Finding beauty in the simple moments.
An ode to Paris
Glasses of rosé sweat as they balance on tiny round tables. A man hangs little flags from around the world, on his second-floor balcony, then drops a rose to someone walking in the street below. A woman plays the saxophone on Pont Neuf and her little terrier sits on her lap. A family plays Pétanque along the Seine. A man smiles and whistles as he walks with a baguette under his arm. An older woman whiffs her cigarette, reads the newspaper, and watches the world go by around her. Inspiration in Paris is all around if we look closely.
I don’t think I found this city. I think this city found me. As often in life, the unexpected things are the ones that end up bringing the most joy. I can no longer imagine my life if Paris hadn’t found me. I don’t even live here full time, but in three months you can get quite acquainted to a city and its lifestyle.
A summer blue sky glows above Paris today. Little fluffy clouds dance playfully as boats cruise down the Seine. I’m writing from the Quai next to Pont Louis-Phillippe where I discovered some little tables topped with umbrellas lining the river bank. I bought a cold bubbly grenadine sirop soda to accompany my writing.
It’s early August and the city is drunk on a magic glow called the Olympics. I think many of us thought the city would turn to madness for a month. However it seems to my pleasant surprise, that it doesn’t feel overly crowded, everyone seems to be in a playful and lighthearted mood.
The Olympics always has its controversies. However, being here I’ve witnessed a degree of togetherness that I hadn’t experienced before. Not just each country’s patriotism, but unison across the board. Many people of many places coming together in the City of Light.
Many people ask me how I find the Parisians. I think they want me to say that I’ve found Parisians to be cold, rude, and standoffish. I don’t think they believe me when I say I’ve found the opposite to be true most of the time.
Paris, like many other big cities, is a city of immigrants. I usually always ask people where they are from. At the cafe where I got my sirop drink, the woman was from Algeria. I’ve met Canadians, Colombians, Moroccans, Irish, Egyptians, Tunisians, Australians, Swedes, Vietnamese, Iranians, and lots more. Many of those people are second-generation and consider themselves Parisians because they grew up here.
In a way, we are all from somewhere and from everywhere all at once. The concept of home becomes this obscure undefinable word. It’s funny how I feel so at home in an apartment that isn’t mine, with furniture that isn’t mine, surrounded by books and art that isn’t mine. But it also feels more like “home” than my faraway Texas house where I keep all my things.
A friend once told me that in Paris, all you have to do is take a walk and let the world entertain you. He couldn’t be closer to the truth. One doesn’t need an itinerary in this city. That’s the least thing you need. Even a sense of direction is quite useless because the best part of it is just getting lost in the labyrinths of streets or jaw-dropping boulevards.
There must be some effect in play that the more you explore the city and its hidden gems, the more you realize there is to discover.
Time is a slippery thing. Three months went by for me in the blink of an eye. But I cannot say I haven’t savored it. I’m enjoying the last 7 days in this city like savoring the last sip of a coffee. Slowly, reverently. Without rushing toward the future. Living in the present moment is something Paris helps us excel at. Finding beauty in the simple moments.