I'm not especially brave, as an overarching character trait. I'm Hobbit-esque. I enjoy comfort. I tend to stay in my lane. Hence, I haven't done much in my life I'd consider brave, except for the incidental bravery of sticking it out through life and doing what you have to do sometimes because that's what it means to be an adult and a parent and a friend and a family member. If I had to choose the bravest thing I ever did on purpose, it was going to Paris for the second semester of my junior year of college.
I'm aware of how privileged that sounds, but I'm going to give you a little background. I always dreamed of living in Paris. I got to take a trip there in high school, something I saved forever for, and I vowed I'd go back. I knew that a study abroad program was the best shot for a podunk girl like me, so when I got to college I decided that was what I'd do and I never wavered from it. Being from Montreal-adjacent Maine, I studied French for the entirety of my education, and I kept it up at college. I put money aside and planned and did the paperwork on my own. I prided myself on that kind of independent diligence. Nobody I knew was going to Paris that spring semester, not in my entire school. My small college had a sister city in France, but if I wanted Paris, I had to hook up with the Boston University program, so I did. It all worked out. Everything was in place, and I was excited and scared and in awe of my ability to make my dreams come true. On paper, so cool, right? Though not necessarily brave. A few things, though.
1) I had recently fallen in love. Like, BIG love with the dude to whom I'm still hitched. We were together just over six months when I was scheduled to leave, and that was not something I counted on in my careful planning, the reality of being apart from someone who had become indispensable to me for such a long period of time. Neither of us wanted to break up, so we didn't. It was hard, it was lonely, but not going simply wasn't an option for me, so we made it work. There was no email at my disposal in 1996. No cell phones. Phone calls cost a billion dollars. We wrote a hundred million letters and kept a journal for each other and talked on the phone once or twice a week and at the end, Mike met me in Paris and we traveled Europe together for six weeks and it's one of the best times in my life. It was worth it, but it was not easy.
2) My very close aunt died about two weeks before I left. She was dying of cancer, and it was possible that she would still be hanging in there before it was time for me to leave, and I was torn about being apart from her and my family at this time. My dad impressed upon me that my aunt would die twice if she thought I canceled my trip so that I could there in her last days, and it turned out that I was there anyway, but I was not in an emotionally great place. I was still grieving her when I left, and I think that because I threw myself into something so big right away, I never properly mourned my Aunt Sue.
3) My car was broken into the day I was supposed to fly out. They took everything - my passport and visa, plane tickets, camera, everything. I was ready to quit at that point, take the semester off and regroup, because it seemed like a sign that I wasn't meant to take this trip, but I didn't. I had to scramble and beg and borrow money from my parents and grandparents and get everything replaced. So many people helped me, including the people who are my bosses now, and I'm eternally grateful. It's a miracle, really, I was able to be there only one day behind schedule. I will never forget saying goodbye to my parents at the gate before my flight that night. None of us had slept much and we were totally beat down and at that point I couldn't even cry, I just swallowed and told them I'd call as soon as I could, then boarded the vessel to my new life. I wasn't exactly looking forward to it any more. I was just sticking to the plan.
4) Did I mention I didn't know anyone? I was going to a place where I was a cultural alien, where I had a fair grip on the language but wasn't yet fluent, to live and work and learn among people I'd never met before. I'm shy as hell under the most ideal circumstances, and here I was just jumping into the mouth of the volcano. Conquering that bit is what makes me proudest of all. I was way more homesick than I could have guessed and it took me a good month before I didn't wake up every day sure I'd made a mistake.
With all that said, I feel like I got my lifetime allotment of bravery points over those five months. I lived in a hosted home, which turned out to be AMAZING, but I wasn't in a dorm like a lot of my classmates were so I had to work extra hard to make friends and get out and do things. The woman I lived with was unbelievably lovely, and her apartment was sick (she was tres tres riche) and she didn't speak a word of English so communicating with her pushed me over the edge to fluency. I got chummy with a few of my fellow students, but only one I kept in touch with afterward. It might had been different if I'd chosen dorm life, but I'm glad I didn't. My "madame" and I corresponded later on, I remember sending her a picture from my wedding, but that fell off too and I'm sad about that. God, I wonder if she's still alive.
There was structure to my time, but not a ton. I had classes, but not a lot of out-of-class work because part of the point of study abroad is just living there, so I spent a lot of time on my own, wandering my neighborhood and the banks of the Seine and going to museums and libraries and parks, book stalls and bridges and anywhere my feet or my metro card could take me. I got lost and I got locked out of my apartment building and I got trapped alone in a metro car with a masturbator on Easter Sunday and I cried every day and filled about ten journals but I also got very comfortable with my own company and I got to go to Giverny and Mont St. Michel and I had a "stage" (internship) in a cool journalist organization for half of my time there and I lived on demi baguettes and red wine and I could see the Eiffel Tower every single day when I came around the corner. I can still close my eyes and smell the boulangerie smells in the air, the flowers when they come into bloom, and DID they come into bloom when the record-cold winter finally ended. If you dropped me in Paris today, I could probably walk from my flat in the 8th Arrondissment to my stage in the 7th from memory. If I ever hear a song from that period-- Robert Miles's instrumental "Children," "Spaceman" by Babylon Zoo, Therapy?'s cover of "Diane," Everything but the Girl's "Missing," fucking "Wonderwall"--I am there. I am right there and all the francais I've squandered in the past 23 years swirls back into the creases of my brain. I was so lucky to have the opportunity to do what I did at the time, even when I knew it was hard. I was also keenly aware the whole time that it was temporary, so I soaked it up as best I could through my heartache. I lived it, and living, for me, took guts.
I didn't have a camera, because robbery, for the first two months of my trip, so I have relatively few pictures of my stay. Here's a couple, to remind myself it really happened:
Thinking back on it now, I have no regrets. Sure there are things I wish I would have done that I didn't because I let myself be scared away--going out with people more, seeing my favorite band by myself in an unfamiliar section of the city at night--that sort of thing. It wasn't at all what I thought it would be, not really, but that doesn't matter because the whole was so worth it. I will say that living away from my love and my family and friends sort of tempered my wanderlust. I still like to travel, but in shorter spurts, not so far, and not by myself. Instead of stoking my adventurous side, my time in Paris had a quenching effect. Paris will forever be my favorite city in the world, though. I'll get back there again, c'est vrai.