Once again, it has been quite a while since I've chronicled my adventures. I've been reticent and feeling burdened by the task, and thus, haven't done it.
I have gradually grown loathsome of my computer and the mind suck of the internet, leading me to try and stay away from it. I woke up a few Sundays ago, earlier than the birds and the sun, with a buzzing in my thoughts and body. The moon was still awake, but I still felt like doing sun salutes and other yoga poses for a few hours. Then my thoughts were poured out, inspired by a magnet my mother gave me when I went off to college, an Anais Nin quote:
“And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”
-Anaïs Nin
"Waking up this morning with the sneaking suspicion that my cocoon is still closed, wrapped around me, protecting me from the pain that is life. My metamorphosis has barely just begun. But I feel it approach. An agitated, deafening cry in my thoughts preventing me from sleep, telling me to burst open, as a tulip finally breaks free from its bulb.
Spring is coming! I feel my body buzzing with anticipation, and reproductive capability. My thoughts are leading me in the direction of solitude, but I feel in my heart that my work is in the company of others – Desires to disconnect my phoneline and internet consumed me in my sleepless rest, leading me to the false hope that true isolation would be my vehicule to inner peace, enlightenment, physical strength… Only to realize that not only would this bring me further into my cocoon, but would also leave me with no practice in relating to the world.
A person afraid of relationships does not develop his or her skills by avoiding them, just as you wouldn’t avoid an instrument you are learning to play.
The call to solitude, I think, is more a desire to live simply (mixed with a fear of reaching my true potential, fear of blossoming). I crave balance within my body, and a tender mark to be left on our Earth. I dream of breaking free of the shackles of consumerism. I want to share, live in community, live within or below my means, not overindulge. I want to stop thinking that I can buy my happiness! I want to shine my brightest so that I am a contributor to peoples’ well-being – a facilitator, a caretaker.
My action now is to not hide but to take care of me in the company of others – I am a gift to the world as the world is a gift to me. I am a part of the world which I so dearly want to take care of, love, nurture."
The journeys that I embark upon aren't always physical, and my mom has reminded me to share the whole adventure. I was immediately given an opportunity to work with myself in the company of others when my brother came a few weeks ago. He, Alex, and I all dove head first into one of the most hectic, crazy, travel-intense trips I have ever taken. It was a blast, it was hard, it was so beautiful, but dammit I am happy to be home.
Seeing my brother at the airport was so happy and I felt so overwhelmed with pride and love for him. The next few hours as we started to talk and as I watched him soak in his very first European adventure, I felt like a piece of me was being put back into place. My brother, my blood, my closest person was here with me. And he's so much more of a person and a friend than the annoying little brother he once was. I'm tearing up even writing this realizing that he's home again and miss him like crazy.We spent a cold, smokey, champagne in the park afternoon in Paris after enjoying Nick's first "a point" steak frites (very bloody). We had to take a later train to get home, and I think this happened for a reason. Our train car was filled with 15 or so French rugby fans, celebrating a victory over the Scots. The liquor flowed freely and Nick dove right in with his French. They loved him up and showered him with gifts, whisky, wine, a rugby scarf and a bottle opener from their region. I unloaded my extra Valentine's Day candy on the kids.
Drunk and heads spinning we walked into a puddle of French police officers, who stopped Nick, asked him for his passport and if he had any narcotics. I said yes. I thought they were talking about the people on the train because the word is "stupefiants." Simple mistake, and they let us go without any further questioning. Oops.
A sleepy dinner at the Creperie, and then Alex's birthday present. I was very sneaky and bought the steel guitar he's been eyeing in Gueret for the past month. He giggled and giggled and played with it until the string broke. I done good.
We headed back to Gueret the next day, after Nick slept until 3pm. I got ready for school and the boys amused themselves with ping-pong for the next two days while I worked. My brother, he brought his skateboard and one ping-pong paddle. I am still amused at his packing. So genius.
Wednesday was the longest day of our lives. We woke up for an 8 o'clock train to Limoges and then up to Paris. We had to take a bus from Paris to get to the airport in Beauvais for a 6 o'clock pm flight to Barcelona. And then the busride from the airport was almost 2 hours long. So when we finally arrived in Barcelona, it was about 11 o'clock and we were pooped. The owner of the apartment we rented told me to take a metro to a stop and then the apartment would be there. I called him again and he said "Just walk, its there, you'll find it." WHAT THE HECK?! I was so tired and frustrated. He didn't even give me the address, even though I had asked him a few times.
We finally communicated effectively enough to figure out where the apartment was, and were met by an Austrian man named Jan. He helped us into the apartment, and after payment issues that sent me into a tailspin, the boys went out to leave me alone for a moment and to find some dinner. They came back with the holygrail of comfort food: pizza and beer, and we crashed watching The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, which Nick had also packed. I love my boys.
The next six days were a blur of Nick navigating us through the streets of Barcelona based on his Tony Hawk knowledge, and Alex trying his hand at and doing very well with navigating with the maps. We played cards, drank beer everywhere, lazed on the beach, cooked amazing food, the boys almost got pick-pocketed, I bought way too much paprika, and we headed to London the following Wednesday.
Spent a few days with the Aunt and Uncle of Manningtree and their "dog-breeding complex." Straight-away from the airport, Nick requested that he have his first pint, so we headed to a pub. He relished in the vocabulary differences between English English and American English, asking if double-decker busses are called toasters and suggesting that going swimming is "going for a wet." Nick and I cooked with their Polish aupair, Aga, who made us way too many polish shots one night, and is being replaced by none other than: Alex Finseth.
That's right, my man is leaving France for 5 weeks to rid himself of any visa troubles, make some money and really bond with my British family. We're both really looking forward to the experience and the space. I couldn't share my one room apartment with anyone else, but we admit that even we need some alone time from each other. Plus, jobs are nil here for someone who doesn't speak French. I'm still going miss him.
So, Sunday, he leaves, and Jason and Meg come for a week. I have my plate full with visitors and I can safely say that I'm now pretty good at planning travel in France. With each new visitor I get to learn what works, where the best places are to go, and when to just let them fend for themselves, because, afterall, that is part of the experience!
Nick left on Monday and I cried the whole train ride back into Paris. I miss him and I miss my family and it feels so good to have that pain of missing that is true love.
I'm sitting in my bed with Alex next to me. We're both madly typing our own versions of the story. Bjork is playing and I feel at home. I spent most of the morning painting and writing a letter to a certain sibling of mine who will be the birthday girl soon.
Alex asked me how I felt and I said I felt so good. I told him that I feel totally happy with right this very second, which is rare. I usually hunger for the next thing, can't wait, want to dream about the future, but right now I'm happy. I'm going to make hummus later, with my hand turned food processor. I'm wearing fuzzy bear-claw slippers, I have hot tea in my belly and I'm alive. I'm in love with this feeling.
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