Is Paris hardening my heart?
The other day, a busy and rainy Sunday afternoon, as Gui and I were leaving McDonald's to get on with the day, a young boy stopped me and asked me if I had a euro. We were still inside the McDonald's when the boy approached me, and I had to ask him to repeat himself because I wasn't really sure what he said the first time. When I understood that he was asking me for a euro, I told him, "no," continued walking out of the restaurant and then proceeded to feel like the scum of the earth.
Being asked for money from strangers has just become part of my daily life as a Parisian city-dweller. I come across homeless people on a regular basis, and I've managed to grow a thick skin of indifference, knowing that my usually overly-emotional self is just not suited for denying a beggar some change. But, it wasn't until I firmly and quickly rejected this child's bid for a bite to eat that I realized how cold and callous I'd actually become. I walked by the McDonald's again a few minutes later and saw the boy sitting at a booth eating a burger. I wanted to cry.
A friend of mine makes it a point to give food and not money to beggars he encounters on the streets and in the tunnels of Paris, and I generally agree with that approach. But, rarely do I find myself with an extra piece of fruit or bag of chips in my handbag, and sometimes it's just not all that practical for me. And, I realize the trouble with handing out cash to people when they ask for it; that there's an organized ring of criminals who make people beg and take their money, but how am I supposed to pick and choose who I help and who I don't help?
I understand now that I should have asked the boy what he wanted to eat, bought him his Happy Meal and made his day instead of flatly rejecting him a slice of happiness that I could so easily have provided. But what if someone older had approached me instead? I might have felt less guilty knowing I'd said no to an adult and not a child, but is that morally OK?
There are a lot of things that I have changed about myself to adapt to living here, but I refuse to let my moral compass be one of them. Of course nobody has asked me to change, to become a different person or to conform to the norms of my new social setting; any changes I've made about my personality or my habits have solely been self-imposed. But, I'm realizing the high price my need to "fit-in" has cost me, and I don't plan to continue paying it.
If I can spare some change to make someone happy or buy a cheeseburger to feed a hungry boy, there's no reason I shouldn't. I won't be able to feed the world or make everyone happy, but at least my humanity will remain intact, and really that's the only thing that fits in everywhere.
Being asked for money from strangers has just become part of my daily life as a Parisian city-dweller. I come across homeless people on a regular basis, and I've managed to grow a thick skin of indifference, knowing that my usually overly-emotional self is just not suited for denying a beggar some change. But, it wasn't until I firmly and quickly rejected this child's bid for a bite to eat that I realized how cold and callous I'd actually become. I walked by the McDonald's again a few minutes later and saw the boy sitting at a booth eating a burger. I wanted to cry.
A friend of mine makes it a point to give food and not money to beggars he encounters on the streets and in the tunnels of Paris, and I generally agree with that approach. But, rarely do I find myself with an extra piece of fruit or bag of chips in my handbag, and sometimes it's just not all that practical for me. And, I realize the trouble with handing out cash to people when they ask for it; that there's an organized ring of criminals who make people beg and take their money, but how am I supposed to pick and choose who I help and who I don't help?
I understand now that I should have asked the boy what he wanted to eat, bought him his Happy Meal and made his day instead of flatly rejecting him a slice of happiness that I could so easily have provided. But what if someone older had approached me instead? I might have felt less guilty knowing I'd said no to an adult and not a child, but is that morally OK?
There are a lot of things that I have changed about myself to adapt to living here, but I refuse to let my moral compass be one of them. Of course nobody has asked me to change, to become a different person or to conform to the norms of my new social setting; any changes I've made about my personality or my habits have solely been self-imposed. But, I'm realizing the high price my need to "fit-in" has cost me, and I don't plan to continue paying it.
If I can spare some change to make someone happy or buy a cheeseburger to feed a hungry boy, there's no reason I shouldn't. I won't be able to feed the world or make everyone happy, but at least my humanity will remain intact, and really that's the only thing that fits in everywhere.
My maintenant
I thought I'd (once again) take a cue from my sister's fancy blog, and get things caught up around here. So, here are a few things that sum-up my right now:
I'm loving that the days are getting longer and the temps are getting milder. Although we've had a few intermittent weeks of crazy-cold snowy days (and we're still hanging around the 40s and 50s), it seems like we may be saying goodbye to the worst of winter as we roll into March. It definitely makes me happy to leave work and still see so much lingering daylight - the promise of springtime in Paris so easily makes the stresses of a long workday disappear.
My stroll from work.
We bought our tickets to visit Texas in June and it couldn't come soon enough! I'm dying to meet my new nephew, Jacob and see all of my other nephews and family!
Gui and I have been getting back into the habit of Sunday brunching. Le brunch is apparently the "it" thing to do in Paris, so we try to get out and about as early as possible to avoid the long lines. We just re-established our brunching routine 3 weeks ago, and so far we haven't had a bad meal, yet. I never knew how close a mouth-watering plate of eggs benedict and huevos rancheros were until now!
Eggs benedict from Coffee Parisian
I've been spending every spare moment I have clicking my needles away to finish my first adult-sized sweater that I'm proudly making for yours truly. It's been a really fun project so far and I haven't even yet arrived at the fun part - the patterened yoke!
[ravelry link]
My French is still progressing, but I realize weekly how far I still have to go when it takes me half an hour to write a short email.
We finally booked our train tickets for a long weekend of skiing with friends in March. I've never been snow skiing before, and I'm pretty stoked about having my first go at it in the heart of the Pyrénées mountains.
I'm waiting for some new clothes pattern books to arrive in the mail - I plan on taking advantage of my proximity to French fabrics and will be jumping back into sewing this spring. My dust-collecting sewing machine will finally get the attention it deserves!
I've been missing my Texas friends a lot lately. I dream daily about being back in Austin, getting together for dinner or pints or weekly yoga clases and simply enjoying each other's company. I really miss the spontaneity and ease of my life there, but knowing it's not such a far off dream keeps me focused on my right now.
I'm loving that the days are getting longer and the temps are getting milder. Although we've had a few intermittent weeks of crazy-cold snowy days (and we're still hanging around the 40s and 50s), it seems like we may be saying goodbye to the worst of winter as we roll into March. It definitely makes me happy to leave work and still see so much lingering daylight - the promise of springtime in Paris so easily makes the stresses of a long workday disappear.
My stroll from work.We bought our tickets to visit Texas in June and it couldn't come soon enough! I'm dying to meet my new nephew, Jacob and see all of my other nephews and family!
Gui and I have been getting back into the habit of Sunday brunching. Le brunch is apparently the "it" thing to do in Paris, so we try to get out and about as early as possible to avoid the long lines. We just re-established our brunching routine 3 weeks ago, and so far we haven't had a bad meal, yet. I never knew how close a mouth-watering plate of eggs benedict and huevos rancheros were until now!
Eggs benedict from Coffee Parisian
I've been spending every spare moment I have clicking my needles away to finish my first adult-sized sweater that I'm proudly making for yours truly. It's been a really fun project so far and I haven't even yet arrived at the fun part - the patterened yoke!
[ravelry link]My French is still progressing, but I realize weekly how far I still have to go when it takes me half an hour to write a short email.
We finally booked our train tickets for a long weekend of skiing with friends in March. I've never been snow skiing before, and I'm pretty stoked about having my first go at it in the heart of the Pyrénées mountains.
I'm waiting for some new clothes pattern books to arrive in the mail - I plan on taking advantage of my proximity to French fabrics and will be jumping back into sewing this spring. My dust-collecting sewing machine will finally get the attention it deserves!
I've been missing my Texas friends a lot lately. I dream daily about being back in Austin, getting together for dinner or pints or weekly yoga clases and simply enjoying each other's company. I really miss the spontaneity and ease of my life there, but knowing it's not such a far off dream keeps me focused on my right now.
My sister emailed me about this Superbowl commercial, and I have to agree with her, it's pretty cute. Gui saw it, too, and we decided that despite it's slightly corny, happy-love-googly-eyed theme, the message is actually pretty relevant. Our relationship would be totally different without the world-wide web (as my mom likes to call it). Whether it's lame or just regularly accepted nowadays, the internet is a really large part of my life, and I don't know if I'd be brave enough to live so far away from the people I love without having it as my lifeline. I'd say Google definitely struck a chord with this one.
The REAL reason French women aren't fat
So, I'll just go ahead and explain this "phenomenon" to put to rest all the theories being tossed around by curious weight-watchers. It's not because they eat smaller portions or stay away from sugars and fats; it's not even necessarily because of good genes or, as my husband's grandmother puts it, "French people are made differently." But, the real reason women mostly come in size small and medium here is because living in a country where public transportation is fundamentally necessary to live, running after buses and trains and metro cars is just a daily way of life.
When I was first applying for my carte de séjour, I remember being asked during my mandatory medical exam whether or not I exercised. I thought about it for a moment, and decided not to lie, so I told the doctor that since arriving in France, I'd stopped doing yoga, but felt like I got enough exercise just going from place to place. He must have thought that I was either joking or incredibly lazy, but it was absolutely true.
Counting how many city blocks I've either walked rapidly or run through today, I can honestly say I've registered at least a mile. Easy. And that's including getting lucky enough to catch the bus. Let's see, I ran about a block to catch this morning's bus. Walked at least another 2 city blocks through the metro station before running to get to the last car (which is closer to the exit at my destination station). Then I walked the 7 minutes, or 3 Paris blocks from the station to work, then another 4 blocks to get lunch and come back. And, I made the return trip all over again, but took a detoured bus that required me to run another city block to catch the right one before walking the couple of blocks home. And that's on a lazy day! I came straight home after work today and went to lunch closeby. Add, to all this fast-paced commuting, a 10-pound purse, a coat and heels, and you've got yourself a real work-out.
One could argue that my eating habits have changed too, but I can honestly say that I never deny myself any gastronomic pleasure (except for those few days during the Christmas break after I fed myself to the point of sickness...I'll be nice and spare all the details). I love food. LOVE IT. But, in France I've found that although the quantity of food I eat has not changed, the quality and type of food most definitely has. Rarely do I eat processed or fried foods, but I've never eaten so much dairy (cream and cheese mostly), sugar (hello, patisseries and chocolate!), and foie gras in my life! Most of the fatty foods I used to eat in Texas have been replaced by more natural fatty foods, and perhaps that also has something to do with it. I've seen French women eat me under the table (even a certain 70-something mother of my father-in-law), and I never go out to eat with a French woman without having dessert (lunchtime is no execption). But, as much as I'd like it to be so, we're not having a box of fried chicken and crinkle-cut fries or cheese enchiladas and a Coke. So, I guess it all kind of balances itself out.
I'm not too dumb to realize, too that my freakishly, self-diagnosed high-metabolism has a lot to do with my staying thin, but I also know that I'm not immune to gaining weight. My genes are not as generous as they may appear, and after my all-you-can-fit-in-your-gullet stint in Texas this summer, I was feeling the push against my waistline when I returned to l'Hexagone. Of course, none of this is probably true in any scientifically proving way, but after being here for a couple of years now, it's my observation and a good explanation for why the stores can't keep any small sizes stocked. I'm convinced if every French woman could drive where and when she wanted, there'd be a lot more x-smalls and smalls on the boutique racks. And, in an effort to find more clothes in my size round here, I plan on reminding every woman I know in Paris about this Friday's World Nutella Day. No self-respecting [French] woman can resist this. Miam!
February 5th, 2010
Out of the woodwork
I've been thinking a lot about my blog lately; my poor, neglected, orphaned blog. I think I want to jump back on the wagon and rediscover the therapeutic benefits that thought-disposal provides to my tangled-up, conflicted expat emotions.
There's quite a bit of stuff going on round these parts lately. I'm still working on Fancy Street, with fancy people in their fancy clothes, speaking their fancy French. My French is still not quite so fancy, but I have to admit it's improved substantially since the last time I blogged. I can generally hold a telephonic conversation now, and my vocabulary list has expanded at least two-fold. I often hear myself speaking and think of how impressed my girl friends back home would be, being fancy French-speakers themselves. I still improperly conjugate my verbs and say things like à bientôt when I should really say à toute or à plus-tard, but to that I say, "whatevs." At the office I'm still pretty much the outcast, alien American that people kind of look at suspiciously, as if waiting to see if I'll explode or bust out in song and dance. And, at least once a week I find myself in culture-shock hell and wishing I could hail a cab to the airport to jump on the first 14-hour flight headed West. But mostly, I'm getting the hang of the Paris version of the daily grind and find comfort in the habits that I am used to and the skills that set me apart from everyone else (that mostly being my English-speaking talent).
And, it's still winter in Paris, so I'm hoping that has something to do with some of my work woes. This year, winter has been pretty rough on me. I've never gone so long in my life without seeing the sun or wearing flip-flops. I'm going to blame this rant on my lack of vitamin D, but seriously, summer could not come any sooner! (Man, do I sound whiney!) Besides the gloomy, frigid weather of late, Paris folk don't get any warmer or friendlier in the wintertime either, which is why I stocked up on paperbacks from WH Smith yesterday to hide my face behind during my somber morning metro rides. There's nothing worse than staring at a car-full of grumps in the morning before the first coffee's been poured.
But there is light at the end of the gloomy, snow-filled tunnel, and it comes in the form of les vacances! Gui and I are planning our winter, spring and summer trips right now and just thinking about the possibility of a beach and a tank-top in my near future has got me snubbing the cold. We probably won't be headed anywhere warmer until March, but I think I can handle a few more weeks of hoofing it under cloudy skies if I have a sandy towel and umbrella-topped cocktail to look forward to.
We already know that we'll be going to Texas in June, though. If I could take more than a couple of days paid vacation before then, we'd be going in March, but c'est la vie. Besides the obvious reasons of seeing family and friends, Gui and I will be going back to the States in June to "activate" his immigration visa. He applied for the visa in August last year and after going through the process at the embassy in Paris, he recently received the literal stamp of approval to live and work in the States, which requires him to enter the US within 6 months. We're really excited about moving back, and we're hoping to get a date worked out and plans set in stone once we're there in June. There's still loads to sort out, but thankfully, we have some time before my work contract is up to work out the logisitcs and make some decisions. I do already know, however, that whatever date we decide on moving back, it must be before next winter hits. It's pretty clear that my Texan blood just isn't cut out for this big-city winter!
There's quite a bit of stuff going on round these parts lately. I'm still working on Fancy Street, with fancy people in their fancy clothes, speaking their fancy French. My French is still not quite so fancy, but I have to admit it's improved substantially since the last time I blogged. I can generally hold a telephonic conversation now, and my vocabulary list has expanded at least two-fold. I often hear myself speaking and think of how impressed my girl friends back home would be, being fancy French-speakers themselves. I still improperly conjugate my verbs and say things like à bientôt when I should really say à toute or à plus-tard, but to that I say, "whatevs." At the office I'm still pretty much the outcast, alien American that people kind of look at suspiciously, as if waiting to see if I'll explode or bust out in song and dance. And, at least once a week I find myself in culture-shock hell and wishing I could hail a cab to the airport to jump on the first 14-hour flight headed West. But mostly, I'm getting the hang of the Paris version of the daily grind and find comfort in the habits that I am used to and the skills that set me apart from everyone else (that mostly being my English-speaking talent).
And, it's still winter in Paris, so I'm hoping that has something to do with some of my work woes. This year, winter has been pretty rough on me. I've never gone so long in my life without seeing the sun or wearing flip-flops. I'm going to blame this rant on my lack of vitamin D, but seriously, summer could not come any sooner! (Man, do I sound whiney!) Besides the gloomy, frigid weather of late, Paris folk don't get any warmer or friendlier in the wintertime either, which is why I stocked up on paperbacks from WH Smith yesterday to hide my face behind during my somber morning metro rides. There's nothing worse than staring at a car-full of grumps in the morning before the first coffee's been poured.
But there is light at the end of the gloomy, snow-filled tunnel, and it comes in the form of les vacances! Gui and I are planning our winter, spring and summer trips right now and just thinking about the possibility of a beach and a tank-top in my near future has got me snubbing the cold. We probably won't be headed anywhere warmer until March, but I think I can handle a few more weeks of hoofing it under cloudy skies if I have a sandy towel and umbrella-topped cocktail to look forward to.
We already know that we'll be going to Texas in June, though. If I could take more than a couple of days paid vacation before then, we'd be going in March, but c'est la vie. Besides the obvious reasons of seeing family and friends, Gui and I will be going back to the States in June to "activate" his immigration visa. He applied for the visa in August last year and after going through the process at the embassy in Paris, he recently received the literal stamp of approval to live and work in the States, which requires him to enter the US within 6 months. We're really excited about moving back, and we're hoping to get a date worked out and plans set in stone once we're there in June. There's still loads to sort out, but thankfully, we have some time before my work contract is up to work out the logisitcs and make some decisions. I do already know, however, that whatever date we decide on moving back, it must be before next winter hits. It's pretty clear that my Texan blood just isn't cut out for this big-city winter!
'Tis the season to be...busy.
How on EARTH is it already mid-November?! And how did my first day of work suddenly turn into a month later?! I so wish I could just stop time for a bit, take a deep breath and reflect on what is now my reality. I see pictures of my new nephew that I still have yet to meet and can't believe he's already transformed from being a pink, wrinkly newborn to a completely cognizant infant. Not to mention that my other nephews are growing at lightning-speed like weeds in the summer without regard for their aging Auntie who's scared they won't recognize her soon.
And now Thanksgiving is upon us - less than a week away - and my built-in nostalgia-sensors are at full-strength. Since I can't make it home again this year for the family feast fest, we decided to host it chez nous once again to keep the tradition alive (at least one more year - I'm swearing that I'll be celebrating in the motherland next year). We've ordered the 17-pound turkey (fingers crossed it actually arrives), stocked up on the essentials for cornbread stuffing, green bean casserole and mashed potatoes, and we're planning to clear out the living room this week to make space for all the food and friends we're anticipating.
To help with the organization, we took a trip to Ikea this weekend and came home with more than we set out to get, including a poinsettia and some red garland. The holidays are already upon us and it's freaking me out! I've never felt so unprepared for the season before - it's like my brain is busting at the seams with thoughts of turkeys, Christmas gifts, new year's eve celebrations, knitting projects, grocery lists, and what I'm going to wear to work tomorrow. When did I become an adult? And when can I go back to letting someone else take care of all that stuff again?
I know what my mom will be saying right about now - something about how great it is to be an adult, to grow a family and continue the traditions. She'd also probably mention that I should just take it one day at a time, or in this case at least, one holiday at a time. I guess I just tend to get so caught up in the hustle and bustle of the to-do, it's hard to stop and check-in to reality for a second and cherish what it's really about.
One thing's for sure, when the temps drop and the holidays start rolling through, my stomach starts craving all things wintry and warm. On those rare evenings when I've found myself with some spare energy, I've taken to the kitchen to feed my cravings. And usually, that means something that I've been missing from my mom or Aunt Janie's kitchen - like soups and stews and Spanish rice. My most recent craving-killer was something my mom used to cook for us that I know her mom cooked for her when the air was extra chilly and squash season was in full swing. It's a simply soupy dish called calabaza con pollo, and it's all I could think about eating for more than a week straight. But, no recipe I found was exactly what I was looking for, so I noted the spices and concocted my own recipe along with my mom's recipe for Spanish rice and came up with one of the best dishes I've ever made. One thing I'm very thankful for is having a mom who's always known how to balance her time between work and family, and who, growing up, always managed to put a hot meal in front of us despite her hectic life. It's always difficult to be away from my family during the holidays, but I'm happy for the simple memories of family meals that I'm able to recreate from so far away.
Calabaza con pollo
2 chicken breasts, cubed
1 zucchini, sliced or diced
1 onion
1 can diced tomatoes
2 cups chicken broth
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp tomato paste/concentrate
1 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp garlic powder
salt and pepper to taste
Season chicken with salt and pepper and saute in a deep skillet with the olive oil until cooked through.
Add onion and saute for 2 minutes, until translucent. Add zucchini and saute for another minute or 2. Add remaining ingredients, cover the pan and leave it to simmer on the stove (mid-low heat) for about 15 minutes.
Serve over Spanish rice and eat with tortillas (we had some corn tortillas that I brought back from Texas and could only have been happier if they'd been my mom's homemade flour tortillas).
* Also, I remember this dish being served with corn from time to time, but we didn't have a can lying around so I left it out.
And now Thanksgiving is upon us - less than a week away - and my built-in nostalgia-sensors are at full-strength. Since I can't make it home again this year for the family feast fest, we decided to host it chez nous once again to keep the tradition alive (at least one more year - I'm swearing that I'll be celebrating in the motherland next year). We've ordered the 17-pound turkey (fingers crossed it actually arrives), stocked up on the essentials for cornbread stuffing, green bean casserole and mashed potatoes, and we're planning to clear out the living room this week to make space for all the food and friends we're anticipating.
To help with the organization, we took a trip to Ikea this weekend and came home with more than we set out to get, including a poinsettia and some red garland. The holidays are already upon us and it's freaking me out! I've never felt so unprepared for the season before - it's like my brain is busting at the seams with thoughts of turkeys, Christmas gifts, new year's eve celebrations, knitting projects, grocery lists, and what I'm going to wear to work tomorrow. When did I become an adult? And when can I go back to letting someone else take care of all that stuff again?
I know what my mom will be saying right about now - something about how great it is to be an adult, to grow a family and continue the traditions. She'd also probably mention that I should just take it one day at a time, or in this case at least, one holiday at a time. I guess I just tend to get so caught up in the hustle and bustle of the to-do, it's hard to stop and check-in to reality for a second and cherish what it's really about.
One thing's for sure, when the temps drop and the holidays start rolling through, my stomach starts craving all things wintry and warm. On those rare evenings when I've found myself with some spare energy, I've taken to the kitchen to feed my cravings. And usually, that means something that I've been missing from my mom or Aunt Janie's kitchen - like soups and stews and Spanish rice. My most recent craving-killer was something my mom used to cook for us that I know her mom cooked for her when the air was extra chilly and squash season was in full swing. It's a simply soupy dish called calabaza con pollo, and it's all I could think about eating for more than a week straight. But, no recipe I found was exactly what I was looking for, so I noted the spices and concocted my own recipe along with my mom's recipe for Spanish rice and came up with one of the best dishes I've ever made. One thing I'm very thankful for is having a mom who's always known how to balance her time between work and family, and who, growing up, always managed to put a hot meal in front of us despite her hectic life. It's always difficult to be away from my family during the holidays, but I'm happy for the simple memories of family meals that I'm able to recreate from so far away.
Calabaza con pollo
2 chicken breasts, cubed
1 zucchini, sliced or diced
1 onion
1 can diced tomatoes
2 cups chicken broth
1 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp tomato paste/concentrate
1 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp garlic powder
salt and pepper to taste
Season chicken with salt and pepper and saute in a deep skillet with the olive oil until cooked through.
Add onion and saute for 2 minutes, until translucent. Add zucchini and saute for another minute or 2. Add remaining ingredients, cover the pan and leave it to simmer on the stove (mid-low heat) for about 15 minutes.
Serve over Spanish rice and eat with tortillas (we had some corn tortillas that I brought back from Texas and could only have been happier if they'd been my mom's homemade flour tortillas).
* Also, I remember this dish being served with corn from time to time, but we didn't have a can lying around so I left it out.
First day fabulousness
I wore 4-inch heels on my first day of work and I surprisingly didn't regret it. It might have had something to do with my adrenaline pushing at full speed for most of the day, but I'm sure it helped that I was spending my entire day working in one of the most luxurious offices in Paris for the finest luxury goods company in the world. Without going into too much detail, I will say that I really lucked out with my job search, and I could not have dreamed up a better place to kick off my career in Paris - French-style.
I'm not going to lie - my new job (assisting a team in a financial capacity) is no walk in the park, but I'm so thrilled to be back in the saddle again, with looming deadlines and major responsibilities. From the moment I walked in the door, I felt the pressure of expectation that I had been so dearly missing and longing for these past several months. My colleagues put me straight to work...in French, bien sûr, leaving me no time to stop and ponder the subjunctive or consider synonyms for my overused adjectives. Like I said: no walk in the park. But, I surprisingly soaked it all up, understood every last preposition as if my life depended on it, and came to the conclusion that I'm really going to like my new job.
I've never been so happy to be so insanely busy in my life. It feels great to be challenged; to know that even though I'm good at something now, I'm probably going to be great at it soon. Really, the only time I felt remotely inadequate was when I took a tour of the floor and had to meet (read: make small-talk) with everyone else. I'm waiting (impatiently) for my professional communication skills to improve, but I'm proud to have already made it this far.
I've still got a long way to go, I know. For the moment, though, I'm ecstatic! And, after putting in a nearly 10-hour day, I came home to a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of the most delicious champagne I've ever tasted. Then, I was treated to a three-course meal at my favorite restaurant in Paris (and the same one that we dined at after our wedding). Gui definitely knows how to celebrate new beginnings!
I will say, though, that getting into a new routine that involves early evenings and even earlier mornings is not going to be so easy for me. I've been so used to going to bed and getting up at my own leisure, that waking up before it's daylight is not such an easy transition. So, I'm off to get some rest before another exciting and busy day commences. Tomorrow I'm looking forward to digging my feet into the pile of work that I've gotten myself into, but I think I'm going to give my heels a rest and maybe sport a pair of stylish flats instead.
I'm not going to lie - my new job (assisting a team in a financial capacity) is no walk in the park, but I'm so thrilled to be back in the saddle again, with looming deadlines and major responsibilities. From the moment I walked in the door, I felt the pressure of expectation that I had been so dearly missing and longing for these past several months. My colleagues put me straight to work...in French, bien sûr, leaving me no time to stop and ponder the subjunctive or consider synonyms for my overused adjectives. Like I said: no walk in the park. But, I surprisingly soaked it all up, understood every last preposition as if my life depended on it, and came to the conclusion that I'm really going to like my new job.
I've never been so happy to be so insanely busy in my life. It feels great to be challenged; to know that even though I'm good at something now, I'm probably going to be great at it soon. Really, the only time I felt remotely inadequate was when I took a tour of the floor and had to meet (read: make small-talk) with everyone else. I'm waiting (impatiently) for my professional communication skills to improve, but I'm proud to have already made it this far.
I've still got a long way to go, I know. For the moment, though, I'm ecstatic! And, after putting in a nearly 10-hour day, I came home to a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of the most delicious champagne I've ever tasted. Then, I was treated to a three-course meal at my favorite restaurant in Paris (and the same one that we dined at after our wedding). Gui definitely knows how to celebrate new beginnings!
I will say, though, that getting into a new routine that involves early evenings and even earlier mornings is not going to be so easy for me. I've been so used to going to bed and getting up at my own leisure, that waking up before it's daylight is not such an easy transition. So, I'm off to get some rest before another exciting and busy day commences. Tomorrow I'm looking forward to digging my feet into the pile of work that I've gotten myself into, but I think I'm going to give my heels a rest and maybe sport a pair of stylish flats instead.
Funny how it all works out.
I feel like it's the first day of school tomorrow. I've been running around the apartment getting my paperwork and supplies ready, my bag packed and picking out an outfit for what will be my first day of work in nearly two years. And I am SO excited!
To backtrack a bit, I had a really successful interview with that French speaking recruiter a couple of weeks ago. She sent me on to interview with the company she was recruiting for that same week. It was a terrifying experience.
By this time, I had been sick with what was probably laryngitis or strep-throat for more than a week and my sexy-phone-operator voice and coughing fits did not make it any easier to interview in a language I'm still struggling to speak. I met with the human resources director for the company and found myself having an incredibly hard time understanding her. At one point, my focus during the interview seemed to shift from highlighting my qualifications to stifling my persistent coughs. As I sat in her corner office with a perfectly centered view of the world's most famous radio tower, I realized that this was my chance to get my foot in the door, and I was scared I was letting it get away because of a stupid cough. A few minutes into what was becoming a train wreck of an interview, she excused herself from the conversation to read through what the recruiter had sent her detailing my qualifications and requirements. I used those precious few minutes to gather my thoughts and come up with a way to get back on track with the interview.
When she returned to continue the Q&A with me, I did everything I could to assure her that I was well qualified for the job, that I was ready to continue my career, and that I would be a great fit with the company. She seemed mostly pleased with what I had to say and eventually asked me to sit down with the person whose position I was interviewing for to get more details about the job. This time it was in English, and I have to say that I felt rather confident when she said she'd be in touch, which is why it was so surprising to me when a week passed by and I hadn't heard a thing. Not a "yes" or a "no" or a "we're still thinking it over" - rien.
I thought back about what could've gone wrong; about my qualifications and French speaking skills; about my fumbled interview with the HR director. And, I convinced myself that I was just not cut out for the job.
Then, the next day, someone calls me late in the evening from the same company but from an entirely different department. She explains that her boss received my CV from HR and wanted to see me the next day for a job in their department. I was baffled about who this person was, why they wanted to see me so soon and what type of position they were recruiting for. Up until this point, I'd been dealing entirely with the recruiter and I started wondering if this phone call was even legit. Despite not having much time to prepare for the interview - especially for one that's for a mystery job in a mystery department - I got myself up the next morning, put on my suit and heels, and made my way to the fanciest street in Paris to see what was going on.
It turns out that the job is quite different from the one to which I previously applied, but it's slightly more intriguing. I met with the entire team that same day, and I was really surprised at how perfectly matched I seemed to be for the opening in their team. They must've been equally surprised because they offered me the job less than two hours after I bounced out of their office with a grin on my face.
I still don't know why my CV was passed along or what became of the other job, but I'm chocking it all up to fate. It amazes me how all of the pieces just fell into place, and I'm so astonished at how incredibly well my new job suits me (despite the fact that it's mostly in French, bien sûr). Tomorrow's my first day, and I might end up hating or loving my time there, but I've got to say that I've always put my faith in fate and it would seem that it has yet to ever steer me wrong.
To backtrack a bit, I had a really successful interview with that French speaking recruiter a couple of weeks ago. She sent me on to interview with the company she was recruiting for that same week. It was a terrifying experience.
By this time, I had been sick with what was probably laryngitis or strep-throat for more than a week and my sexy-phone-operator voice and coughing fits did not make it any easier to interview in a language I'm still struggling to speak. I met with the human resources director for the company and found myself having an incredibly hard time understanding her. At one point, my focus during the interview seemed to shift from highlighting my qualifications to stifling my persistent coughs. As I sat in her corner office with a perfectly centered view of the world's most famous radio tower, I realized that this was my chance to get my foot in the door, and I was scared I was letting it get away because of a stupid cough. A few minutes into what was becoming a train wreck of an interview, she excused herself from the conversation to read through what the recruiter had sent her detailing my qualifications and requirements. I used those precious few minutes to gather my thoughts and come up with a way to get back on track with the interview.
When she returned to continue the Q&A with me, I did everything I could to assure her that I was well qualified for the job, that I was ready to continue my career, and that I would be a great fit with the company. She seemed mostly pleased with what I had to say and eventually asked me to sit down with the person whose position I was interviewing for to get more details about the job. This time it was in English, and I have to say that I felt rather confident when she said she'd be in touch, which is why it was so surprising to me when a week passed by and I hadn't heard a thing. Not a "yes" or a "no" or a "we're still thinking it over" - rien.
I thought back about what could've gone wrong; about my qualifications and French speaking skills; about my fumbled interview with the HR director. And, I convinced myself that I was just not cut out for the job.
Then, the next day, someone calls me late in the evening from the same company but from an entirely different department. She explains that her boss received my CV from HR and wanted to see me the next day for a job in their department. I was baffled about who this person was, why they wanted to see me so soon and what type of position they were recruiting for. Up until this point, I'd been dealing entirely with the recruiter and I started wondering if this phone call was even legit. Despite not having much time to prepare for the interview - especially for one that's for a mystery job in a mystery department - I got myself up the next morning, put on my suit and heels, and made my way to the fanciest street in Paris to see what was going on.
It turns out that the job is quite different from the one to which I previously applied, but it's slightly more intriguing. I met with the entire team that same day, and I was really surprised at how perfectly matched I seemed to be for the opening in their team. They must've been equally surprised because they offered me the job less than two hours after I bounced out of their office with a grin on my face.
I still don't know why my CV was passed along or what became of the other job, but I'm chocking it all up to fate. It amazes me how all of the pieces just fell into place, and I'm so astonished at how incredibly well my new job suits me (despite the fact that it's mostly in French, bien sûr). Tomorrow's my first day, and I might end up hating or loving my time there, but I've got to say that I've always put my faith in fate and it would seem that it has yet to ever steer me wrong.
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