“You belong to me and all Paris belongs to me and I belong to this notebook and this pencil.”
― Ernest Hemingway
I was here last spring and eventually the -9 degree days wore me down, but I was renewed by daily discoveries and lessons.
In Paris, we spoke of seasons. The concept of seasons has been on my mind for… awhile. It’s how I attempt to add some chronology to my life. Some people say, “It’s just not my year”, I say it’s just not my season. Or rather, it’s not my season to love but to learn. It’s not my season to go but to build.
Last January, I wrote of my early winter. What happens when things get plunged into an early winter? Things go into some premature cold snap, hearts freeze and you’re caught by surprise. We laugh at Bridget Jones’ mum: “I’m like the grasshopper who sung all bloody summer.” We all know the little grasshopper is suffering but does he regret singing in the sunshine? I’d like to think not.
I’ve woken up every morning since thinking, perhaps Today’s the Day. Perhaps today the seasons change. Perhaps today a heart will thaw, perhaps a soul will choke and sputter—revived by something new. 400 days and counting.
Instead in Paris, I woke up to snow. Still in winter, I’m afraid. That said, there’s nothing more inspiring than a change in scenery.
GRATEFUL FOR Paris! Foie gras for lunchanddinner, organic beauty brands, health supermarkets round the corner, old apothecaries, the cultural appreciation for scent and beauty, quality and craftsmanship, things made with love, Babar, snow, the archives and museums of old fashion houses—I love that everything has value and meaning—that they aren’t forgotten but revered, monolithic architectural structures, history and a past, walking on streets that are hundreds of years old, new comedies like Zooey Deschanel’s New Girl and 2 Broke Girls—I absolutely cry with laughter when I watch the former, seeing flowers in winter, the low Euro (lol), for time and a chance.