My Year in France

This post is not about France, it's about my very traumatic year in France. Trauma definitely being an overstatement for my very privileged life. But maybe a more accurate title would be, "How I Learned to be my Own Person, in France" or, "How I Learned to be Alone, in France."

I learned a lot when I lived in France. I learned that if you say, bonjour, au revoir, merci when you enter, leave a store in France it makes all the difference. That the French are much more polite when you do that, and a less racist than people I grew up around in America. That most people really don't like Americans, and that conversation is totally different for Americans than it is for a European (you do not ask questions for the latter, you share anecdotes at each other). 

I learned that it is really painful being alone, that there are actual real dangers to being a woman alone, and also that I hate being alone (sorry, I don't enjoy solitude). I like going to museums, shopping, and cooking alone but in general I can't do it. 

I learned that I love cheese, that I don't enjoy patisserie as much as the glutton I thought I was, that I love Paris, love staying up late, love sunrises, sunsets, chausson aux pommes. I learned that not everyone is stable, healthy, and some people have dark ways of coping with it, and that it's important to stay away. 

But I also learned that kindness is in really unexpected places. I think of my friend who insisted once I spend two nights with her, and wouldn't let me sleep on her sofa but instead on her bed, when I didn't feel safe in my apartment. And of my landlord, who came 30 minutes early to my check-out, carried all my suitcases down the stairs for me, and even threw away my trash while I in futile insisted he not do so. And my leasing agent.

I also learned the importance of community and of having people around you. And I think if I don't build that elsewhere I wouldn't stay. And it also takes time.