Tag Archives: francais

The List

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You would think that after having lived in Paris for nine months, I would have checked off every item on my “Things To Do Before I Leave Paris” list.  Wrong.  I somehow managed to leave all of the big things until the last, I kid you not, week of my stay.  Things like going to the Musée d’Orsay, the Louvre, the Marmottan, and countless others.  Although, strangely, I don’t at all regret it.  I spent my last weeks doing other things and making amazing memories with amazing people.  And to be fair, I had already been to both the Musée d’Orsay and the Louvre when I first came to Paris two years ago, but of course didn’t spend nearly enough time in either of them, as I was only in the city for literally 12 hours.

There were a few things on my list that I was able to check off, thanks to German and Mathieu:

– have one last crêpe at the crêpe stand in front of the Eiffel Tower by the carousel

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– take a picture with the “LOVE ME” graffiti on the Pont d’Iéna

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– film an OOTD in Place de la Concorde

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– visit the Père Lachaise cemetery

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– visit Rue Princesse (mainly because Ycare has a song called Rue Princesse)

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– climb the Arc de Triomphe

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– ride the shortest metro line (3bis)

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That’s Mathieu with his little Pink Floyd backpack!

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– take some photos of me and my then boyfriend, Mathieu

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– go to the first bakery I went to when I first came to Paris two years ago and order something in French (something I had been too scared to do the first time around)

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– picnic on the Champs de Mars

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Don’t look at the girl in front taking a selfie, but look at the couple in the middle who are just enjoying the hell out of this moment.

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– take a photo in a Photomaton booth in the metro

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– go to a typical French café

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Ended up going to a bunch my last week.

Paris was good to me.  I did so much, but I still have so much to do the next time I’m there.  That’s why I love this city.

Bisous.

C’est pas grave.

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If there’s one thing I learned while living in Paris, this is it.  C’est pas grave.  As someone who lives and still struggles with anxiety, this is a difficult concept to understand and to accept, but when you hear it literally on a daily basis, it starts to sink in, and you begin to believe it.  Je vais rater le dernier métro!  – C’est pas grave.  Merde, il pleut encore! – C’est pas grave.  Je parle pas le français aussi bien que les autres! – C’est pas grave.  After a few months, I found myself giving this same response to others who were stressed.  I realized my mentality had completely changed.  I had stopped worrying about the little things.  There is so much good in life and worrying about things that you have no power over is the dumbest thing and a huge waste of time.  You’re going to miss the last metro?  Good, that means you can walk.  Paris is beautiful, go explore it on your way home.  It’s raining again?  Paris is just as beautiful sous la pluie.  Grab an umbrella and go take pictures before the rain stops!  You don’t speak French as well as the others?  Practice.  Make some real French friends!  They would love to help you improve.

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Sous le métro Sèvres Lecourbe

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Rue Lecourbe

Without going into too much detail (it’s a long story), there was one night where I had a breakdown in Montmartre.  It was my first major breakdown since leaving America, which made me feel like such a failure.  I felt a mix of feelings – angry and disappointed, because I had been doing so well and I felt like my mind had betrayed me by allowing this to affect me so deeply.  Sad and embarrassed, because tons of curious Parisians were watching this train wreck happen in the streets of Montmartre.  Scared – what if this is the beginning of me getting bad again?  What if I can’t pull myself out of this?  Crossing roads without looking for oncoming traffic, sobbing hysterically, I managed to grab a taxi.  Through heavy  breaths, I was able to give my address to the driver.  Then I let go of the last bit of control I had been holding onto and cried and cried and cried.  Pourquoi vous pleurez??  I was annoyed that the driver had asked me anything, knowing that now I was going to have to calm myself down in order for him to understand any response I was going to give him.  Trying to control the sobs, I explained what had happened.  He immediately responded “Mais c’est pas grave ça!  Je pensais que c’était plus pire que ça!”  He laughed and so did I.  He took my hand and held it until I stopped crying.  Somewhere between Pigalle and Pasteur, I realized (thanks to this kind stranger) that I had the power within me to overcome this.  This wasn’t a failure unless I let it defeat me.  The next day I tried again and ended up conquering my fear.  I was extremely proud of myself.

It’s one of my favorite French phrases because it’s so true – vraiment, c’est pas grave.

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Boulevard Raspail

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Petite balade dans le Jardin des Tuileries.

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La tour.

Bisous.