I was home to the US for twelve days. I don’t know what it is though—I just feel so uncomfortable there.
It’s nothing about there really, but I just have found the life I want here—in Paris—and that being elsewhere makes me feel out of sorts.
While I was home I saw a college friend who is also going through a divorce. We went out for dinner then many, many drinks. I was telling him story after story about my life here in Paris. Then he said something that caught me off guard.
Something like “I’ve never seen you so happy…it’s almost like you’re embarrassed about how happy you are.”
I hadn’t thought of it that way. But it’s true. I almost felt bad telling him how great things were…it is embarrassing. To me at least. I have no right being this happy, right?
It’s just strange. I think back to when I first thought about moving here, and I just hoped for the best. I hoped it would be great, but, at the very least, that it wasn’t going to be a colossal mistake.
But it’s been better than that. I’m becoming a part of this city.
I went to a restaurant last night that I went to back when I visited here last Spring. The owner came over to me and said “you’ve been here before”…and we had some laughs and they gave me and my (female) friend a free drink.
Today, I went to the nearby outdoor market to buy some things and one of the vendors recognized me. It’s really just an amazing feeling.
Walking home from the market, taking in the beautiful day, and walking in the shadow of Saint-Suplice next to my apartment…I couldn’t help but have a huge smile on my face.
Now, finally, I’m home.