Paris is in the details

I live in a city of views; with 42 hills, San Francisco boasts a vista at almost every turn. Some views are popular and well-known, like the breathtaking view atop twin peaks. Others are hidden and little-known, like the view at the top of my very street - at the intersection of Lisbon and France in the Excelsior. It's also breathtaking, but quietly so.

Paris has views too. My favorite, at the top of the Arc de Triomphe, is spectacular. You can see how the streets all fan out from that one location; you feel like you're at the center of everything.

But this is not how you get to know Paris. The soul of Paris is in the details, and the details get lost in the views. It’s best to appreciate the city by walking down the narrow, cobblestone streets, and seeing the intricate stone facades of the many historic buildings. It's best to get a little lost, and find yourself at the door of a charming cafe, or vibrant little bar. It's best to warm yourself over a cup of coffee and watch as the obnoxiously attractive and well-dressed city-goers pass you by. Some will stop and come into the cafe to warm themselves as well, and take a pause. Paris is a city that tells you to take a pause. It's necessary to take a pause to appreciate the details.

Picasso

I woke up feeling sick this morning; my head and throat hurt, and my body felt tired. I wrestled with whether or not it was a good idea for me to go out at all today. This trip is supposed to be about no obligations or plans, after all. However, even though my apartment is bright, and charming, and comfortable, there is a darkness that would creep in if I stayed inside all day. I needed to leave, even if I felt sick, just for a bit.

Yesterday I had the idea of going to the Picasso Museum, so I decided to do that. I never understood Picasso, but I also never really tried to. 

“He paints emotions,” I’d heard.
“His paintings go deeper/further than the physical - they portray the metaphysical,” I’d also heard. 

So perhaps, since I believe I’m currently going through a spiritual awakening, I would see something I hadn’t seen before. Perhaps I would get it. 

I left the apartment and fatigue set in immediately; my legs were tired and my body felt sore. I decided to walk slowly and allow myself to take as long as I needed to get there. I am a habitually fast walker, so this approach to walking was honestly new to me. I took my time down the grand boulevards, down the small, winding cobblestone sidewalks, until I reached the museum. The sun was out, and it was warmer today than it had been yesterday.

Once inside, I took a look at the first painting. 

“That looks like a Picasso,” I thought.
“So does that one. And that one.” They looked the same as always.

So maybe my approach wasn’t right. 

“What do I feel when I see this one?” I thought.

“Anxiety.”
And this one?
“Anxiety.”
And this?
“Fear…and anxiety.”

Maybe I was getting at something. Maybe I wasn’t. 

With the anxiety, I felt something else: I felt like laughing. Maybe it was the absurdness of the figures or the expressions that they appeared to have. The only thought I had that could summarize it was, “humans are so silly."

I felt like the paintings almost mocked humans. Not the individual model or the emotions that specific person was feeling, but all of it. This wasn’t an ill-intended, cruel mockery; it came from a place of compassion for the human race. Like when you can’t help but laugh at a child’s emotional outburst over something trivial, like spilled candy. Your laughter is not cruel, it’s meant to put things into perspective. Whether we cry or laugh, the world will still be the same. 

I stopped at a picture of a yelling woman, or maybe it was just colorful shapes, and smiled. 

Maybe I was getting at something. Maybe I wasn’t. 

Lists

My first day in Paris I allowed myself to live like a child: I walked without direction for almost 15 miles, ate when and what I wanted, and only went home when I felt like it. I followed no lists, had no plans.

Today I woke up to pudding, cheese, wine and stale bread in the kitchen. I'm allowing myself to make my first list: a grocery list. Perhaps tomorrow I won't wake up with a stomach ache.

An American in Paris

I still can't believe that I'm here - that I can afford this luxury. I also can't believe how happy and content I am to just sit in my lovely little apartment with a fresh croissant and a cup of coffee as it rains outside - outside in Paris.

I thought I would be anxious, even scared to be alone for so long, but I feel none of that.

During my walk this morning, I started to go over a checklist: I should see this museum, I should write this blog post, I should start making comics again.

No more "should."

There is no "should."

Only "want" and "need."

And I want to get a croissant and coffee, and come back to my apartment and write. I don't need to do anything right now.