I can't believe I'm moving back to Paris in January. I don't want to think about the details (work, travel, job, music, love) because I get anxious. But I like thinking about the French, about France, about Paris. I've been nostalgic. I remember meeting up with Hatley and our parents in the south of France. I was 7, 8 and 9: we met up every summer. Often I would order "un citron pressé". Everyone knew I loved lemon. I was the lemon girl. I have the holes in my teeth to prove it (hardly noticeable indentations, really). I was living in Pamplona at the time. Too young to know we were living with the ghost of Hemingway. I was in Spain and didn't know we were moving to France. I was 10 when we moved to Paris. Paris!
God I hated Paris.
But I rarely think about my teenage years. 10 to 19... those years. I'm sure they shaped me into who I am but most days I think thank god I grew out of that phase. And by "that phase" I could mean one of a thousand. I was a particularly depressed teen. I came to Smith thinking I had a lot in common with Sylvia Plath and am leaving with the realization that I'm much more like Julia Child (they both went to Smith College. Just in case you were wondering why in the world I would compare myself to them.) Heck, I could even be Kurt Vonnegut. He was in my house. I see where I'm going here and the possibilities are endless when writing about those years so let's move on. I love Paris now.
I was talking to my dad on the phone the other day (people still do that!) I told him I hate when people ask me what I'm going to do after I graduate (I'm graduating, yes. In December. Is this the millionth time I've said it? Quite possibly.) I usually answer something like "Oh... you know... going home" or just run away really quickly. Zigzagging so they won't catch me. Because "I hope I can find a temporary job as a waitress" is really setting the bar kind of low. I've got a million ideas. Mostly freelance stuff (because I want to be a millionaire, of course.) My dad was particularly serious that afternoon and didn't understand: "Why don't you just tell people you will be focusing on music?" I remember this because it was unexpected and just great. Great to know that your own parent believes in you and your dream. So much so that they think you should focus on something that you know will make you poor! hurrah.
Maybe it's wrong that for the past few months I've completely neglected music, my so-called passion, worrying more about all the little things I can do on the side to make money once the college phase has ended and I'm pushed into the real world. Maybe it's okay to venture out a bit and see what else I can do. To try to be responsible and also say "Hey dad, it's nice that we can live together like flatmates and all, but I do need money so I can move out at some point". Maybe I should just close my eyes, smile, and hope for the best. Maybe confusion isn't the end of the world.
The moral of the story is something-something-adulthood.