I stopped writing on this blog, not because I stopped doing, stopped the writing process, stopped seeing and feeling and experiencing, but because I did not know how to write about those things when I was in the midst of a shift in my own thoughts about so many aspects of this strange life. Thankfully in all of this, mid-December, I had a visit home which only cemented everything that I knew was happening and needs to happen. That possibly, for the first time, my home is a place surrounded by people whose friendship is one hundred percent reciprocated, every part of a friendship - equal, loving, caring, fun, honest. Where I want to wrap each and every person in bubble wrap and do what I can to make sure they’re supported in any and every way possible, with the comforting knowledge that they feel the same about me - or so I believe and hope so! Realisations hit hard when I was sat on the floor of a bathroom in my favourite bar, crying my eyes out while being told that I had been strong for too long - it was the perfect, somewhat embarrassing (post red wine and champagne tasting induced flood of emotions) and supported release of emotions that I did not know I needed.
Life in Paris is still a-go, I walk to new neighbourhoods until I end the day with tired feet and tired eyes. I revisit places time and again but always trying to take a new path, spotting buildings and monuments I have never seen before, quiet squares and ornate courtyards. Though I have to say, preparing for the next step, the next move, has taken up a lot of time since returning after the New Year. I have also felt inclined to switch off, seeing things through my eyes and less through a screen, trying to be more present in social situations by keeping tech at bay. I am feeling the need more than ever to live here like a local, the old style locals, enjoying the old style France - while truthfully of course, visiting cafes with an internet connection so I can sit, write, drink coffee and people watch, gloriously all at the same time. There is still so much to experience here, an infinite amount to write about until my hands feel tight and tired from the typing and scrawling. For as long as my eyes continue to not be accustomed to the beauty of Paris, there will always be stories to tell. Though I am feeling less urgency in doing everything in a day, and becoming more at peace with taking it all at my own pace.
My focus is shifting to building a life around being content, supported and feeling my best with people I love; where I can enjoy time with friends and family until my heart’s content. No, it may not make me a million but I will have memories aplenty to thrive on and stories to tell. I am not one for New Year resolutions, it’s a continual process to grow more comfortable, more content, to act sillier and dafter until I reach a ripe old age of seventy odd - the elderly years, where I hope to revert to my fashion of dresses, red wellies and no knickers, accessorising with a glass of red, taking morning swims in the river and most likely living in a somewhat eclectic house in the French countryside with my lifelong partner who surely has to be equally bonkers.
I vow to not leave it so long next time...
Bises de Lydia
