacles.

In Paris, these are things that I have found- I have learned that there truly is no classroom equivalent for what you learn in foreign travels. I have learned that nothing is worth doing with which you have not invested your whole heart.

I have discovered, in Paris, that sometimes you can put everything you have into something and what you get isn't exactly what you wanted, that sometimes when you try your absolute hardest, you need to push harder- but most importantly I have learned there there is nothing that cannot be done without persistence, an open mind, and effort.

There is no better feeling than the one I had today, handing in my last final exam- unrealistic as it was, it was what the action symbolized: I felt I could take on the world. I felt as thought there was no pitfall that I would be incapable of overcoming.

More than anything, when I get home, I look forward to putting this mentality to action: to showing myself more things that I can do- and to taking on more obstacles- I have discovered not that failure is impossible, but that it is merely another obstacle on the road to success. Where there is a will, I have heard, there is a way- and of this, I can now say with a kind of confidence I never knew I had, I am sure.

With you I'd Walk Anywhere

Paris is a beautiful city, full of museums, parks, and narrow cobblestoned streets that I have spent 5 months exploring. The churches are some of the most beautiful places that I have ever seen and the architecture is unlike any that I will ever see again. But there are some things that, no matter how hard I try, I will never be able to find in Europe.

'Speed of the Sound of Loneliness' is a beautiful John Prine song that my dad plays a lot in late afternoons, I never noticed it- nor did i even know what it was called- but its a wonderful song. This morning I found it stuck in my head, so I got it online and turned it on…it didn't help…for some reason, it doesn't carry the same meaning when I am listening to it alone in my apartment in Paris. What I wanted was to be on my dads living room couch, him coming home from work, opening a soda, and sitting down next to me.

All of last summer, my friends and I listened to the same songs over and over again…songs that are just not done justice when I hear them out at parisian dance clubs.

I have been lucky enough, my whole life, to never really be alone. My friends are truly amazing, genuine, honest people- and always have been. I have ridden a sometimes bumpy road- but the people with me have made it more than bearable. As I look around my walls, here, in Paris, at my photos- I wonder what exactly I was running from. I think even of the fights that I've been in with my closest friends, even with people that I stopped speaking to…and I can now realize that every one of these fights was only out of love.

It's hard when you really care about someone, to understand that. Its hard to see through a haze of anger and realize that all you want is the best for everyone that you care about- most of the fights i've gotten into with my best friend were because I wasn't caring for myself enough and she had to remind me to try.

For so many years I have been blessed to be surrounded by people who care for me, people who have my best intentions always at heart. To leave all of these people for another country, where I was alone, really shook me to the core. I thrive on being in good company. I love spending time with people that I love.

I have never laughed or cried harder than in times spent with those closest to me- those who have seen me at my best and my worst. I'm not, in fact, one to really express emotion- but in these past few days, my excitement to get home has been almost unbearable. Making plans to go to dinner, to spend weekends in Albany, to drive to DC…it seems truly surreal, and now, after 5 months, I can appreciate that more than I ever imagined possible.

It sounds cliche to say that I didn't know how good I had it, back home, and I guess it's ridiculous that I had to travel to a foreign country for 5 months in order to realize that…but sometimes, you do have to learn things the hard way.

It's interesting to think about…here, in Paris, I have my own apartment. The city is gorgeous, there are unlimited options for activities, I can't get a job, I go to class 4 times a week, and the term "allowance" hasn't really applied since I was in America. I think that this, more than anything, has served as an example to prove that money cannot buy happiness. Tomorrow, I am going out to one of the best restaurants in Paris, I will eat and drink well, and be in good company- it will be fun, and a great meal…but i would give anything to be able to sit down on a couch with Maggie and Marmol, order cappachinos pizza, and drink andre out of the bottle (as I will be doing very soon)… Maybe thats just the class in me, though.

I've never really understood crying out of happiness or excitement…I think I did, once, in a Jim Carey movie, but thats a separate story. But the feeling that I get when I think of landing in JFK, of getting off that plane, and of walking into my moms apartment- of seeing my dog, my brother, my mom… its indescribable. Imagining stepping into my dads living room, where I know he will be waiting patiently…cracking open that first can of diet pepsi and sitting down on the couch…well, it makes me feel like I am the luckiest person in the world- and I wouldn't trade that feeling for anything.

There is so much that I look forward to when I get home- I have so many graduates to see and so many open arms to run into. I have stories to tell, and stories to hear.

They say that people come to Paris looking for love- well, as a… wise woman once said…

I don't think that that love is here…

no, it is not in this quaint apartment in this beautiful city…in Paris- in fact, it is right where I left it: at home.

A Little on the Trashy Side

In just about every aspect of my life, I am stereotypically girly.

I love shoes and holding hands, slow dancing and grand gestures, I've spent my share of days confined to bed with movies and Ben & Jerrys, and I cry every time Meryl Streep lets her husband drive away from Clint Eastwood in the pouring rain of Madison County. I tend to be over-analytical. I get attached too easily and I admit to owning such classic literature as He's Just Not That Into You.

Yes, in many ways, I pretty much define what it means to be girly…and I've been pretty comfortable with that my whole life.

But honestly… I'm a beast at pool. I love the smell of chewing tobacco and I think pickup trucks are incredibly attractive.. and I could tell you an embarrassing amount of information about yankees baseball and college football. In fact, just a couple of weeks ago, I was up until 5 in the morning watching the NFL draft

Paris has been going great, as the light at the end of the tunnel is now apparent- and with less than 2 weeks left here, I'm really enjoying what I have left. Last night was particularly interesting, as, after meeting up with a friend and some of his friends at a bar, my friend and I ended up taking a cab back to their house to hang out…now, there house is ACTUALLY located in eurodisney (they work for Disney as stuntmen in the wild west show…seriously, I couldn't make this up)

I went back with my friend, mostly because I didn't want to leave her alone and didn't know what situation she was getting herself into, and I knew I could handle myself fine. Honestly, when we got to their house, I was very hesitant…and, to be frank, kind of a bitch. There we were, two small twenty year old girls with no way to get home until the buses started up at 5am (unless we wanted to pay 80 euro for a cab) in a house full of 6 or 7 guys in good shape in their mid twenties- who all had each other to back them up.

My anxiety mustve been pretty apparent, after I turned down drinks and made sure to stay standing and alert, keeping my eyes locked on my friend, to make sure everything was okay.

After a little while, I walked out on the porch, where a few of the guys were smoking…I was tired and really, just wanted to go home, but the given my options (which were few) there wasn't much i could do but sit down and wait until Melanie was ready to go, so I sad on the steps and looked up at the guys standing next to me, at which point I was greeted by a site so familiar to me back at school…something I hadn't seen since my last time in America- in the back pockets of their jeans, all of the guys had matching lightened circles…or, as they're commonly known 'skoal rings'

I immediately loosened up and let out a sigh of relief. FINALLY a familiar site. After all of this time in Paris, i've gotten pretty sick of the eurotrash guys here with their tight jeans and manicured hands, and I hadn't even stopped to notice that the guys we had been hanging out with all night had a midwestern twang that was unmistakable accompanied by the kind of manners that, i've now learned, are truly American.

We sat around talking and, as these things usually do, the conversation lead to me taking out my ipod, after being challenged the fact that I liked country music. Sitting up until 7 in the morning, to the sound of my country playlist and the scent of berry blend skoal (which their parents shipped them from America) was certainly not how I expected to spend my night- it was such a pleasant surprise. As we were leaving, I apologized for the way I had acted only hours earlier, assuming the worst about them, rolling my eyes, and trying to get my friend to leave, an apology they all accepted with laughter and, i think, a little bit of understanding.

"who woulda guessed," one of the boys laughed, putting his cowboy hat on my head, "that all it would take to make the New York City girl comfortable would be a skoal can and some George Strait!"

Who, indeed.

As Long As I'm With You

I write this entry from the hotel room of one of the nicest hotels i've stayed at in a long time…or, maybe it just seems that way-it's been a fair amount of time since I stayed in a hotel.

I am usually not home for more than a few weeks at a time, maximum (and thats around Christmas time)- other than that, I'm at school, visiting friends, or doing whatever it is I do over vacations. Because I'm not home for long periods of time (and when i'm in school, I live off of the salary of someone well…without a job)- when I DO end up making that trek home, I always need to get a lot done. By this, I mean the artificial stuff…haircuts and colors, manicures, buying new jeans, purses, makeup…anyway, whatever it is- it all adds up pretty quickly, and my mother usually ends up baring a large portion of this financial burden, since my dad pays for my life during the time I'm at school. In light of this, my mom cant help but get a little frustrated sometimes, when I'm only home for a few days and end up spending more of her money than i do her time- after all, that hardly seems fair. Another result of this is that she tends to think that a lot of my life revolves around shopping (when in reality, i rarely buy things when I'm in DC…besides dinner and an exorbitant amount of vodka-cranberry's.)

Her frustration with this is something that I have come to understand over the years…her lectures of feeling under appreciated began to blend in with one another and finally a few weeks ago, I got to questioning this in my own mind. I started to feel like i WASNT appreciating her much and ask myself if I really was taking advantage of her…the answer to this question came to me quickly and clearly today …obviously it sucks that I go home and have to spend all of that money on stupid things- BUT...my mom has been here, in Paris,, for the past few days- and it has been an absolute pleasure. When asked on the surface why it has been so great all of the sudden- I would say…well i've been staying at a 5 star hotel, eating anything on the menu, ordering whatever drinks I want, buying new clothes, and learning that they serve champagne in the Chanel store…why do you THINK its been so great?

No…wrong. See, I've also been pretty sick these past few days- so tonight, when my mom and her friend left for dinner, I stayed behind in the hotel. I was in the nice hotel, a full room service menu and spa at my fingertips, a new pair of chanel heels on my feet…and moments after the gorgeous mahogany hotel room door shut, I found myself overcome, again, with a feeling of loneliness. My anxiety level went up, I started feeling sad, and even more I started dreading tomorrow- when my mom won't be here anymore.

Sure, my mom and I have had our fights- big ones, too- it's often difficult for us to see eye-to-eye because we have similar difficulties with communication…but sitting here today, I realized that my mood these past few days hadn't gone up because of my style of living- i owed my newly found happiness not to my mothers presents- but to her presence.

Paris has, as I've pointed out plenty of times, been a lot of a struggle for me in many different ways- but the #1 problem I've had is not being able to find those people I truly care about here. Honestly, I'm a very caring, passionate person when it comes to things I love to do and people I love to be around, I throw myself into things whole heartedly and sometimes that has its downsides-

I guess today though I realized that what my mother said yesterday was true, when things are hard and you don't feel well- physically, emotionally…there is no quicker cure than having your mother around. There is, cheesy as it sounds, nothing like a mothers love for her daughter.

Anyway…after all of this, my mom leaves tomorrow, which I hate. Honestly, I really wish she could sit through these last 3 weeks here with me, holding my hand- entertaining me with jokes and keeping me company at cafes- but she cant. It's come down to that, now, 3 more weeks- well, on Wednesday that's what it'll be anyway. My dad is right, they're going to fly by…I don't really have finals or much to do except for everything I never had time for. I will never again be living in this city, and likely won't be visiting it for years... and I do look forward to that- and to what i'll have to say about it then…for now though, I'm just looking forward to my moms return from dinner.

protocol

I realized today that I rarely update this in reference to the actual goings-on of my life…so heres a speedy update:

1. this weekend, I'm going to the south of france

2. last weekend, I went to disney world AND rode space mountain. it was nuts.

3. a week from tomorrow, my mom comes to visit

4. 4 weeks and 6 days from today…I am back on american soil

eeek.

If I could just get it on paper

I take the blame for a lot of things. Really, I can be a bit of a pushover. I hate fighting and even more, I hate getting yelled at, so usually when I'm in a confrontational situation, I accept blame, apologize, and move on. Really, I just hate seeing people that I care about angry at me.

The morning I looked up my first application for Paris last year was, in fact, a day in early September when I was blamed for something that, as much as I tried, I couldn't really see as being my fault…I woke up with all of my closest friends mad at me and for a little while, must say that I wasn't even sure why. But I was sure that I was sick of taking the blame just because I can be a pretty easy target in those situations.

Today, looking at an enormous selection of cheeses in the supermarket, I pointed to one that looked like cheddar and politely asked the man behind the counter for a small amount. Before leaving the store, though, I realized that I could've been mistaken, so I took out the cheese and took a bite.

it was DEFINITELY not cheddar.

I walked back to the counter and, a little bit frustrated, told the man I had bought the wrong one and asked if there was any way for me to just switch them- He looked at me as if i was crazy

"how did you not know what you were buying?" he said to me in French

"there was no label" I shot back- to which he looked down at his cheese display and back up at me- before apologizing and giving me the cheese that I had intended to buy, now labeled "cheddar".

Walking out of the store, satisfied, I had a mental flashback of sorts to a warm day last summer when someone I used to know told me about his "strategy" for relationships- really, it was more of a lecture than a conversation. A lecture that I, undoubtedly, thought I deserved- and in many ways, I did.

"I have a piece of paper in my closet," he had said to me, "and on it is written 'white paper'."

I was curious and confused as to how he was going to get this story to relate to my making mistakes combined with his not wanting to date me…and I did have a lot of respect for his opinions- so i continued to listen.

"Now, just because I wrote 'white paper' on it, doesn't make it any different- its still exactly the same, still just a sheet of white paper."

When he finished his little anecdote and we said our goodbyes, I walked away feeling rejected- but more than that, I felt a little bit mystified. I was so used to boys not wanting to be in "a relationship" as their being assholes and choosing to be in a lot of "non relationships"…but maybe, I thought (naively), he really meant what he was saying- he really just didn't understand why it needed a label. Maybe I was asking too much.

Maybe, I thought, the situation I found myself in really was entirely my fault. I felt like I had entirely ruined something just because I had assumed he was like everyone else. I thought I knew what he wanted- nothing from me. Honestly, I felt kind of guilty that day- and for a long time afterwards, baring the burden of blame and regret, thinking about the white paper and how right he really was.

I think that was the last time I mistakenly gave someone the benefit of the doubt and failed to trust myself and my own instincts (not to say that I wasn't, as I thought at the time, at least partially at fault) And now, a year later, as I sit here with cheddar cheese on my crackers, I see so clearly why he was wrong.

Relationships, friendships- ANY and EVERY human interaction is anything but simplistic. They are anything but white sheets of paper.

Sure, something like that, something like white paper, doesn't need a label to exist.

But when something as simple as cheddar cheese needs a label in order for you to know what it is- because it can look JUST the same as about a trillion other orange cheeses from the outside…you have to admit that with the complexities and intricacies of human interaction, asking for simple labels like "boyfriend" or "girlfriend" is really not asking much at all. Especially when the consequences of mistaking a "friendship" for a "relationship" are much greater, much more of an emotional burden than those that come with mixing up printer paper with construction paper.

I thought of the "white paper" sign this morning and laughed, wondering whether he really believed what he was saying at the time or whether he knew, as well as I did that hot July morning, that if and when he wanted something badly enough, putting a label on it wouldn't seem like such a burden.

There are plenty of things that I take the blame for- many of which are actually my fault. I have lied to close friends and made errors in judgement for which the repercussions lasted a torturous eternity. Sometimes, though, the rare occasion arises when I am right about something- and today, free cheddar cheese in hand, was one of those days.

Frenchman for the Night

Hearing news from overseas of drama surrounding the inevitable formal season, back in the real world, makes me think of one thing: the school year, it seems, is coming to a close.

For someone not involved in Greek life at all, I have been to more than my fair share of Greek events- mostly because I am not involved in Greek life at all- therefore, it is onmi-appropriate for guy and girl friends alike to take me with them, when they don't have other company. Now, even freshman year when I wasn't rushing, I remember thinking to myself that the only thing I would really regret about not being part of Greek life WAS the formals.

Being ever the cheeseball and sap that I am, I love dressing up and doing the whole dinner, dancing etc kind of thing- and my Freshman year, when the first formal (err…i guess it would be "semi-formal") season came along, I was pretty excited when one of my good friends dates cancelled on him last minute, so I got to go to his formal- ignoring the midterm or final or whatever it was that I had the next day. That evening, I was pretty nervous- I remember walking down a big flight of stairs with a red carpet, some sort of buffet in the foyer room, and then a giant room with tables and, of course, plenty of dancing.

Since that night, I've not-so-reluctantly taken to going to formals with friends pretty much every time the season comes around. Yes, I usually roll my eyes and complain when they ask me to go as their GDI friend…but really, I do love it.

Around this time last year, I was fulfilling just that role, agreeing to go to a formal with one of my close friends. I ended up cooking dinner for her and 2 guys (if you know me at all, you know how rare an occasion it is that I "cook" anything besides eggs, popcorn, or cereal.) all decked out in my "formal wear"…and in the end, we didn't even make it to the formal. Honestly, I'm not sure exactly how that all happened… one of the guys was a close friend of mine and I got into a screaming match with him about something or other- and told him I was leaving- just as we were outside hailing a cab to go to the formal.

As a "GDI", I've learned over the years, through several unfortunate evenings- that though dressing up and dancing is fun, the drama that comes behind those evenings is rarely worth it. Last year, at Maggies formal (to her credit, she had a date, she really just invited me because my sitting at home that night would've been extremely pathetic), we went out to dinner with a group of people beforehand and I literally just burst into tears at the dinner table. Nothing was said to bother me…really, I have no idea what it was. I wasn't drunk. It wasn't even my formal. I didn't even technically have a date to it.

Maybe I just have trouble dealing with stressful situations or ones in which I feel pressure. I don't know. But, I do know that later that night, after Maggie and Marmol had sailed off- so to speak- I went, entirely overdressed, to one of the bars we frequent in Georgetown.

I couldn't help but think, walking up the stairs, greeting everyone, how much more I liked this atmosphere. I guess all of the pressure really gets to me…and in situations like formals, new years eve parties, christmas parties- its all about finding a date, making sure your friends are going, having the right dress blah, blah, blah…sure, I love seeing boys wearing bow ties as much as the next girl (probably a little more) …but it sure would be nice to have less of a stigma attached to nights like that. It seems that when there is less pressure, the night ends up being more fun- one of the best New Years Eve's I ever had was spent at a diner with two girls, drinking bottled beer, wearing pajamas and my best birthday memories all come from surprise parties.

The only reason I was thinking about this today (besides hearing about formal nonsense from the states) is because I've realized that in Paris- in addition to the fact that there are no formals- every night out comes with pretty much the same stigma as the one before: to have fun.

It's nice because minus a small group, I usually never see people I'm with at a bar again- I never know who I am going to meet or run into on any given night. And the lack of expectation is a bit of a relief. Especially after 3 years of spending thursday, friday, and saturday nights out with pretty much the same crowd.

Now, I am by no means saying that come next winter, I wont be anxious and excited to dawn a dress and heels at some formal of a friend in need- I love that feeling of having your expectations align with reality- because sometimes that does happen- and that rare feeling is worth all of the times when it doesn't.

For now, though, I'm happy to go out in jeans and see where the night takes me.