November in Paris


My bedroom door is flung wide open and I sit in my warm bed furiously scribbling sentences into my hardbound, black, lined Shinola note book stamped with my monogram on the front right corner AMW.  I take my writing tools very seriously these days.  The brand new brown sharpie I’m writing with gives off a sour pungent smell so unpleasant it took me a few minutes of wondering what had died in my room before I realized it was my fine tipped maker that’s assaulting my nose.  I’m caught with a rare fit of inspiration and write on despite the unpleasant smell.  

My open closet door reveals a wall of brightly colored scarves for all seasons.  I know exactly which one is coming with me to the city of lights next week.  Half hidden behind the scarfs propped up against the closet wall sits a large framed black and white poster on it’s side.  I’ve had the cheap grainy black and white poster since college, once prominently displayed in the living room of my homes I’ve lived in it no longer serves it’s purpose but I can’t bring myself to discard it.  


Long before I could fathom crossing the pond to visit Paris the city felt like a part of me.  A city that instantly felt like home the moment I stepped off the Chunnel almost 20 years ago.  Walking the cobble stone streets never feels like anything less than magic.  The more I visit the deeper I fall in love, with the people, the food, the language, and the culture.  If you press me I couldn’t tell you what specifically it is because it’s mainly a feeling that my soul had a very happy life there once before.  A feeling that my soul now still needs to align with Paris feel the magic it sparks.  

Paris is art, culture, high fashion, delicious cuisine, fantastic wine, refined taste and unbelievable synchronicity.  There are things that aren’t great, like running through a park and inhaling someone else’s smoke every 500 yards, or sitting for 3 hours to take lunch (really that's a pro and a con), but I wouldn’t change the city for anything.  

Looking forward to next week’s birthday trip to France I can’t wait to sit in little cafes writing letters to friends, eating hot pan au chocolate fresh out of the oven on a chilly November morning.  To walk through Rodin’s garden’s bundled in a winter coat and visit my favorite sculpture "Le Baiser".  Paris is love and I feel the electricity in the air every time I visit.  If Paris alone wasn’t enough of a draw I get to go to a hip hop concert with a friend I met this summer at the world domination summit in Portland, meet up with another friend I made last summer on the writing retreat and a friend I made this year in Santorini is taking the train over from Cologne Germany to come stay with me for two days.  Synchronicity is already at play and I’m trusting the magic.