#11. Where I've been
Still no idea where I'm going, but I'm going with the flow.
January ended on a sour note. After meeting my friends on Sunday, and going to a movie with me on Monday, the guy I’d been seeing exclusively for a while ended it on Tuesday. I’ll spare the details, but suffice it to say, I was blindsided. I’d been happy with how things were going, even if I had momentarily decided to ignore the small question mark around whether this guy was the guy for me.
Cue the “I’m gonna die alone” narrative that has a knack for screaming above the “your life is right on time, what’s meant for you will not miss you” elevator music that’s otherwise usually there. After many months where I didn’t shed a single tear, I cried. A lot. And drank a lot of wine and ate a lot of cheese with two friends who invited me over.
This meant February started off rocky as well. On Wednesday, there was some work…stuff. I work in tech, so unless you’ve been under a rock, you know it’s volatile right now, with layoffs rampant even in the most profitable of companies. There was a question about whether I’d lose my job, more crying, and more cocktails with a friend. Another friend invited me over and gave me flowers and wine.
Thursday passed without incident (aside from a breakdown or two). There was more crying and more wine with a friend.
I didn’t know until Friday that I’d be able to keep my job. Friday night I went to a concert and saw Metric, a band I’ve loved for ages, live for the first time. I had so much fun, singing and dancing along, but as I left the venue, I noticed my eyelid felt a little painful. I got home and noticed it was swollen. After pottery class on Saturday, I went to the eye ER, waited for three hours, and found out I had a chalazion (not a big deal, but makes eyelids swollen and not cute!) and got it treated. When I asked the doctor what caused it and how I could stop it, he just said, “It’s chronic - part of getting older.” More waterworks.
Sunday I woke up feeling better. I went for a 10-mile run, actually smiling and enjoying myself. But near the end, I ran directly past a man I’d gone on two dates with once, who manipulated and gaslit me. He was someone I’d (privately) forgiven, but seeing him many months later still rocked me.
I’ve felt anxiety before, but nothing quite like this. A therapy session helped, but it was mostly me crying. I knew I needed some time away, so I took it. I went to Biarritz, one of my happy places, and lucked out with amazing weather, stunning sunsets, and great runs. It was exactly what I needed.
Right before I went to Biarritz, I’d started to casually look for a new flat. I loved where I lived, the location was amazing, but I felt as though I was outgrowing the studio I’d been in for over three years. I craved a kitchen with a full fridge, a real living room, a separate bedroom with a door. I contacted an agency about a flat I saw online and scheduled a visit. On the day of the visit, I tested out how it felt to have Lucky Girl Syndrome by waking up and telling myself, “I am the luckiest person I know. Great things are always happening for me.” I found a penny on the ground. I got a seat on the metro. I timed leaving my flat perfectly, catching the delivery guy with my new coffee maker right before I left. Things were looking up.
I visited the flat, and hated it so much that I didn’t even take pictures. But the agent said he had another one around the corner and would I like to see it? I deliberated but said yes. I walked in and instantly fell in love - a coup de coeur. While in Biarritz, I e-signed the papers, booked movers, and planned for the upcoming move. Lucky me indeed.
When I returned from Biarritz, relatively renewed and able to quiet the blare of “I’m gonna die alone”, I had a new distraction: packing. I packed all week and moved in to the new flat on February 25. Did I feel all my feelings? No. Did I stop crying though? Well, yes. Momentarily, anyway.
But the next time I cried was for a very, very good reason. (I actually don’t think you need any reason whatsoever to cry, but this one was positive.) I woke up on Sunday, February 26 in my new flat and made myself a coffee (priorities). I decided to check the Journal Officiel to see if my name had been published among the naturalizations. It had been about five months since my interview, so I’d been checking regularly. I downloaded it, scrolled to where my last name would be, and BAM! - there it was. I am French.
Cue the happy tears.
The beginning of February was incredibly rough. I felt rejected, sad, anxious. I knew these feelings would eventually pass, that I needed to ride the wave, but I never could have expected that the month that started out so badly would end with a new flat, in a new neighborhood, with a new citizenship. It felt symbolic in a way - like I was starting a completely new life, like I’d been a caterpillar in a cocoon, gone through the goo phase, and emerged as something different entirely - a butterfly, or whatever.
No. I AM a butterfly, dammit. A really pretty one, with high standards, champagne in the fridge, a door on the bedroom, and a French passport.
So while I’m single again, I am reminded that I am exactly on time for my life. That everything is unfolding in perfection for me. That what’s meant for me will not miss me. That no matter how shitty things might feel, they won’t feel that way forever. There could be some incredible, unexpected SOMETHING waiting for me around the corner.
And that’s worth waiting for.
P.S. Do I need to change my newsletter name now that I AM French?!
P.P.S. Newsletter to come on the whole process for those interested!
Trois Deux Un
Trois favorite photos from the last…however long
Deux recommendations
Check out THIS newsletter, Everything is Amazing, to see how you can see impossible colors - I saw Ashley Spivey post about it and WOW what a brain bender. I did, indeed, see impossible colors. The brain is cool.
If you aren’t already, watch The Last of Us (even if it’s just for episode 3 and Pedro Pascal). I’m really not into zombie stuff, but there’s something about this (zombie-adjacent) show that’s incredibly special, especially in the wake of the pandemic. To me, it’s far enough from the realm of possibility that it’s not scary (even farther than, say, Black Mirror), but there are as many moments that make me jump as there are moments of tenderness and humanity.
Un thing that made me happy
I trained for, and ran, the Semi de Paris, injury-free, for the first time since I ran the London Marathon in 2017! AND I beat my (secret) goal of 1:55.
I had fun. I ran through my favorite city. And I FINALLY got to test out the bagels at Bob’s Bake Shop. They are decidedly not New York bagels, but they are the best I’ve found in Paris. While I prefer a baguette, bagels are still my preferred pre-race brekkie. What can I say - I may now be French, but I’ll always be a New Yorker.