L'appel du vide Part 2: Prelude
I could really use a hug right now. It is weird how I have never considered myself a hugging person, but I suppose I really am. I wish to be clear that what follows is a bout of unabashed honesty and transparency. So if that is not something you are down for, by all means feel free to stop here and I will be none the wiser. However, if you choose to stay know that I appreciate it very much.
In terms of interpersonal relationships I have a hard time with proximity to people or relating to people for that matter so I have only really hugged those that I truly felt close to. So I thought nothing of it for a while until recently I saw something that kind of jarred me. It said that there was a study done by Yale University that people who take longer baths and showers are more likely to feel lonely and isolated and that subconsciously these people substitute these long showers and baths for emotional warmth. Damn. Anyone who has lived with me for any length of time knows that I always take long showers. Always. To the point that when they told me that I wasn't going to have to pay for utilities in my apartment here in France I sighed in relief because I know my tendency to take showers lasting at least half an hour. I used to pass it off as I had long hair and a lot of body to wash, but it isn't quite true. The truth has always been that it feels nice and warm and it feels like being held, and I felt less lonely for a little while. I have always kind of realized the honesty of the situation but refused to admit it because it sounded silly. Well now, would you look at that, I am backed up by science. So even though I am here, living my dream- well let me back up a bit.
This is it. This is my dream and has been since I was 14; to teach English in France. For years and years I never believed it would happen. It was that dream that I buried deep down because every time I said it out loud all I could hear were the voices (mostly my own) saying that I wasn't good enough, I wouldn't make it, and that some dreams are better left shiny, distant, burning stars to be left by the side of the road in favor of being practical. I do not regret coming here. Not for a second. I am so grateful to be living here, to have this chance to live my dream. Most people do not get that opportunity. I remain in constant awe and there are days that have to repeat more than simply "Je suis en France" but "J'habite en France": I live in France. I wake up in the morning sometimes and have to remember that this is real. That I didn't make this up. That I was brave enough to make this happen. Then there are days like today where I don't feel so brave.
I have wicked social anxiety. A lot of people don't know that. I don't talk about it a lot because it is admitting a weakness and I have always prided myself on being so strong. I do though. People like my Kelsey and my family are aware of it. I almost didn't go down to meet Kelsey's parents because it absolutely terrified me to be in an environment where I didn't know anyone, where I was unfamiliar, where Kelsey was the only person I knew. What if they didn't like me? What if I was rejected? What if I say something stupid? I almost didn't attend the first "nerdy boys" party for that same reason. Parties, by the way, unnerve me. I hate when I only know one person because even though small talk was a part of my job description for 10 years I feel awkward and flustered, especially around people I don't know. I end up being that girl chilling around near the chips and salsa.,,or hanging out with the dog. My good friend Jon once told me I was the "Anti-social life of the party" and I think it is such a wonderfully accurate description. So when the term 'ambivert' came out I was in awe. I tend to be incredibly introverted, but I can be fun and social, but only for short periods of time. I recharge by being alone because it is what I am used to. I know that I can adapt if thrown into a new situation or put in with a group of people where I don't know anybody. Now, I absolutely know in practicality that it won't be so bad. I know that I can't make new friends if I don't socialize, and that I am not as alone as I feel. I have people across the world who care about me and are there for me. I know all these things in the back of my mind, but that creeping panic with screaming voices is hard to override with logic most of the time.
So, that is one of the many reasons I came here to do this; to try and face my fears and social anxieties by jumping in headfirst to a country where my native language is not spoken, where I know absolutely no one, where everyone is a stranger, and all of the environments are new. Most of the time I am good. I am now on a first name basis with all of the English teachers and I am really good at this. (Yet again, one of things I knew in practicality, but had a hard time accepting.) I have students asking when I am going to be in their class again and have teachers fighting over my time slots. All of the teachers and administration have been so incredibly helpful, kind, and supportive. I still get nervous speaking French here. Even after my 8 years of French education and 19 years of speaking the language my level is not that good. Which is so frustrating because I know that it's all in there somewhere and that it is just a matter of refreshing what I have already learned. I know that. So I study every single day. My roommate's good friend, who is a Spanish teacher here, has told me in the two weeks he has spent time at our apartment that my level has improved and from him that really means so much. My lunch meeting where I invite students to come and just speak English with me went really well and I believe this next week it will be even better.
Yet, despite all of these wonderful things that are happening I feel incredibly alone. It will hit me in small waves. I don't get homesick, not really. I just really miss people. I miss my family, I miss my friends. I miss petting my dogs. I miss hugging the people I care about. The French are not huggers...like at all. My roommate and I have barely gotten to the point that he will let me hug him when he leaves on a trip. Even that is brief. You don't realize how much you want to be held until someone hugs you for just that one extra second and you go 'oh' and it hits you so hard. So I have been single for going on 10 years now and most of the time it doesn't bother me, but then there are those moments where I feel the longing of intimacy and having that person in your life to hug anytime you want to. I have always fancied myself an independent person, which I am for the most part. I actually like travelling alone. I love that I walked the streets of Paris alone and have known the city long enough to navigate without referencing a map. I love that I pass for French to the point that tourists have come up to me asking for directions. Yet, even with all these little victories...there are points that I feel quite empty. I wish to reiterate that I don't regret being here and that I am happier here than I have been in years, and that my loneliness does not diminish that.
There are just these moments where I let my mind get quiet and it hits me like a Mac truck. I think perhaps it is one of the reasons I play music all the time...aside from the fact I turn into a karaoke superstar for hours at a time...my poor downstairs neighbors. The worst of it is that I know my isolation is, for the most part, self-inflicted. For example, there are the other language assistants in the nearby larger town who are really interesting and wonderful people. It is a mere 42 minutes by train. I know in practicality that I could go over there and hang out with them any weekend. There are teachers who have told me that if I need a ride or a place to stay that I can leave with them on Friday. I don't. Instead I hole myself up in my apartment writing lessons and just passing the time and there have been weekends where I have gone 36 hours without seeing another human being. I am a weekend hermit. In practicality I know I don't need to be. However, to hang out with people there, due to the lack of trains between our towns, I have to ask to stay with someone. It makes me feel like a burden. I hate that feeling so much. It is one of the things I hated the most about having cancer. I didn't mind being sick. I hated feeling like a burden. I hated feeling weak and needing to depend on people because I was too weak to take care of myself. Yet again, I have always tried to be strong and independent. Plus I know that most of the other assistants have plans with the people they live with most of the time, and so they are not always available and the idea of being an inconvenience walks hand in hand with being a burden in my mind so instead I convince myself that I have lessons for the week to prepare so it's better for me to stay home anyways.
So I woke up this morning after trying to record an update video for my friends and family the night before that turned into a disaster because I had left it 'public' and soon became sexually harassed and propositioned by dozens of men across the world who proceeded to friend request me and due to their lewd comments I had to cut the video short. I already get flustered talking to people and so I am really glad I decided to delete the video because I was starting to stutter (something I do when I get nervous and really flustered) and you could see the panic and embarrassment. All I wanted to do was update my friends and family. So in case you wondered if sexually harassing, degrading, and saying crude things to and about women was strictly an American thing, oh no, it is a worldwide phenomenon. I was angry and I was frustrated and I was flustered. I know it was not my fault. I spent the next hour or so changing all my privacy settings, blocking those profiles, and deleting every friend request. I make those videos to communicate (because I know it is something I am really bad at) and to feel connected to people in whatever small way I can.
Then when I finally woke up today the loneliness, isolation, and depression hit me all at once in a wave. I literally had no motivation to wake up. I didn't want to get up because there was nothing I wanted to do, I didn't want to be awake. I went back to sleep for two hours because there was nothing within me that wanted to do anything. I hadn't had an episode like that in a very long time. Even when I finally forced myself awake at 3pm I was not quite here. I went to the kitchen and spent an hour or so making myself lunch. It was beautiful outside and deep down I wanted to go on my balcony and read, but I had no motivation to do so. I didn't want to do anything. I finish making lunch and take three bites before I realized I didn't want to do that either. That is how I know it is really bad; when I don't want to eat. I sit there staring at this food that I spent over an hour on and I practice self-contemplation and try to analyze why I feel like this. All of the loneliness, all of the isolation, all of the realization that I have people there for me, but that they are hundreds of miles away just came crashing down on me. I dropped my fork and just started crying. I am not a crying person at all, but I just started crying and it was the sort of painful that took my breath away.
I sat there shaking and I knew I had to do something or that I was going to crawl right back into bed and just sleep until I couldn't feel it anymore. So I called my mom. My family has just moved into a new house so I fought to override that feeling of being an inconvenience and I called. God bless my Mom. She took me on a tour of their new house and seeing my parents and my brother and my dogs was wonderful and it was rough. I have no poker face and she asked what was wrong. I explained everything. "You need a hug," she says with a sadness that I know is because she can't give me one. "Until you can get one, get out of the house. Go for a walk. Just get out of the apartment for a little bit. Then when you see some of the teachers, who I know care about you, ask them for a hug because you need it and socially normal or no I am sure they would be happy to give you one. I'm sure even your roommate would." I made excuses for a while but I knew she was right. So I did just that. I went outside, even though it was dark already and I walked to the grocery store. I bought some food and even a dessert that I really like because it makes me happy. I came back home and I put everything up in the right place. I wasn't really hungry but I knew I had to eat. So as I am reheating my lunch (pretty much spaghetti with a black pepper sauce instead of tomato) I decided to do something ridiculous for the sake of being ridiculous. I put it in a tortilla. Why? Because I could and because it made me smile.
So after eating a bit I decided that I was, in fact, going to take a nice long, hot shower. (Something that is not possible most of the time because the water turns cold after five minutes and doesn't heat back up for another five and then only turns warm.) It turned cold but I just turned the water aside and shaved until it warmed up, which it not only did, but became nice and hot, almost like it knew I needed it. My watery hug. Then as I got out I took care of myself. I used the good lotion everywhere, not just the places that "needed it". I plucked my eyebrows and put the good face cream on. I stood outside for a while and looked at the moon. I let my mind go quiet and it was peaceful instead of screaming.
I still miss my family and my friends. I am constantly flustered. I feel lonely sometimes. However, I have decided that just as I did when I came here that I am going to fight it and override my anxieties to allow myself to be in the lives of others. I still listen more than I speak. I still can't talk to men I find attractive (so no, I don't have a French boyfriend...yet). So when I say that the comments and likes that are left on the things I post, know that I mean it with such an intense sincerity. I will hopefully pick this back up and begin writing again. So, thank you for reading this. It is a strange form of love for me. So, here is to living life less lonely.
Saturday, November 19, 2016
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Chapter 6
Chapter 6
June 21, 2016
I haven't written for...well a long time. It is not because I don't have the time or due to a lack of experiences to write about. I have simply...lost the motivation. That makes me really sad actually. As of tomorrow I have precisely a month left. These last two months have flown by, probably faster than anything else in my life. I find myself frustrated. It was sad when the host mother is telling me that I don't go into Paris enough. I try to temper it with the realization that I have had school, or made the excuse that my primary focus is to be here for the family. While these things are true it still doesn't make sense why I don't go. I think a big part of it is that when I go into Paris I want to be gone all day. The only day I have off is Sunday. When I go into town I don't like the idea of having to come back at a certain time. I don't know if I know that Paris puts me on this sort of high and sometimes (because kids are kids) returning to the house is a screaming, dramatic, and somewhat negative crash. And I am letting that keep me from going to Paris.
"Do one thing each day that scares you, even if it's a small thing," Rebecca challenged me after we had the conversation on her confusion as to why I didn't visit Paris more often (in which I deftly realized my deeply fear of getting hopelessly lost. She told me I was too smart and interested in art, culture, and history to be bothered by something so trivial. She said my French was too good to worry about being lost and that I had to go to Paris more often. I had to. (She was even kind enough to write out a list of 'must-see' attractions to guide me.) I am adding a few of my own, but I am going to go. I didn't come all this way to be holed up in a house by my own doing. I want to go to Disneyland by myself and I know that seems selfish, but I won't enjoy it if I have to cart around the children, but I think it may be a bit expensive for this time around.
Another thing that was remarked on was that I have not had a negative/ rude experience thus far. There have been a few beggars who have been a bit pushy, but that happens wherever you go. Even in Paris. I went into a store on Sunday and talked with the saleswoman, got exactly what I needed and as I was checking out, she asked which part of France I was from because she couldn't pinpoint my accent. When I informed her that I was from the US, she was a bit surprised and informed me that my French was quite good. I needed that because I still feel lost when I speak/ listen. Most of the time I don't understand most of what people are saying but I understand enough to get the basic idea. So while I am very grateful for my family I often wish they spoke more French. The only time they really speak French is at school and since, like most children, they hate school and therefore don't like to speak French unless they have to. So that is yet another reason I need to get out of the house more. So while it was useful, I am glad to be out of class. Alas it means the children will be out of school soon so I have no idea how that is going to work out.
I think I will truly enjoy "real" French life when I come back. I am still waiting on my contract but when I get it there is so much to put into motion. I will have to stay on top of things. So, starting tomorrow I am starting on my list and I am going to go and enjoy Paris. There is so much I still want to see and do. I have already seen and experienced so much. Luckily, I went to the Louvre before the flood. It was absolutely amazing. I walked around for 5 hours and I probably could have walked for five hours more. I rode on the Ferris wheel that is right on the Champs-Elysees and I had such a good time. Even though it was cloudy it was incredibly beautiful. I just wish it would stop raining so much because it makes it so difficult to enjoy the time when everyone is scurrying to get out of the rain and the whole "Paris in the rain" thing may be beautiful and even romantic were I capable of a relationship, but in my current state it is simply obnoxious.
While I am sad that I will be leaving what feels like so soon there is also so much I have to look forward to. A little thing every day that scares me. It's easier said than done as the saying goes. However, I've made it this far. The first step was the scariest, so now all I have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other.
-Alicia
7/13/ 2016
June 21, 2016
I haven't written for...well a long time. It is not because I don't have the time or due to a lack of experiences to write about. I have simply...lost the motivation. That makes me really sad actually. As of tomorrow I have precisely a month left. These last two months have flown by, probably faster than anything else in my life. I find myself frustrated. It was sad when the host mother is telling me that I don't go into Paris enough. I try to temper it with the realization that I have had school, or made the excuse that my primary focus is to be here for the family. While these things are true it still doesn't make sense why I don't go. I think a big part of it is that when I go into Paris I want to be gone all day. The only day I have off is Sunday. When I go into town I don't like the idea of having to come back at a certain time. I don't know if I know that Paris puts me on this sort of high and sometimes (because kids are kids) returning to the house is a screaming, dramatic, and somewhat negative crash. And I am letting that keep me from going to Paris.
"Do one thing each day that scares you, even if it's a small thing," Rebecca challenged me after we had the conversation on her confusion as to why I didn't visit Paris more often (in which I deftly realized my deeply fear of getting hopelessly lost. She told me I was too smart and interested in art, culture, and history to be bothered by something so trivial. She said my French was too good to worry about being lost and that I had to go to Paris more often. I had to. (She was even kind enough to write out a list of 'must-see' attractions to guide me.) I am adding a few of my own, but I am going to go. I didn't come all this way to be holed up in a house by my own doing. I want to go to Disneyland by myself and I know that seems selfish, but I won't enjoy it if I have to cart around the children, but I think it may be a bit expensive for this time around.
Another thing that was remarked on was that I have not had a negative/ rude experience thus far. There have been a few beggars who have been a bit pushy, but that happens wherever you go. Even in Paris. I went into a store on Sunday and talked with the saleswoman, got exactly what I needed and as I was checking out, she asked which part of France I was from because she couldn't pinpoint my accent. When I informed her that I was from the US, she was a bit surprised and informed me that my French was quite good. I needed that because I still feel lost when I speak/ listen. Most of the time I don't understand most of what people are saying but I understand enough to get the basic idea. So while I am very grateful for my family I often wish they spoke more French. The only time they really speak French is at school and since, like most children, they hate school and therefore don't like to speak French unless they have to. So that is yet another reason I need to get out of the house more. So while it was useful, I am glad to be out of class. Alas it means the children will be out of school soon so I have no idea how that is going to work out.
I think I will truly enjoy "real" French life when I come back. I am still waiting on my contract but when I get it there is so much to put into motion. I will have to stay on top of things. So, starting tomorrow I am starting on my list and I am going to go and enjoy Paris. There is so much I still want to see and do. I have already seen and experienced so much. Luckily, I went to the Louvre before the flood. It was absolutely amazing. I walked around for 5 hours and I probably could have walked for five hours more. I rode on the Ferris wheel that is right on the Champs-Elysees and I had such a good time. Even though it was cloudy it was incredibly beautiful. I just wish it would stop raining so much because it makes it so difficult to enjoy the time when everyone is scurrying to get out of the rain and the whole "Paris in the rain" thing may be beautiful and even romantic were I capable of a relationship, but in my current state it is simply obnoxious.
While I am sad that I will be leaving what feels like so soon there is also so much I have to look forward to. A little thing every day that scares me. It's easier said than done as the saying goes. However, I've made it this far. The first step was the scariest, so now all I have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other.
-Alicia
7/13/ 2016
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
Chapter 5
Chapter 5
May 27, 2016
Something amazing happens when you stop trying to be someone/ something else. When you give yourself permission to be who and what you are you simply...come alive. As a part of discussion with Dominique I practiced meta-cognition; I thought about the way I think. As a result I realized one of the reasons I am so anxious about speaking, why I am so so insistent the children speak to me in French when we are in public. It is much deeper than simply wanting to practice French. It is because this whole time I have been trying to pass as French, to be French. "But you are not French," the quiet voice in my head declares. I don't have to pass as French because I'm not French. I am an American in France and upon both realization and acceptance of this fact I felt a weight lifted from me. I gave myself permission to be who and what I am...and it is exhilarating because I have allowed myself to be fallible and that is a beautiful thing.
I don't write very much anymore and it makes me sad. I have seen so much and there is so much I want to share, but so many other things seem to get in the way. I want to try and remedy this.
I have been here for a little over a month. It's a weird feeling. I have discovered so much and yet there's so much left to see and do that I am overwhelmed. Huge cities are daunting to me. Especially when they are so steeped in historical significance that it becomes daunting, the idea of just how much there is. I am trying to take it in pieces. One day the Champs-Elysees, another the Eiffel Tower, another The Louvre.
In smaller bits, I love St. Germain-En-Laye. There is a market that occurs during the weekends. It's this glorious series of stalls and stands under tents where you can buy bread, belts, books, flowers, tomatoes the size of your face, and crepes with Speculoos (which is this sort of cookie butter and it is SO good). It is also how I discovered that French people apparently don't get complimented often and react strangely. It is kind of fun to make a grown man blush and stutter.
I love it here. I am so happy here and it's such a peaceful happiness that I forget sometimes and then it hits me and I feel a warm and bubbly joy. Maybe, and this is sad, but being really, truly, and deeply happy is not something I have a lot of experience with so my brain can only process it in pieces. I kind of appreciate it. I am typically delighted by the little things, but there are so many "little things" that I think my mind siphons it off to departmentalize it so that later it hits me and my happiness just bubbles until it's hard to contain and I usually end up in happy giggles...much to the confusion of my host family or people around me.
Then it makes me a bit sad because 1/3 of my time is over. While I will return in October, it's be different because I will be further from Paris, which I'm not entirely sure is a negative. Everything is exciting and everything is quiet.
-Alicia R. Farrar
July 7, 2016
May 27, 2016
Something amazing happens when you stop trying to be someone/ something else. When you give yourself permission to be who and what you are you simply...come alive. As a part of discussion with Dominique I practiced meta-cognition; I thought about the way I think. As a result I realized one of the reasons I am so anxious about speaking, why I am so so insistent the children speak to me in French when we are in public. It is much deeper than simply wanting to practice French. It is because this whole time I have been trying to pass as French, to be French. "But you are not French," the quiet voice in my head declares. I don't have to pass as French because I'm not French. I am an American in France and upon both realization and acceptance of this fact I felt a weight lifted from me. I gave myself permission to be who and what I am...and it is exhilarating because I have allowed myself to be fallible and that is a beautiful thing.
I don't write very much anymore and it makes me sad. I have seen so much and there is so much I want to share, but so many other things seem to get in the way. I want to try and remedy this.
I have been here for a little over a month. It's a weird feeling. I have discovered so much and yet there's so much left to see and do that I am overwhelmed. Huge cities are daunting to me. Especially when they are so steeped in historical significance that it becomes daunting, the idea of just how much there is. I am trying to take it in pieces. One day the Champs-Elysees, another the Eiffel Tower, another The Louvre.
In smaller bits, I love St. Germain-En-Laye. There is a market that occurs during the weekends. It's this glorious series of stalls and stands under tents where you can buy bread, belts, books, flowers, tomatoes the size of your face, and crepes with Speculoos (which is this sort of cookie butter and it is SO good). It is also how I discovered that French people apparently don't get complimented often and react strangely. It is kind of fun to make a grown man blush and stutter.
I love it here. I am so happy here and it's such a peaceful happiness that I forget sometimes and then it hits me and I feel a warm and bubbly joy. Maybe, and this is sad, but being really, truly, and deeply happy is not something I have a lot of experience with so my brain can only process it in pieces. I kind of appreciate it. I am typically delighted by the little things, but there are so many "little things" that I think my mind siphons it off to departmentalize it so that later it hits me and my happiness just bubbles until it's hard to contain and I usually end up in happy giggles...much to the confusion of my host family or people around me.
Then it makes me a bit sad because 1/3 of my time is over. While I will return in October, it's be different because I will be further from Paris, which I'm not entirely sure is a negative. Everything is exciting and everything is quiet.
-Alicia R. Farrar
July 7, 2016
Wednesday, June 22, 2016
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
May 18, 2016
"You have to let it go, this idea that you have to be perfect," Dominique (my host father) informed quite clearly. It's a directness that I've noticed among the French that both delights and unnerves me. Today was spent doing homework and later in the day, preparing for the children's arrival home. I made apples into roses then baked them since it had been raining all day. Have I ever done apples in the shape of roses? No. I just felt like it, because the apples were about to turn and it seemed like a good idea at the time. They ended up much prettier than I expected so that was nice. After the usual bout of negotiation the kids were in bed and Rebecca (the mom) was at a meeting. I finished loading the dishwasher and was going to settle in to work on my grammar workbook (which I brought with me. 'Why did you bring French books to France?' one of the children asked. "Because my French is rusty and I want to get better," I replied) when Dominique came home. I let him know the kids were in bed and that Rebecca was at a meeting and dinner was on the stove.
"It really is quite marvelous, the way you are with the children. It rather surprises me that you haven't any children because it seems you've been at this for a a good while," he stated with a smile. I felt myself blush and murmured a thank you as he was called by the children to tell them good night, and he pointed at me. "Unless you are too tired I'd love to have a beer and you tell me about your life," and with that he sprinted upstairs. After a while (which he apologized for) he grabbed dinner and a beer for each of us and we just talked.
He asked about the differences between France and home. I mentioned the restaurants, the negotiating, the shops closing at lunch, and the general willingness to help someone if they are genuinely trying. Dominique is a storyteller. In addition to being quite intelligent he is very aware and practical about the duality of his German/ French heritage. "You will discover in all the things the French ultimately love life," he goes on to tell me of how his mother instructed him how to get into museums for free. About how if you are trying to get a passport or the such in Germany and they say it will take 4 weeks that it will take precisely 4 weeks. The French, conversely, would also say 4 weeks, but if you truly need something, she told him, cry. If you tell them that you need it to visit your Mum and you haven't seen her in some time then they will tell you 'ah, you go over to this boss here, fill out a form, carry it to this office and you will have it in two days'. As we talked a bit more, he stopped abruptly, "What do you want to bring away from this? In terms of an experience or an object, what do you want to have after 3 months?"
It made me pause and I told him that he'd have to give me a minute. "Short term?" I began, "I would love to walk into a shop or a restaurant and communicate clearly what I want without the trepidation and nervousness I have now and receive it." I told him about the bookstore. "So what makes you nervous now?" he asked. "I speak French fairly well, but I get flustered easily and even though I am rusty I am still fluent, but I speak to a native speaker and I just forget my grammar and my vocabulary and I end up speaking like a 12 year old." As he looks pensively at me I feel the blush creep up my neck because I don't speak about my social anxieties to many people, anxieties that are exacerbated by the fact that everyone here is new, everything here is a strange situation. I haven't even been to Paris yet. Not because I am afraid of it per se, but because it's daunting and so far outside of my comfort zone. Also I am cripplingly afraid of getting hopelessly lost. "Why does it bother you if your French is not as good as you think it should be?" Dominique's question does not seem to come from a place of ridicule but rather a wish for comprehension. I take a deep breath before I answer.
"It's who I am. I am a procrastinating perfectionist. I want to speak well because I want to pass for French in terms of language. While everyone has been kind and helped me the best they can, I know my French is broken. I went into a sandwich shop and he didn't think I was a tourist or an American. It's in the eyes I've noticed. As soon as they hear an incorrect verb or the wrong vocabulary that marks me as a non-native speaker a glint comes into their eyes; they subtly treat you different after that." "So don't give a shit," Dominique shrugged, "You can go about nervous about being good at this or that, but it's better to experience I think. These people don't know you. That gives you a freedom, yeah? To be whatever you want to be. If you mess up, who cares? It's about the experience as it is in most of life. So you have to let it go, this idea that you have to be perfect." It stopped me cold and I had to take a deep breath because it was like a weight had been lifted from my chest. "Thank you," was all I could really say. Being given that sort of permission...well it's hard to describe unless you've experienced it.
"I meant what I said about you and the kids. They've really taken to you," he states. "I feel you realize they don't really judge you so you are more yourself wit them; intelligent and sarcastic, but also very kind and I just want you to apply that idea to the rest of your interactions. Because I feel you're not always quite you with the grown-ups, with us. You can be, you know. It's like that in France too, so long as you don't hurt or offend people, people really don't care. So I sing in the supermarket, I could stop in the middle of the road to chat with a friend and they might beep me, throw their hands up but as soon as they understand that 'oh he is just talking to a friend' and it's like whatever." He finishes his dinner and beer and tells me he hopes I sleep well and I walk down to my room. I take a deep breath, sit on my bed and I write. It's good. It's good. It's good.
-Alicia
July 22, 2016
May 18, 2016
"You have to let it go, this idea that you have to be perfect," Dominique (my host father) informed quite clearly. It's a directness that I've noticed among the French that both delights and unnerves me. Today was spent doing homework and later in the day, preparing for the children's arrival home. I made apples into roses then baked them since it had been raining all day. Have I ever done apples in the shape of roses? No. I just felt like it, because the apples were about to turn and it seemed like a good idea at the time. They ended up much prettier than I expected so that was nice. After the usual bout of negotiation the kids were in bed and Rebecca (the mom) was at a meeting. I finished loading the dishwasher and was going to settle in to work on my grammar workbook (which I brought with me. 'Why did you bring French books to France?' one of the children asked. "Because my French is rusty and I want to get better," I replied) when Dominique came home. I let him know the kids were in bed and that Rebecca was at a meeting and dinner was on the stove.
"It really is quite marvelous, the way you are with the children. It rather surprises me that you haven't any children because it seems you've been at this for a a good while," he stated with a smile. I felt myself blush and murmured a thank you as he was called by the children to tell them good night, and he pointed at me. "Unless you are too tired I'd love to have a beer and you tell me about your life," and with that he sprinted upstairs. After a while (which he apologized for) he grabbed dinner and a beer for each of us and we just talked.
He asked about the differences between France and home. I mentioned the restaurants, the negotiating, the shops closing at lunch, and the general willingness to help someone if they are genuinely trying. Dominique is a storyteller. In addition to being quite intelligent he is very aware and practical about the duality of his German/ French heritage. "You will discover in all the things the French ultimately love life," he goes on to tell me of how his mother instructed him how to get into museums for free. About how if you are trying to get a passport or the such in Germany and they say it will take 4 weeks that it will take precisely 4 weeks. The French, conversely, would also say 4 weeks, but if you truly need something, she told him, cry. If you tell them that you need it to visit your Mum and you haven't seen her in some time then they will tell you 'ah, you go over to this boss here, fill out a form, carry it to this office and you will have it in two days'. As we talked a bit more, he stopped abruptly, "What do you want to bring away from this? In terms of an experience or an object, what do you want to have after 3 months?"
It made me pause and I told him that he'd have to give me a minute. "Short term?" I began, "I would love to walk into a shop or a restaurant and communicate clearly what I want without the trepidation and nervousness I have now and receive it." I told him about the bookstore. "So what makes you nervous now?" he asked. "I speak French fairly well, but I get flustered easily and even though I am rusty I am still fluent, but I speak to a native speaker and I just forget my grammar and my vocabulary and I end up speaking like a 12 year old." As he looks pensively at me I feel the blush creep up my neck because I don't speak about my social anxieties to many people, anxieties that are exacerbated by the fact that everyone here is new, everything here is a strange situation. I haven't even been to Paris yet. Not because I am afraid of it per se, but because it's daunting and so far outside of my comfort zone. Also I am cripplingly afraid of getting hopelessly lost. "Why does it bother you if your French is not as good as you think it should be?" Dominique's question does not seem to come from a place of ridicule but rather a wish for comprehension. I take a deep breath before I answer.
"It's who I am. I am a procrastinating perfectionist. I want to speak well because I want to pass for French in terms of language. While everyone has been kind and helped me the best they can, I know my French is broken. I went into a sandwich shop and he didn't think I was a tourist or an American. It's in the eyes I've noticed. As soon as they hear an incorrect verb or the wrong vocabulary that marks me as a non-native speaker a glint comes into their eyes; they subtly treat you different after that." "So don't give a shit," Dominique shrugged, "You can go about nervous about being good at this or that, but it's better to experience I think. These people don't know you. That gives you a freedom, yeah? To be whatever you want to be. If you mess up, who cares? It's about the experience as it is in most of life. So you have to let it go, this idea that you have to be perfect." It stopped me cold and I had to take a deep breath because it was like a weight had been lifted from my chest. "Thank you," was all I could really say. Being given that sort of permission...well it's hard to describe unless you've experienced it.
"I meant what I said about you and the kids. They've really taken to you," he states. "I feel you realize they don't really judge you so you are more yourself wit them; intelligent and sarcastic, but also very kind and I just want you to apply that idea to the rest of your interactions. Because I feel you're not always quite you with the grown-ups, with us. You can be, you know. It's like that in France too, so long as you don't hurt or offend people, people really don't care. So I sing in the supermarket, I could stop in the middle of the road to chat with a friend and they might beep me, throw their hands up but as soon as they understand that 'oh he is just talking to a friend' and it's like whatever." He finishes his dinner and beer and tells me he hopes I sleep well and I walk down to my room. I take a deep breath, sit on my bed and I write. It's good. It's good. It's good.
-Alicia
July 22, 2016
Monday, June 13, 2016
Chapter 3
Chapter 3
As you may have noticed I have not been updating this as frequently. I am working on getting better about that. I am finding myself less motivated to write at all. This frustrates me because I love to write and it is how I process things and I am just...going. Experiencing yes, but I don't know. So if you are reading this...thank you and any encouragement is greatly appreciated.
May 15, 2016
It has now been a full week. It doesn't feel like a whole week. Rather it feels substantially shorter and infinitely longer. This, while being a bit rough at times, has been a great weekend. The children are starting to behave better in pieces, and I am understanding things better...in pieces. You never realize your deficiencies in a language until you find yourself in a situation where you are desperately looking for the proper vocabulary to explain something you really need to a native speaker. However, and maybe it's because I haven't been to Paris yet, but the people here are not rude. Well, not if you're at least trying to speak the language. I am fairly fluent, but I struggle immensely. My vocabulary is not what it should be and my grammar is spotty.
One example was Saturday, which was wonderful. After helping the kids with their homework until lunch I got to go to St. Germain for a few hours on my own. It was delightful. I just walked around (in my Stitch dress) and just explored. I needed a book for class so I actually stumbled upon the bookstore by accident. It was quite busy so it took a while for the man working there to be available. As soon as I started to explain what I needed I felt my face turn bright red because I was flustered. I tried repeating the name of the book, but sensing that I was struggling asked (in English) if it would be easier in English. Slightly defeated I said yes and even after I repeated it he didn't understand and quickly slid me a piece of paper and pen to me and asked if I could write it. As I did he stopped me after a few letters and (in French) apologized, saying that it was not my French, but simply that he thought that I was saying a different but very similar word and immediately said that he knew precisely the book and beckoned me to follow. That...that was incredibly encouraging.
I was able to go to several stores and in somewhat broken French explain and obtain exactly what I was wanting. That felt good. I found a comic book store and drank a caffeinated milkshake on the steps of a beautiful church across from the chateau, I had a woman approach me randomly and then proceeded to tell me that she liked my dress and that summer would be soon, but not yet and that she hoped that it would be pleasant. I just...wandered around the city and it was pretty fantastic. The thing about France that takes a bit of getting used to is that the restaurants etc. only have certain times that they serve food. People typically eat out typically at the same time and dinner services is not until 7 in some places after their lunch ends at 2. So if you are hungry for dinner at 5 you are out of luck save for little sandwich shops. So instead I went to a pub for hot chocolate (because that's a thing here) hoping for a bit to eat, but I'd hit the in between time, so I enjoyed the hot chocolate, which was delicious, and returned to the house. It was a good day, such a good day.
As I talked with my Apryl I told her that here I feel...right. Even though a part of me is in constant panic and I get flustered easily, but it's good. It's not real. Well, it doesn't feel real even though I know it is. Every day I stop and say to myself, "Je suis en France. Je suis en France. Je suis en France." I am in France. I am in France. I am in France. I feel that maybe if I repeat it enough times it will be more cemented in my head that I am really here. I am really doing it. Even in the small moments I freak out or a wave of missing my family hits me hard I have a simple mantra: "It's good. It's good. It's good." It is...good. Not easy. Not without its downfalls and moments of tiny terror, but it is good. C'est si bon.
-Alicia R. Farrar
June 13, 2016
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
Chapter 2
Chapter 2
Monday May 9, 2016
It's just a pastry...presumably. However, the iconography of its flaky deliciousness extends to a childhood filled with wonder at an animated depiction of a village where you could buy bread, still warm and fresh from the oven. I'm not expecting its inhabitants to burst into song (oh but wouldn't that be wonderful). So today the croissant was ordered for me alongside bread, titled 'Viking', that was for the family. "You always say 'bonjour' to everyone," my host mother, Rebecca, whispered to me. (Which of course made me think that maybe if I started the song they'd join in.) As they spoke, Rebecca and the shopkeeper I realize I am understanding more and more French. This does not change the fact that I have brought grammar books and dictionaries and struggle immensely whenever I have to speak to someone when it is their native language. I on the verge of panic, but I am getting better. It does not change the fact that I am taking a French class in "town" which for us is Saint Germain-En-Laye. There is a chateau in said town. It was when the Sun King wanted to live it down a little from Versailles and "slum" it a bit.
I look outside from the large window in my room. It is a window where I cannot bear to close the shutters because of both the natural light and the fact that the shutters are metal and the other bit is the view. My room looks out into "the garden". That it what they call it because the family I am staying with has an English mother and a German/ French father so a lot of very British vocabulary is slowly trickling into my vernacular. So it is not the backyard I see from my window, it is the garden and of course I have to giggle as I do so past the small Toothless figurines, Mjolnir, and the small "One Ring" I have on my windowsill. It's a backyard with trees and little flowers littering the grasses growing sporadically in tufts of white, yellow, and a glorious blue. However, it is not the backyard, it is the garden which we "pop into" and I am very grateful that their first language is English. Of course, we speak French with each other fairly frequently thus far. It was the highest praise when the twins' tennis instructor said that my French is very good, not even with the stipulation 'for an American' but simply 'very good'. Everything around here closes for lunch time in the village I am in. However, there are not many restaurants here, which actually really surprised me. Apparently, save for Paris, restaurants are not really something people frequent as they are quite expensive. Most people go home for lunch and cook a meal, so most businesses are closed for around two hours around lunch time.
I saw my first chateau today in Saint Germain. It is so beautiful and the whole city is just incredible. People walk everywhere. Aside for the scarcity, parking is a logistical nightmare. All the streets are incredibly narrow, which makes me nervous about driving here. They are going to try to get me a new car to get the kids to school, but apparently driving a car is a ridiculous ordeal around here. There is so much that's so different, but it's good and I am so happy to be here. Today Benji (the oldest at 13) has informed me that I am the best Au Pair they have ever had by far.
I'll take it.
-Alicia R. Farrar
5/24/2016
Monday May 9, 2016
It's just a pastry...presumably. However, the iconography of its flaky deliciousness extends to a childhood filled with wonder at an animated depiction of a village where you could buy bread, still warm and fresh from the oven. I'm not expecting its inhabitants to burst into song (oh but wouldn't that be wonderful). So today the croissant was ordered for me alongside bread, titled 'Viking', that was for the family. "You always say 'bonjour' to everyone," my host mother, Rebecca, whispered to me. (Which of course made me think that maybe if I started the song they'd join in.) As they spoke, Rebecca and the shopkeeper I realize I am understanding more and more French. This does not change the fact that I have brought grammar books and dictionaries and struggle immensely whenever I have to speak to someone when it is their native language. I on the verge of panic, but I am getting better. It does not change the fact that I am taking a French class in "town" which for us is Saint Germain-En-Laye. There is a chateau in said town. It was when the Sun King wanted to live it down a little from Versailles and "slum" it a bit.
I look outside from the large window in my room. It is a window where I cannot bear to close the shutters because of both the natural light and the fact that the shutters are metal and the other bit is the view. My room looks out into "the garden". That it what they call it because the family I am staying with has an English mother and a German/ French father so a lot of very British vocabulary is slowly trickling into my vernacular. So it is not the backyard I see from my window, it is the garden and of course I have to giggle as I do so past the small Toothless figurines, Mjolnir, and the small "One Ring" I have on my windowsill. It's a backyard with trees and little flowers littering the grasses growing sporadically in tufts of white, yellow, and a glorious blue. However, it is not the backyard, it is the garden which we "pop into" and I am very grateful that their first language is English. Of course, we speak French with each other fairly frequently thus far. It was the highest praise when the twins' tennis instructor said that my French is very good, not even with the stipulation 'for an American' but simply 'very good'. Everything around here closes for lunch time in the village I am in. However, there are not many restaurants here, which actually really surprised me. Apparently, save for Paris, restaurants are not really something people frequent as they are quite expensive. Most people go home for lunch and cook a meal, so most businesses are closed for around two hours around lunch time.
I saw my first chateau today in Saint Germain. It is so beautiful and the whole city is just incredible. People walk everywhere. Aside for the scarcity, parking is a logistical nightmare. All the streets are incredibly narrow, which makes me nervous about driving here. They are going to try to get me a new car to get the kids to school, but apparently driving a car is a ridiculous ordeal around here. There is so much that's so different, but it's good and I am so happy to be here. Today Benji (the oldest at 13) has informed me that I am the best Au Pair they have ever had by far.
I'll take it.
-Alicia R. Farrar
5/24/2016
Tuesday, May 17, 2016
Chapter One
May 8, 2016
Chapter One
*Note to the reader: The date at the top left is the date that the original journal entry was written, the date accompanied by name is the date that it is being typed in. I may play with the format, but that is simply to clarify confusion.*
It doesn't feel real yet. It may never feel real to the point of breaching acceptance that I am genuinely here, now. I put pen to paper with a smirk as I write 'Chapter One' because a close friend told me that I would as a heroine putting quill to parchment which I suppose makes me the bard and the warrior or maybe the mage, but let's face it I'm a bit of a healer too...and a scribe. See, this is why I never got into those games because I wouldn't be able to choose. However, in any case I suppose (for me) choosing to go on the adventure in the first place was the hardest choice. In one of my last conversations in Tennessee she held a gift behind her back, took a deep breath and said, "From the moment I truly became your friend you have always reminded me of two of Shakespeare's women (then with a smirk)...and they are?" "Well Beatrice obviously," I replied because she is my favorite and I am far too snarky, ferocious, and willing to be challenged not to empathize with her, but there was another. The brave soul charting lands unknown and finding herself in her journey (I laughed because pay no mind to the fact that there was cross-dressing in the process). Viola. So as I sit in my uncharted lands feeling not quite so brave yet, it seemed only appropriate that the chronicles of my (mis)adventures be scribed within the pages giving her (me) homage.
He was in the wrong building. I descended the escalator looking for the paper with my name on it, but there was no one. There was no one awaiting me at all. I accepted this, but paced with vigilance until I heard someone frantically shout my name. After fervent apologies on his part, we packed my things and drove. We talked about a great deal as he drove like I was simply meeting up with an old friend after a long time away. As I looked out the window I knew that the signs were foreign, the roads varied just enough to question protocol, but I didn't feel like I was in France, but simply another state I'd never had the chance to visit. Sure, there were the wall made out of porous rocks or the narrow streets made of cobblestone, or the quiet allusion to places I had dreamed of since I had learned of them as a girl that even nuanced to the fact that I was not in proverbial Kansas anymore.
Even the children and I hit it off, they took to me immediately (though any time around each other and I've no doubts we'll drive each other crazy). As I sat at dinner I had the sensation that these were not strangers to me, nor was I in a strange place. I feel so...at peace here. It just feels...right. Oh it has, at times, been a shitstorm of one bad situation after another, but I know without the shadow of a doubt that all of it happened to bring me to this point. I am beyond words. This is a great adventure and while before I arrived I had a sense of happy panic, now I have a sense of what I can only describe as an anxious sense of belonging. Oh, of course all my anxieties are amped to 11 and the idea of speaking my broken French to a native speaker of the language sends my heart pounding, I made it here so the hard choice is over and I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
-Alicia R. Farrar
(5/17/2016)
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Prologue
Prologue
It's a story. It's always been a story. Not in the David Copperfield way...well maybe a bit like it in that I have never really felt like I've been my own protagonist, much less the hero. Well, not until recently and even that self-efficacy has its limits. There are days I feel a bit marooned or treading water with sharp inhales as the wave of circumstance (whether good or bad) wash over me. I have been through a few maelstroms to put it lightly. It has been a wretched decade in my life. I had always been fed this idea that my 20s were supposed to be the best years of my life. How did I spend them? Working with the same company, single, and going to school. I do not necessarily regret any of these attributes save for in pieces and certain details. That is perfectly fine. If my life and I didn't disagree at least a little bit then we wouldn't be in a very good relationship.
A wise man once told me (and he is a whole different story) that if you have hit the bottom and feel like you have nothing, why not do the impossible. Of course I have never had nothing. I have never truly been without, but I definitely have had some hella low points. There were a specific two weeks after that job of my 20s was gone that I kind of...sank for a while. This is good too. When there is a death you are supposed to mourn. It has taken a long time and a lot of growing to allow myself things/ times like that, to realize that I need them. That I need people. I forget/ don't like admitting that sometimes. I have become very practical about myself and very honest with myself and it has been a struggle, but one of the best decisions I have ever made in my life.
I have learned to listen to that still small voice inside. It's the voice that said, "10 years is enough. You just need to go. You'll be just fine, but go. Your time here is done." It's the voice that said, "These people are toxic. Stop giving people who are terrible and do nothing but drag you down so many chances. Sometimes that empathy needs to be quiet because it can hurt more than help you. Balance it with logic. Letting go is good sometimes." It's the voice that said, "You are going to make it through this. This is a speed bump and because you have gone through this you are going to be able to help and reach out to people nobody else really can." It's the voice that said, "Shhh. You don't have to listen to all the voices in your head. The thousand questions and what ifs don't always have to be answered. It's ok to be anxious, to feel afraid, to panic, to not be able to keep up with your mind, to have to take deep breaths when you feel overwhelmed. This does not make you deficient." Naturally, I haven't always listened so sometimes the still small voice has follow-ups. "Of course that person hurt you. You are strong. You are not alone. You will hurt, but you will heal." Then the one that brought me to my current circumstances: "Well if you're not going to leave willingly I am going to force you out. There is something else you are supposed to be doing" and after the two weeks where it was difficult to even get out of bed, "Alright, you have your period of mourning, which is appropriate because this was a death in your life, but now you have a choice; you can continue to wallow in your misery and self-pity, or you can do what you have been called to since you were 14."
So I am writing this from my room in France. It's a part of my dream. Since I was 14 it has been my dream to teach English in France and I am currently an Au Pair (it was very important to me to do the Au Pair because I wanted to understand French culture through the context of a family, improve my French, and live in the country before believing myself capable of teaching their children). An Au Pair is, essentially, a nanny. I help the family in whatever way I can. I have made food, helped with the dishes etc. It has been a whirlwind thus far, a proverbial crash course in my first time being out of the US. However, like any adventure I will chronicle my stories. However it is important that my readers know, it has been a long and difficult journey to get here, but I am so grateful. So I could be cliché and tell you to follow your dreams and when you hit the bottom that the only way is up and cite these things, but I think instead I'll send a different message to someone I wish could have heard it: So I will probably post to both here and Facebook (Facebook will likely be easier with the pictures)
Dear 14 year old me,
You are not alone, worthless, unloved, useless, or stupid. There’s more to live for than you have yet to realize. I know it feels terrible right now, I validate your feelings, but I tell you that your perspective is limited. I wish I could tell you that life will be all downhill from here, but I can’t. Yes, there are terrible things that are going to happen in your life; Dad loses his job (a couple of times actually), you get cancer, you lose best friend after best friend (it’s not your fault, they were only meant to be in your life for a little while), and after years of school you can’t get a job with your degree. You get fired from a job you had for 10 years. All of these things happen, but you grow because of them and they teach you that you’re stronger than your circumstances.
Put down the razor. It may get worse, but I swear to you it also gets better. You know that dream you have buried deep down that everyone keeps telling you is impossible? The dream that scares you to speak aloud because every time you have all you hear is the naysayers telling you it’s never going to happen? Sure it takes you a while, but it happens. Where I am now I got on a plane and I am in France (yes, France it's OK I am freaking out too) and I am learning so much. I am being smart (that doesn't change) enough to do this in a way that will best benefit me in the long run, but brave enough to do exactly what you always hoped but never believed would happen. You get to live your dream and it would never have happened if all these bad things didn’t happen, if they didn’t shape you into being brave enough and strong enough to move past the fear. If you feel like you have nothing, why not do the impossible? I love you. It takes a while to realize, to accept, but I love you. You love you. You are loved.
-Alicia R. Farrar
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