Living in Paris hasn’t just been living in Paris. It’s been learning (not school-type learning… come on now). It’s been growing up (some might call me an adult, though not to my face or I’ll have at you). And above all, it has been about connecting.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not leaving yet, nono. Nonono. nope. I’ve still got 756 hours to go in Paris. You know. Approximately.
But school is overish. (Don’t tell my legal strat. prof.. if he asks I’m working diligently on my presentation)
This means that all of that connecting is finally starting to lead to goodbyes.
We’ve been together for a short time, and I guess we knew it would be temporary. But in this short time, we’ve all been there for each other to lean on.
To commiserate about Paris attacking us with paperwork.
To make disgusted faces when walking under a pee-drenched passage.
To plan our escapes.
To dance on beaches. And kick a little sand at eachother.
To put yoghurt on eachother’s sunburns. Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it ok… or if you actually have Aloe… I guess you could use that too. Mr.Sophisticated.
To be too broke to pay for tourist attractions.. and instead rewrite the lyrics from “sur le pont” to “sous le pont d’Avignon” to fit our budget.
To laugh at language-related silly things.
And some that weren’t so amazing.. and maybe were full of sand.
To find the perfect vélib routes.
To learn how to be a local.
To bake things from our different homelands. together. in a little toaster oven. then share.
To rejoice to the heavens when the sun came back after hiding in its underground secret lair for 52 million years. 52. approx.
To laugh at French boys who embarrass themselves trying to slackline. Look at that face. Much less embarrassing than just falling off.
To picnic. Inside. Outside. With wine. Without wine.
Sometimes with people’s uncles.
With geese. Hopefully without geese. Don’t picnic with geese. They’re assholes.
Above all, just knowing that we have someone with us, they’re in our boat. We’re having the same experiences. They’ll hear us out and they’ll know where our head’s at. We’re not alone.
All of these things make this short time feel like a long time, and they make these final days or weeks feel like they’ll never damn well be enough.
We’re from everywhere. From Singapore to South Carolina. From Austria to the Yukon Territory (woot). When we head off, who knows where we’ll all go… I’m hard-pressed to say it’ll be the same direction.
But here’s the thing. I can’t help looking at each of these goodbyes as simply the ending of a beginning, not the end the story. These connections, these friendships, they’ll survive more than the Atlantic (dude, Facebook). It’s not a matter of if. IF we don’t want these to be goodbyes, they won’t be. If anything they’re reasons. We all have reasons to explore again. To see each other and to reconnect. The when’s and where’s are total formalities.
I’m already excited for next time.
You may be the first off the island freckles, but you sure as hell won’t be the last I see again. *cough* Yukon road trip *cough*