It’s funny, we’ve been back 11 days now, but it feels like much longer. Sitting in our funky apartment in Rouen, drinking vin chaud and eating croissants seems like such a different reality already. And yet, the effects of that time are lingering in unexpected ways.
During the last part of our trip, I started looking forward to doing some of the many things on my list when we got home. Work stuff, art stuff, house stuff — all the basics that make up my day-to-day time here in Portland. And I am doing some of that, but with a different pace and feeling than usual. It wouldn’t be accurate to say I don’t care as much, but I don’t feel that drive that I usually have. Not that that drive always translates to productivity, but it certainly always translates to a feeling that I need to be productive, that I should be accomplishing something at all times.
Instead I find myself meandering through my life here much like I was in France. Doing some things because I need or want to, but also really reluctant to schedule my days or start filling up my time with appointments and busywork.
It’s like my internal pace has slowed. I am content to sit on my couch and dream up plans for weekly excursions to Saint Honoré bakery, to see if it’s possible to have croissants and jam here that are anything like those in France. Or to spend time ironing fabrics with the plan to eventually create something beautiful, but perhaps not today. It’s a pleasant place to be. I recommend it highly.