La vie est belle!
Cher lecteur,
Perched atop the northern end of Paris in the enchanting village of Montmartre, a profound sensation washed over me.
The sky spoke in colors, first in muted yellow and then, as daylight faded, the shades deepened into a dusty pastel palette. Streaks of honey and fig on the horizon became the backdrop for which a singular structure suddenly adorned in sparkling lights grasped the attention of a growing crowd.
It was one of those precise moments where you can feel the universe in the palm of your hands. You can always see it, it’s always there, but in that moment I could really feel it, you know? It was as if the world paused for a breath, offering me a respite, allowing me the chance to reach out and hold my existence with profound clarity and stillness.
There, standing on a ledge so as to see over the wire fence, touching shoulders with strangers, looking out at a portion of our Earth that had previously only existed to me in photos and daydreams, I could only discern one thought: life is beautiful. La vie est belle!
The beauty of life was no longer distant or elusive, but an intimate, tangible reality. It was right here, within reach, uniquely mine to hold.
I think this moment in my trip is evidence of the allure of travel. Before the trip, my wanderlust older sister predicted that venturing abroad for the first time would leave me even more enamored with the idea of seeing the world than I already was.
Paris in particular long held an intrigue to me. I knew I’d enjoy it because a.) I am a human being with a pulse and a love of pastries, and b.) I am especially charmed by art and culture (bonus points if it’s old) which I knew to be built into the air there.
A little over a year ago I’d gotten this idea to go to Paris for my 25th birthday. In spite of my misplaced passport and lack of money or plan, a series of unexpected, albeit extraordinary events (details of which I’ll save for a later date) led me to a France-bound plane just a few weeks after my quarter-cent celebration. This is part of why I believe a certain connection to the universe permeated my entire trip.
Although I was somewhere I’d never been, I could feel the world telling me I was exactly where I was supposed to be. It was not by chance, I believe, that I had experienced what was then a somewhat random vision of visiting Paris. Call it manifestation, call it meant to be—the beauty and alignment of my life was present in every Parisian step.
I used to assume my life—or at least the life I dreamt of having—was unattainable. Like I’d never actually be able to move to New York or meet true friends or travel or fall in love or even begin to write about any of those things. Those were just dreams of a girl deemed idealistic, hopelessly romantic. And admittedly I used to be somewhat ashamed of those descriptors when they were pointed at me. But in my heart I’ve always held out hope anyway, secretly cradling my dreams with the same reverence as reality.
I often talk a lot about presence both in my writing and everyday life, though typically in the context of the pursuit, seldom in terms of having achieved it. What I didn’t realize about travel was how present it can make you. But more than that how, from the vantage point of the present, you can see your life, and the beauty within it, with such distinct clarity.
The good news is you don’t have to get on a plane to experience this; life’s beauty is less about what’s in front of us and more about how we perceive and engage with the world around us—even in the everyday. I think travel just helps us regain that perspective.
Safe to say Paris exceeded my expectations. It’s a place filled with awe-inspiring things, some of which you will stumble into without even trying. From the details of Monet’s water lilies to the layers of my morning croissant. From sipping the best wine I’ve ever had to petting chubby French cats at Le Café Des Chats. From wandering through the endless corridors of the Louvre to sifting through the endless racks of vintage. From taking in the green oasis of Parc des Buttes-Chaumont to peeping Jim Morrison’s grave.
But if I had to choose my favorite moment of the trip, I’d say it was that evening in Montmare, seeing the Eiffel Tower sparkle for the first time in the distance from above. When the world felt so small and so big and so beautiful and so mine all at once.
Sincèrement,
Salena
