The original draft of this post was written at 2:30 in the morning as I awaited the time to pass so that I could board my KLM (via Air France) flight to Paris by way of Amsterdam, cost covered by an exceedingly generous French man who has an exceedingly French manner of interest in me. Life could be less interesting, I suppose.
Twelve days in Paris. I'm not sure what I'm more surprised about, the fact that I am actually able to go back to my favorite city more than once this time around, or the idea of being able to spend an appreciable amount of time in which I won't feel rushed to "do" the city the way that I tend to otherwise. June should prove to be more of that, and yet, here we are in March. Last year at this point, the only major trip I had made was with E to Porto, and that doesn't count for nearly as much in terms of great travels because we stayed in the country. It was worthwhile, but not as life-altering as each time I step foot on the polluted trottoirs of the City of Light seems to be.
Stop short of calling me a believer, but in some ways the timing of things is nothing short of providence. While I had spent some time recently ruminating about the problems revolving around my intimate life, time has changed things quickly and I find myself in awe at what I'm doing. I have never felt more in the moment as I do sitting here in Paris, wondering how this happened and planning what I will do for the rest of the day. Instead of worrying about particular or petty details of anything at home, whether in Lisbon or Denver, I am taking in the things I appreciate most in a city that facilitates it readily. I am professedly a bit tired of my thoughts as well, similar as they tend to be, revolving around Portugal, my future, my intimate life, and all the rest that comes along with those, so taking a leave of absence feels like just what I needed at just the moment I needed it. Intellectually, I have been digesting Portuguese at such a steady pace that I can easily say I speak and understand at a much more advanced level than when I arrived, but it still stands that I have hit a point of operating on autopilot leading up to flying away, and a detour in a different linguistic paradigm is encouraging me to continue building upon both, rather than losing track of myself trying to bend my mind into speaking perfect Portuguese. I'll speak good, if imperfect Portuguese and French, and they'll both get better bit by bit. I understand better now what most people mean when they say that taking a year or however long off was the best decision they had made between undergraduate and graduate studies—I feel a resurgence in my intellectual creativity as well as my overall creativity.
In the meantime, though, I have nearly two weeks to try not to spend too much money, take photos, revert inwards while subjecting myself to the ultimate form of outward expression, and take the most out of life. In Portuguese, the word is aproveitar. In French, as I noted so many times in the past on this blog, the equivalent is profiter. I am grateful I have been able to experience what those words mean in their respective cultural applications.
Twelve days in Paris. I'm not sure what I'm more surprised about, the fact that I am actually able to go back to my favorite city more than once this time around, or the idea of being able to spend an appreciable amount of time in which I won't feel rushed to "do" the city the way that I tend to otherwise. June should prove to be more of that, and yet, here we are in March. Last year at this point, the only major trip I had made was with E to Porto, and that doesn't count for nearly as much in terms of great travels because we stayed in the country. It was worthwhile, but not as life-altering as each time I step foot on the polluted trottoirs of the City of Light seems to be.
Stop short of calling me a believer, but in some ways the timing of things is nothing short of providence. While I had spent some time recently ruminating about the problems revolving around my intimate life, time has changed things quickly and I find myself in awe at what I'm doing. I have never felt more in the moment as I do sitting here in Paris, wondering how this happened and planning what I will do for the rest of the day. Instead of worrying about particular or petty details of anything at home, whether in Lisbon or Denver, I am taking in the things I appreciate most in a city that facilitates it readily. I am professedly a bit tired of my thoughts as well, similar as they tend to be, revolving around Portugal, my future, my intimate life, and all the rest that comes along with those, so taking a leave of absence feels like just what I needed at just the moment I needed it. Intellectually, I have been digesting Portuguese at such a steady pace that I can easily say I speak and understand at a much more advanced level than when I arrived, but it still stands that I have hit a point of operating on autopilot leading up to flying away, and a detour in a different linguistic paradigm is encouraging me to continue building upon both, rather than losing track of myself trying to bend my mind into speaking perfect Portuguese. I'll speak good, if imperfect Portuguese and French, and they'll both get better bit by bit. I understand better now what most people mean when they say that taking a year or however long off was the best decision they had made between undergraduate and graduate studies—I feel a resurgence in my intellectual creativity as well as my overall creativity.
In the meantime, though, I have nearly two weeks to try not to spend too much money, take photos, revert inwards while subjecting myself to the ultimate form of outward expression, and take the most out of life. In Portuguese, the word is aproveitar. In French, as I noted so many times in the past on this blog, the equivalent is profiter. I am grateful I have been able to experience what those words mean in their respective cultural applications.
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