I don’t have immense excitement to share with you today. It was a day of errands and wandering, but that’s part of everyday life in Paris, and, having made a goal for myself to write every day, here we are.
Today begins school in Ontario, and I can’t say I miss the first-day excitement. Or the anxiety it gave me, the night before. But tomorrow begins my first session with one of my families, so I imagine I’ll have difficulty sleeping tonight for reasons similar to the first-day jitters. Considering it’s a ten-hour day, let’s hope I get enough rest for the bags under my eyes to be hidden with some concealer (at least).
It’s not that I didn’t love my job as an educator, that’s not the reason for me not missing the “First Day of School”, it’s that I’m living my dream here. And that makes me happy beyond compare.
This morning I woke up to my tiny apartment and thought to myself: this is perfection. This is me becoming intimately involved with my soul-quest and fulfilling what the universe has set aside for me. I am comfortable, I am happy, I am writing more, I am discovering more about myself, I’m discovering more about what brings me the most joy, I am taking life a little slower, this is good. This is great.
I did laundry today, which doesn’t sound immensely exciting, but there is an exciting aspect to it, I assure you: the only other person in the laundromat grew up in Burlington, Ontario and went to Notre Dame (which is the feeder school for the school I worked for)… what… are… the… chances. That’s how small this world is. There is a reason for every encounter and there is a reason for every meeting, and the conversation we shared was very fascinating, making my laundromat experience far less tedious and far more //hippiestrange//. I couldn’t think of a word to describe the encounter, so I made up my own.
After dropping off my clothing back home and having a quick bite to eat, wandering my favourite parts of Paris was in the cards. By the way, today is cool and a bit rainy, but Paris in the rain is just spectacular, so I didn’t mind a bit of drizzle. I wandered the 5th (Latin Quarter) and stopped in at Shakespeare and Co. to browse (always packed, though, and it’s so uncomfortable… I’ll be excited to go back when tourism season dies down). I picked up a book called ‘Never Any End to Paris’ by Enrique Vila-Matas (it’s a memoir of a writer who lived in Paris and the tagline of the book is: ‘Trying to be Ernest Hemingway is never easy…’ so I had to get it), and I got a Sci-Fi book called Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson which was recommended to me. Have any of my blog readers read either of those books?
I’m trying to consider what weekend trip to take next. I really would like to visit the Alps but I don’t think it’s in the cards as the next destination. I was debating whether I should take off again this weekend or wait until next… so many decisions to make.
In the process of researching for vacation destinations, I’ve also begun another course for my Masters program, I’m also taking this online TESOL certification (because registration was so cheap and I figured, why not?), I sent out e-mails to numerous fashion houses requesting permission to attend their Fashion Week Shows, and I am also looking at more work opportunities because the online tutoring job has hours that won’t work with my schedule. Needless to say, I’m busy.
But here’s the interesting thing… I didn’t like North America because I didn’t like the mindset of working, go home, go to sleep, wake up, work, go home, go to sleep, etc, but I’m doing all of this on my own terms, and with a schedule that leaves me open to exploration and personal time. It doesn’t feel like work, it doesn’t feel like a challenge, it doesn’t feel exhausting or stressful, because I’m enjoying it. It also helps that my course this term is on Story Telling, so the topic is of interest to me. But in general, I enjoy sitting in my Parisian apartment, looking out my window to see the typical blue rooftops, and taking my time.
I write better when I write by hand. When pen touches paper, my soul is the ink that bleeds. I write better when it’s not just my fingers moving across a keyboard, but when I sit, head in hand, arm poised, ready, aimed like a gun, and shooting, shooting, shooting with all I’ve got. With all the manpower I can muster. I write better when I am not typing. Everything feels more authentically me. When my wrist gets sore from the journey, it’s a reminder that I am alive, that I have just participated in a very living, exhausting act – much like when you run a marathon and your body rewards you for the healthy feat with immense exhaustion. Pain is the reward. The reward for better words, better thoughts, better ideas. I write better when the pen is out. And sometimes I am ashamed by the words I’ve typed, seeming manufactured for a specific audience, searching for a way to entertain instead of just letting my soul ooze into each letter. I write better when I don’t type. But I typed this, so maybe I’m wrong.
I just want to be authentically me, truly me, made of stardust and sparkling for all to see. I want to step outside the box, I want to do what makes me happiest, I want to live comfortably but love each moment, not waste each moment, enjoy each moment, worship every moment. I want to find a way to make writing my living. I want to manifest it. I want others to read my work and say, “This changed my life.” I want to change lives in a positive way. I want to help others see their own Light, so that they can move others, as well.
As a teacher, I was told I changed lives. But now I want to inflict change in a new way. I want to reach new people. I want to be important to someone, but in their heart, not in some grandiose fashion. I don’t want fame. Fortune and abundance I would like so that I can write without worry. But I want to do this for me, but for others too… Ah, I’m babbling, goodnight…