First things first

A year of firsts. In many ways, I feel like this is a year in which a wet, pink, screaming baby (me) was passed across the ocean from the golden land of 24-hour-service/meal-and-housing-plans-handed-to-you-with-a-smile, to a confusing landmass full of no-we-will-not-go-out-of-our-way-to-help-you-slash-you-aren’t-dressed-as-cool-as-us. Well. Back in the beginning I stepped off of my Aerlingus plane in late August with confidence and happy nerves as to what lay ahead of me. But in reality I have had a much harder time getting accustomed to living here, and living here alone (key word), than I ever thought I would. This could just be a peter-pan-nightmare called growing up, or it could be some karmic “getting what you wanted” business (followed by evil buddhist laughter) but I actually think that this is simply the Syndrome of Firsts. It feels like every time I turn a corner in this city I meet something new or have to deal with some new situation (in french). At CC, deciding to go to Benjis instead of Rastall is enough of a novelty to send that thrill of spontaneity down my spine - but here in Paris I've started grasping anything the least bit familiar with an iron grip (just imagine running into me in the street...) To help you get one I mean by "firsts," here is a little taste of some of the extra-fun ones I've run into thus far: 

First time I had to look for an apartment. First time I had to look for an apartment in another language. First time I had to figure out an international bank transfer, in another language, over two times zones. First time I had to report my phone lost, in another language, and call insurance to get it replaced. (This ended up happening two times! Second time around, I was a champ.) First time my computer was stolen, and I had to buy another one, in another language. First time I memorized a french computer keyboard. First time I moved into a new apartment. First time my fuse blew, and I didn’t realize how to reset it for three days and all of my food went bad. First time I figured out how to turn my hot water on (and off...) First time I had to talk to the french police when my neighbor called them amidst a tuesday-night-lets-drink-whiskey serious gathering chez moi. First time I had to give a 25 minute presentation in french, and was so nervous that I forgot how to say any and all french numbers. First time I got in an argument over the bill with a frenchman, in french, over the price of my haircut - and won, just saying. First time I lost my mailbox key. First time I had to call a locksmith (need I say, in french?). First time I missed a flight, and begged the airport staff until they gave me a new flight free of charge (this experience had a very familiar ring to it, but the desperation was probably much more poignant since I was struggling even more so to do it all in french). First time I paid an electricity bill. First time I paid a €300 electricity bill. Last time I used any electricity (jokes). 

The point of this list is to say, I have had a lot of firsts, a lot of scary firsts. Calling my bank at home, my mom and CC to ask for help has been both difficult and frequent. In response to all of this onslaught of novelties, I make habits, I create routines, I do anything to make things stay the same. I say bonjour and au revoir to the same people every day, and stop at the same snack stands (self-medicating with a twice-daily pain au chocolat has proven to have great results). My schedule has me in class everyday in the mornings, with work every afternoon, and I definitely remember to turn off my lights. However something I think I easily forget to notice, and seriously fail to remember, is both the overwhelming number of GOOD firsts, and the fact that my motivation for coming to Paris was largely to do, see, and experience, something new! While the bad firsts make better stories, especially since the french make themselves so much fun to imitate (see video link at bottom to better understand this), the good firsts are what keep me so inexplicably happy here in this gray and misty city.

So I thought I’d include here some unexpected “firsts” that have made me stop, look around, and wonder at how freaking cool my life is right now.

First time my class stopped in order to explain the word “prey” to a spanish speaker who didn’t understand the french — three languages were flying across the room in order to explain it, descriptions in french, english and spanish until she understood, and class resumed. Same thing happened another day when a german girl could not remember how to say “sustainable”. Luckily, there’s almost always a german or two in my classes so a quick debate in german fixed the problem. First time I figured out that the little 7 year old I babysit for, named Julieanne, had been saying “Fac,” a shorter way to say “faculté” which is another word for university, and not something else... this one had me very confused, and laughing for a long time afterwards. First time I got to hear about “american exceptionalism” from a class full of french, irish, australian, german and english students. Fascinating. First time I was invited by my nanny-friend, 50-something-year-old Fred (short for Frederique) to her Valentine’s day community choir concert, and went. Best V-Day yet by far. First time I found myself as a translator between a desperate Dutch woman whose purse had been stolen, and the french police when neither could communicate with the other. First time I went to a Monday night reading at Shakespeare & Co, and drank wine along the Seine with the featured authors afterwards. First time I went to a debate to hear prestigious speakers, including ex-ambassadors, discuss and answer questions about the upcoming U.S. elections in a gold-gilded hotel right off of the champs-elysées. First time I shared a cup of red wine at 4 PM in the center of a convenience store with the owner, named Ali Baba, who had been welcomed so warmly and treated so well by Americans when he went to New York, that he wanted to show Americans the same treatment at his home in Bordeaux. First time I went to a Bob Dylan concert with the father for the kids I babysit for, who also happens to be the diplomatic advisor to the head of the French senate. (A repeat story, but too cool to not be included).

And of course there are the smaller moments. When I can communicate clearly and quickly in french, when I find myself in a beautiful new neighborhood in Paris and simply stop and stare, when I find myself actively interested and engaged in a class here. The little things, and the “good firsts,” as I’ve so eloquently named them, are the bits and pieces of life here that feed me, along with the chocolate croissants, and keep me going in a city that can all too easily feel alien and frightening. Since I’ve been here I’ve taken to jotting these little things down, with the goal of writing about them - in a blog or home to mom - and only now have I found a way to compress them into one blog post (a post which, naturally, turned erroneously philosophic... a tendency which internet-me cannot seem to get control of). 

On that note, enjoy the movie clip (it says it has subtitles but I don’t think they’re there, just look at his face because it is such a good imitation of what I see here in paree), and I’ll keep you posted on anymore exciting adventures (or tenuous struggles) in the life of me, your wonderful, emotional-roller-coaster-riding, ever-growing — in every way (think life experiences + constant croissants) — long-list-and-hyphen-loving, friend.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxndREL9h74&feature=related