2017

I'm not in Paris anymore. I don't know if that was clear. I need to be in the US six months, specifically Cleveland, five years after I swore I'd never go back. I haven't been writing because it's not something I really want to talk about and also because I literally can't. I can't even find the words to reply to emails or comments anymore. Even the mindnumbingly boring daily commute from Invalides to Quai des Grands Augustins everyday- down Rue de Babylone, past Le Bon Marché, Square Boucicaut, and that café charging 17 euro for Orangina- seems positively stimulating now. I miss the man living outside Jardin Catherine Laboure who threw beer cans at me when I gave him Ticket Resto. I miss sitting on the balcony with my cats, holding conversations with ravers hanging out the window across the street; walking from Barbes to Grand Train or Maison Bon for cookies; wheeling my wicker cart around Pigalle, filling it up with packageless produce from Causses; and sneaking into apartment buildings just to take pictures of the courtyards. It feels weird telling my friends, "I'll be there in ten minutes, I'm leaving my place now," and actually showing up on time, as promised, when at home I couldn't make it down Avenue Trudaine without being roped into at least three pleasant conversations with neighbors. I never realized how attached I was to Paris. I routinely deride that subset of books instructing hapless Americans on dressing / dieting like the French (especially How to Be Parisian Wherever You Are, which reads like the family from Mulan- not the grandmother- wrote it to teach her how best to catch a man. I only lived in France a few years, but I'm pretty sure most Parisiennes' lives don't revolve around men and clothes). But I loved that city. I finally understand what Rihanna meant when she said she found love in a hopeless place, minus the love part- emphasis on "hopeless" and "place."

So here's what I've been up to lately: missing Paris, daydreaming, getting fat, forgetting what little French I knew, thinking about nothing, bitterly contemplating how much my life failures mirror Rory's in Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life. I'm not looking for sympathy. I have it so good. People are really complimentary and helpful here. Cleveland thrift stores are full of treasures, so my wardrobe is getting better. I like to think of it this way: my clothing says, yes, I've cried into a donut recently, and I'm technically a mole person, but I'm a mole person who wears Louis Vuitton, and I didn't even have to pay retail!

I hope this whininess will end once I remember how privileged I am and how many people face bigger and more serious problems through no fault of their own. Since leaving Paris, I traveled a lot, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with my life now. The highlight was Paolo Soleri's Arcosanti, a failed sustainable community of the future, which one Instagram user aptly described as "Beautiful and deeply unsettling, like Kourtney Kardashian's birth video." I loved the friendly people, cypress trees (non native, but whatever), resident cats, and vegan food. They are close to zero waste in that they compost or recycle everything, provide only reusables, and hope to be completely solar powered and self sufficient in the near future- they are only at 10% renewable energy currently. Set on a nature preserve designed to fight urban sprawl with minimal land impact, we saw ringtails and javelinas on the trails, zipping around cactus-chewing cows. Hiking the Grand Canyon, discovering Sedona's red rocks, and driving through various microclimates made me realize what a varied and ecologically captivating country the United States is, something I took for granted when I lived here. Standing at the edge of the South Rim with my mason jar in hand, drinking in sweeping vistas and snowy mesas, I hadn't felt so happy to be in America since Olive Garden started offering gluten free pasta.

     

One thing providing continuity and beauty in an otherwise crushing period is zero waste. Especially now that I have no money, it's been crucial- not buying a lot, shopping secondhand, eating unprocessed plant based foods, and utilizing reusables / water only / bulk soaps and oils instead of having to buy paper towels, plastic wrap, packaged meals, or tons of beauty products allows me to maintain a high quality of life without blowing my drastically reduced budget. It gives a quiet sense of satisfaction to clean without the use of expensive industrial chemicals, or float from place to place with minimal physical baggage, even when toxic emotional burdens seem overwhelming at times. The next few months will be complicated, making the simplicity of zero waste even more critical. I like having less to worry about. There's something soothing about pouring dry ingredients into mason jars, baking vegan from scratch, or handwashing clothes as I wear them, like my grandmothers did nightly (I now handwash and airdry almost exclusively. If you are a childless person who doesn't have enough time to do laundry every day, try deleting Pinterest or Facebook from your phone and I guarantee you will find the time). 

I originally thought I would go back to Paris as soon as these six months are over. It's my home, and I'm told I belong more there than I do in Cleveland, which always sort of made me feel like a factory farmed fish. But maybe my family, or ready access to cheap vegan and gluten free pizza, will keep me here indefinitely. Who knows. For now, I will take things one day at a time, clutching my mason jar, cloth napkins, netted produce bags and EcoLunchbox with the implacable attachment Linus had for his blanket. I don't have control over much right now- not my circumstances, nor climate change- so these little steps, the last things tying me to my old life in Paris, are the first glimmers of hope I have for a fresh start.

P.S. I thought this post was self deprecating but my mom told me it came across as mean. I didn't intend it that way, but historically I am mean, so I'm sorry. I also wanted to apologize for saying 3's in Paris are 10's in Cleveland. That's not fair. They are 12's in Cleveland, and the rest of the USA, for that matter. Have you been to Paris? Do you know how many models live there, and how beautiful the people are? I can't believe I was allowed to live there so long!