We’re in the living room of the most massive Airbnb we could have. I sit stunned by the words I’ve just been delivered. Yet I can’t let myself call it shock, after all, I knew it was coming. If not always, I certainly knew an hour earlier on our walk. “I don’t want to be with you.” And that’s all it takes for the last two years of your life to come crashing down around you. We recovered (and by we, I mean I) and made it out for the grandest of promenades in what could only be described as the most perfect weather. We’re sitting outside savoring the last bites of our elaborate sushi dining experience, when Daniel brings our fortune cookies. I’m handed one, we get up, throw the cookies in the trash, and open our fortunes as we walk.
My fortune reads: Love is the most valuable thing in life.
Fuck. Daniel, the Chinese waiter at the Japanese restaurant. Daniel, the shameless salesman and joker. Daniel, the man with the smile of the devil and the teeth of a 70 year-old homeless man. With one foul swoop Daniel of the Wokking Roll delivered the kiss of death to my strangely perfect day with my (no longer) man.
This is the day that necessitated my 180. Part of what made my decision to move to France so easy was that I needed to waste time waiting for the man of my dreams. Now, I had to figure out how to value time instead. Notably stupid, I live my life happy to pass time in pleasant settings with pleasant people without actually taking much action. Besides, the real adventure would start later, right? Nope, it’s starting now. And it’s taken me a while to write this because while I thought the switch would in fact be a 180, turns out it was more like a pretend 180, another 90, and back a full -270 to where I began.
My first move: Explore everything. I read the travel books, all the blogs, and created all the lists. I would see every museum on the list, one each day. All the notable sites in Paris? Check. List of parks for running? Check. And a list of co-working spaces and libraries, check. One by one, I was taking action. Intentionally visiting and dammit, enjoying EVERY. THING. I. COULD.
Phase 2: Find a French boyfriend. Nothing says I’m living life and don’t care about my ex like a fresh new romance. In reality, he’s Malagasy and his last name is longer than all three mine, but the romance fits the bill. We wasted no time getting to know each other, which isn’t difficult when the other is exactly what you’ve been searching for. We spent every waking hour together when he wasn’t working, which includes time at the laundromat. Spent a weekend away to his hometown. Met the family, met the friends. It’s the perfect replacement to what’s-his-name and obviously, I’m moving on.
Phase 3: This is the back to square one phase; the unsolicited phase. The text that comes well after the time allotted for the ‘How are you, glad to hear you made it France alive’ text. “Thinking of you, I miss seeing you.” Fuck. Now my valuable time is spent wondering, hoping. Now my valuable time just turned into time waiting. My time waiting is once again my time wasted.
Isn’t it funny? All we have to do is pass our days choosing to do what we love with the people we love. How could that be so hard? And what makes waiting for someone so appealing? For me, I argue it’s waiting for ‘the’ one, but regardless. The good news is that no matter the mentality, we spend our time how we choose each day. Life just plays a funny little trick on us by making us own up to those choices. The real catch is the pendulum of love just keeps swinging.
My next move: Encore, explore everything.
