One Step at a Time

"You have to stop moving at some point or you're going to crash," said my Turkish friend's father the other night with a gentle smile. I've been moving around for a while now.  It's a miracle if I stay anywhere longer than a year.

But I keep coming back to Paris.  Last night after a long day in Orientation I took myself on a walk through the past.

dans le rue

I walked past the bar where my friend and I talked about her lover over aperos, past the stores where I would window shop and dream of dressing like a French woman, through the busy tourist strewn streets of the Latin Quarter where I used to smoke cigarettes and drink straight vodka while falling in love with musicians I never had the balls to talk to, and up to the Marais, past a street where I lived and a cafe where I used to work late into the night for little money.

I took a taxi home after midnight and rolled down the window.  The wind blew in my hair.  I drove past more of the past.  More memories.  There are so many but I hold onto them all.

This city has been through a lot with me.  It has always been a place of growth.  A place where I believed in my dreams.  And romance.  And myself.  I went through some of the worst months of my life here but I always came out better for it.

It feels even better to be here than I thought it would.  I feel more feminine, at ease and confident here than anywhere else.

I have been spending a lot of my time inside an office, but I am content.  When I go out for a coffee I'm called "Princesse" and am grateful for even the poorly made cappucinos that fuel my morning.  I also know that I'll be all over the city with a group of teenagers before I know it.  I'll be busy as hell but it thrills me.

bright roses

I have spent the past five months bleeding my heart out and beating myself to a pulp.  Now that I'm here I know that it's time for me to stop mourning.  To stop acting like I don't know how to take care of myself.  'm done.  I'm pulling myself together.  For the next five weeks I have no other choice but to be the best version of myself.

I know that no matter what I'll come out of this better for it.

Paris, you dirty devil, you've done it again.