Un, deux, trois ... three steps to échange yourself

This post was originally written April 11 in France. For the reason why I'm posting it now, please see previous entry.

1. Go to France and leave the only life you've ever known behind.
2.
3.

The last two steps are blank because France has barely made an impact on me. As much as I miss home and family ... and yes even some very American things like Honda Civics and iced chai ... I have a strong feeling I am not done with this country yet. Right now I am exploring options for staying here a little longer.

I have been feeling a little ambivalent about life lately, mainly because I'm feeling conflicted about where I should be right now. I used to have one world and one goal (to be a journalist). Now I have two worlds, and a much broader range of goals, which are really just ideas right now. Over the last several weeks, I could tell I'd been losing the sense of awe at my life in France. This is somewhat understandable considering three months ago absolutely everything here was completely foreign to me. That's not so true anymore. I know my way around Lille, I have friends here and, according to my Mom, I've become a French-style pedestrian ... sprinting across cobblestone streets narrowly missing speeding Renaults. I've even gotten used to the bise (the double kiss people use to greet each other ... see the Killer Bise blog entry).

But last week a simple twist of fate landed me in Paris for the day ... by myself. I was feeling disenchanted by my surroundings, and I doubt anything could've cured that quicker than Paris. I trudged through an enormous cemetery and saw the grave sites of Oscar Wilde, Jim Morrison and Molière. I went to a Parisian history museum where I touched a model of the Bastille that was made from an actual block of stone from the notorious prison. (Actually I wasn't supposed to touch it, but how could I not? Talk about connecting with history...) I found a Starbucks completely by accident and had an iced chai. Finally, I spent the afternoon at the Jardin du Luxembourg, which ties with the Versailles gardens for the most beautiful place I've ever seen. A real-life gendarme even got mad at me for sitting on a wall that was apparently off-limits. When I left the Luxembourg, I was almost hit by a Jeep. I should've been freaked out, but it seemed more like a sign. If Jeep and Starbucks can find their place in France, so can I.

The adventure has just begun

Blogger’s note: Due to a combination of laziness and writer’s block I agonized over how to write my final “farewell to France” blog entry. In the end I said screw it and gave myself ten minutes to write whatever came to my mind. Stay tuned for retrospective blog entries, stuff I wrote there but never posted and chronicles of the becoming-an-au-pair process. Bizoux!

For the first time in a long time, the sun burned my skin today. Emilia is in Arizona. Tempe, to be precise. It was a long, arduous journey back from France. But it would’ve been a harder one if I hadn’t known I was going back.

I’m going back to France, most likely Paris, in September to be an au pair. I’m going to be a college graduate making my living babysitting in a country where I’m basically an idiot linguistically. And I’m totally cool with that.

I talked to a friend today who is considering studying abroad … I didn’t even have to think about what to say to her, other than how to best phrase the thought “You absolutely must, must, must go.” She was having the same reservations as I did, money and whether taking a semester abroad would somehow hinder my professional aspirations. What I have learned is that I gained an experience that, while it doesn’t fit on a resume, has been a greater builder of my humanity than anything else on that 8 ½ by 11. And oddly enough, being a human is far more important in searching for a job than being a robot that can show up on time and do the work.

But enough career advice. I’m back from France and now I’m not quite sure what to do with this blog. Its very name is now a lie … but I think such liberties are OK in creative non-fiction. I wanted to kick myself today (really hard) because it dawned on me I should’ve spent ten minutes of every day in France writing about it. Those ten-minute scrawls would’ve given birth to at least three times as much what I actually did write. I guess I’m learning from my mistakes. But have no fear; I’m going back to France so the title will be true once again.

But what to do with this blog, now? I won’t change it to “Emilia in Prescott” … and I don’t think I want to stop writing altogether. I guess we are going to find out how much of France is still in me. If you don’t want to read what I have to say about Europe when I’m not actually there, I’ll understand. But I’ll be writing anyway. And I’ll be glad to hear what you think. And I’ll be even happier to have you rejoin me in the fall when I take the plunge once again.