Updated: Jul 19, 2021
I bought a tea blend called “Paris” at Cost Plus World Market. On the box it said that the tea was full of notes of cassis with a strong black tea base. The cassis sounded delightful so I bought it.
I started re-reading The Elegance of the Hedgehog, a book one of my college professors recommended to me that I fell absolutely in love with. It’s a novel, set in Paris, that tells the eventually intertwining stories of a concierge at a fancy apartment building and a 13-year-old girl that lives there. It’s a mix of philosophy, perspective, and makes me romanticize my life. It’s a joy to read.
I started re-watching Emily in Paris on Netflix.
I re-read my tween and teen journals full of angst and a strong desire to get the absolute fuck out of my small-ish hometown, my bubble of same-ness and unmet expectations and needs.
So it’s no surprise that one night, as I was watching Emily in Paris or something of equal intellectual value (not much, but still fun!) and sipping on my cup of Paris, I got a flash of me, sitting in a lush bed, sipping on tea (or coffee, it wasn’t specific), and looking out my window seeing the city of Paris. I realized then that I needed to finally go to Paris, before any potentially future second children.
The next morning I brought it up to Matt, my wonderful husband, who was all for Paris in any iteration. The city of lights was never a dream for him, so he was just as happy staying home with our toddler, coming with me, or being the primary parent in Paris so I could enjoy the trip as I wanted.
We started planning a trip, and it was all sounding super logical. We fly together, and then for a couple of days, Matt goes to Euro Disney in Paris or something else he’d enjoy, and I get a few days to myself. We’d meet back up, fly home together, no problem. It made absolute perfect sense. Who wants to go to Paris, the most romantic city in the world, by themselves?
Well, it turns out I do. I want to go to the most romantic city in the world all by myself and experience it, alone.
As we were talking about this trip, I realized that every time I imagined myself in Paris and what that would be like, I was alone. I was alone on the train from London to Paris. I was alone in a sidewalk cafe drinking wine or coffee and watching people pass.
Paris may be the most romantic city in the world, but I have never imagined Paris being the place for that, for me. It’s always been more about the food, the experiences, and feeling the essence of the city.
So in late August, I’m going to Paris by myself. It's a short trip, but I’m sure it’ll be magical.