Henry James in Paris

Another day, in Paris. I do not think I will ever be able to say that comfortably or justly. I still to this day have difficulty sitting in a café alone, or even solely choosing and sticking to one café. It’s difficult to commit to one, when all I ever order is a “chocolat chaud.” I feel as if I cannot be or become a true Parisian unless I have this act down and performed accordingly.

Back at home I had a ritual that suited me so perfectly, it was quick. I was in then I was out and the only people who knew I was there were the people who always brought me my favorite predictable order. Starting this process over has been the most difficult.

Another custom I cannot seem to leave is my wearing of sweats outside of the doors of my apartment. My schedule usually consists of me of having to wake up early to walk my dog, and the idea of having to put on an outfit for the simple act of walking my dog sounds entirely outrageous in my mind. I hardly dress up for a day being spent at school.

I have done this before, I have moved and relocated before, but each time I have I always seem to forget the process. New York was the toughest, but once you have the rhythm down it becomes addicting to continue. Everything is a rush, everything is quick, these are all movements and speeds that I adore and adjust well to. I never have patience and it never interested me to have one.

I am situating fine and I am embracing the beauty this city is providing me. The main reason I cannot become comfortable with this city as a home, is mainly because I am not used to living in such a beautiful city. Paris is meant to be looked at, and I am used to always looking down at my little screen and blocking out all sounds with my headphones avoiding all interactions that are not associated with my end goal.

That’s what Paris was for me, initially. My family told me I needed a break and I understand. I have always had a plan and I always wanted to execute it and accomplish it at a specific time with no distractions. New York was for that, but Paris is not for the same. It’s meant for it to be strolled through, admired, and for the notion to live in the present and that is why I have difficulty adjusting to it. 

It isn’t my first time living in Europe, I lived in Italy and my whole family minus my father is located there. So it is an entirely different setting, and when I usually do return there it is for a vacation type situation.

I even abandoned Paris for a few days to return to my second home. A place where I am not constantly asked “are you American?” with a disappointed or disgusted face or to a place where I don’t receive a face of shock or astonishment when I reply in their native tongue.

I left for a sole and one single reason, and my departure later helped benefit two. It did so much and helped me relax. My mom calmed me and told me a multitude of things in Italian. Translating it seems tedious and over exploitive.

When I returned I felt as if I was returning to duty, but that feeling did not impact my new perspective, which is I am here and I might as well make the most of my time in Paris. I apologize for the cliché, but it was the only way to sentence an idea that is indeed true to my state.