It wasn’t ideal, my life. No, maybe I should say that it was bad; that’s more truthful. I was trapped, stifled and felt like I was drowning, or at least couldn’t breathe. I’d had better days of sunshine and light, but they were stormy and I needed a change. I wanted to affect change but was afraid most of the time so change never came.
Time passed and I shrank within myself even more; it was the only place I felt safe, the only place I felt accepted, and even then only barely as I hated what I had become, an empty husk. Sometimes I’d peep outside myself and on one occasion saw with a moment of clarity; I didn’t actually exist.
I was alive yes, but life was a pale thing that held no warmth, happiness, passion and no real future. I decided to find change, to seek the treasure I’d been before and to enrich my life even should it go badly for me; I found courage somehow and change came.
Some time later I found myself on a plane to France. I’d decided to travel and explore the world and myself, by myself.
I’d walked through fire, had been razed to the ground emotionally but there was just a little left, just enough to understand I needed to escape, physically and emotionally, and France seemed the ideal place; I'd always loved the thought of seeing France, and it was far enough away I couldn't be reached.
I felt proud of myself for travelling alone; it was a little scary at first but I gained confidence, learned from my mistakes, and before long felt comfortable; France has a way of making a person feel welcome, and I did.
I walked a lot, Paris is such a beautiful city to walk in.
I’d wander for hours stopping for lunch which I'd eat in a gardens or on a bench overlooking a magnificent Parisienne vista: A baguette, croissant or a breadstick with cheese or cold cuts and coffee; simple fare for simple days. I visited the Louvre many times, the masterpieces reminding me that I was painting my own and, as beautiful as they were, so would I be. I believed it too, a little more each day.
Paris, Nantes, Toulouse, Lyon, Nice, Marseille, Montpellier...I saw them all and more, walked them, and fell in love with France, and myself.
This is one of my (not very good) pictures of a familiar sight in Paris.
I went to small places also and it was those I loved the best. In those out of the way villages I’d wander cobbled streets visiting markets, bookshops, bakeries and antique shops, stammering my way through the language barrier the whole time but I got by. A smile, and an attempt at French breaks down the barriers easily.
The people were so beautiful. They’d grin at my poor attempts at French and, once they realised I’d be around for a while, welcomed me into their homes. They didn’t know my past and didn’t care, I was Becca to them and that was enough. We’d garden, walk in the countryside and cook together then eat on rickety tables in gardens full of flowers, fruit trees and vines. Nothing matched, the plates and cutlery, but the people did, with me; we became friends; a simple girl and simple country folk.
After a bit I’d move on, mostly with instructions to go here or there and ask for Juliette, Corrine or Pierre the baker...Tell them we sent you, they would say, and I did. It was a beautiful time of my life, wandering from place to place discovering new sights and sounds and myself...It felt like a new life; I felt like a new me.
Each day I’d wake, sometimes from bad dreams, but they soon faded, and I’d thank myself for finding the courage to make those changes and for deciding to come here.
I felt alive, not just existing anymore, but truly alive. I’d move into my day seeking the treasure I knew was there, somewhere, within me. I’d lay in fields of flowers basking in gentle sunlight, breathing air that seemed more sweet than ever before. I sat on the banks of little streams, dipped my legs in the water, watched leaves float by, fish flit here and there, and time would move the sun over my head and the shadows over the earth. My own shadows receded too.
I found history, lovely wine, crusty bread and cheese, books, flowing peasant skirts and off-the-shoulder blouses that plunged a little too low at the neckline. I smelled like vanilla, lavender, sunshine and the ocean. I remembered how to smile and forgot how to frown...and I laughed.
Time passed and slowly I became me again. I’d emerged from a confining and dark space, a cocoon, and become a beautiful butterfly with delicate wings in pastel hues and the ability to fly free, to feel safe when I landed.
I smiled when I saw the slowing time suggestion this week; it’s impossible of course, slowing time, it moves forward no matter how we wish it not to. I smiled though, because I knew right away that that trip to France is the time in my life I’d like to have slowed down if I could. It was something very special and unique, a time I’d never be able to replicate in the same way; I’m a different person now so the experience would be different overall. If I could go back and slow it down though, I’d do so in a second, so beautiful I found it.
That’s my response to this week's #weekend-engagement concept. If you are interested in getting involved please follow this link to the concept announcement post in THE WEEKEND community.
Becca 💗