I decided to make this blog about my trip to France in May. I wanted to write it in retrospect because for me, worrying about categorizing experiences every day in my head so that I can blog about them later, ruins it for me. I prefer to experience things to the fullest extent then sort how I feel about them in retrospect. That being said, with this blog, I hope to share my reflective experiences in Paris to help convince other students to get out and travel. Personally this trip was very hard for me: to convince myself to go and to stay sane once I got there. I’m a homebody, and although I love to travel, I’ve never left the country (going to Canada when I was 7 doesn’t really count in my opinion), and I’ve never really had to be responsible for myself to this extent. There has always been a parent, adult (an adultier adult), or the structure of a school field trip to rely on. So I was worried. And I know that some of you–those pulled to and fro by the travel bug, those of you super confident, trusting, easy going, determined or otherwise–are like “psh, going to Paris for a month? 1st world country? With a friend? You’re fine, and I would do it in a heartbeat. Which is fine, great even; I’m impressed by you happy go lucky travelers. But what it boils down to is that I had never pictured myself being capable of anything like this, and frankly believing in myself is my greatest struggle. So, it is what it is, I’m a worrier and was scared.
Now before I left, I had just finished the most difficult semester of my life. I had really pushed my mind through the gauntlet; my body was suffering from neglected sleep, odd eating schedules, stress, caffeine dependency, and lack of exercise. Ah, the things we do for the letter A. In addition, I had to complete 4, nine hour day’s worth of training for a job I’m starting in the fall. So in essence, I had two days to move home from college and pack for a month in France with my mind and body in a really bad place.
And I gotta say it worked out great for me. I prepared myself as much as possible, and I got on that plane totally numb. At that moment waiting for takeoff, I understood that I was going to France in abstract, but I could not make myself care. Literally, at all. And I honestly think despondence was for the best. True it would have been better to be excited, but compared to the panic attack, loony bin worthy freak-out that would have ensued under normal circumstances, it was worth it. My friend, I think was feeling the stress strongly, and I think it made her nervous that I was so…..calm. But we got to Paris without incident or freak-out, got safely to our rented aparthotel, got to our beds (jet lag is real, folks), and survived our first day navigating Paris without incident. It was a miracle, despite the fact I was still basically despondent, which is really scary looking back. If I hadn’t had my friend for support, I think the trip really would have tanked the first day there.
But luckily with my wonderful friend’s help, I woke up that afternoon in the best way possible and the experience became real for me. My friend and I went to the Eiffel Tower the first day since we’d decided to get all the touristy stuff out of the way as soon as possible. (P.S. the tourist in you never really dies because there’s too much to see. So basically we spent the rest of the trip taking selfies with landmarks while exclaiming really loudly in English “We’re obnoxious tourists!” Sadly (happily), I don’t regret a single picture.) Anyway, starting very early in my childhood, I’ve wanted to see the Eiffel Tower and France. It was the place where love, magic, and musical numbers from Anastasia happened. Ever since I was told what it was, I’ve wanted to go. Then all of a sudden, I was there, taking obligatory Tour Eiffel pictures and eating a Nutella crêpe. Although, I didn’t admit it at the time, I still felt absolutely nothing. So what’s one to do? Well we took a nap in the grass in front of the Eiffel Tower for almost an hour. Casual. Then I woke up, literally and mentally. The feeling was magnificent and such a relief. It hit me that I had just realized a dream, not only was I seeing the tower in person, the icon of my entire dream of travel, I was freaking napping in front of it! I didn’t cry, but that was such an emotional and fulfilling moment, I couldn’t hope to express it in words. And the best part was that I had done this amazing thing, for myself, by myself (I mean in a “sans authority figure” and completely self-dependent kind of way). It was horribly, wonderful, ecstatic, eye widening moment, complete with a pearl grabbing gasp.
I didn’t share this moment with my friend to its full impact. There were no words, and I didn’t really know how important it was at the time anyway (again the benefit of writing in prolonged retrospection). But I think that day was a pivotal moment for both of us. From that moment on, I was delightfully content for the majority of my experience–there were a few exceptions, but when in life are there not? And although, it was dreary feeling empty for the first real step of the trip, I did learn the benefit of functioning step by step with emotions at a minimum. If I had been feeling, I’m confident in saying that my anxiety could have set the precedence for the trip. And would have been all for naught anyway because we got to Paris without incident anyway. Luckily, I was depressed (?) and my moment of epiphany in front of the Eiffel tower really set me on a positive path and helped me cope and work through all the obstacles for the rest of the trip. I had done what I didn’t think I was capable of and the proof was sitting right in front of me, the famous Paris landmark became a personal monument for my own confidence. Perhaps a little sappy and cliché, but none the less true.
lifesansflan 