Better seen than believed

Ok, so, I set out to come up with things that I am going to miss about France, and at this point in time I'm still having a bit of difficulty thinking about things. I don't think it is so much that there is nothing to miss, but mainly that I'm just not in the position right now to realize what I'll miss. Basically, what it comes down to is that the things I most take for granted are the things that I will miss the most, and I can't quite get my finger on what those things are, because, well, I don't think about them (that is what taking something for granted means, no?).

So anyway, some potential candidates: the metro, in all it's close-at-12:45 glory, because, well, how else would I get anywhere; the architecture, which I'm sure will become idealized in my head the moment I set foot in Orange County; the little discoveries, like discovering this morning that the bus I take to work passes the house where Manet was born, not to mention the Louvre, the Comedie Francaise, St-Germain, and the Academie Francaise; the activity, like always being able to find a bar to go to or a restaurant to eat at wherever you are. I mean, it's so hard to just quantify how much of Paris has gotten ingrained into me, has seeped its way under my pores, whether in the form of harmful bacteria or in slightly less corporeal manifestations. For example, the fact that my hand automatically types an "e" after the suffixes "and" and "end," especially words that have French counterparts, like demand(e). In any case, I may not have intended it to happen, and I may have resisted quite strongly at first, but France has gotten inside of me, and I'm pretty sure that I won't be the same again. That's a good thing.

Which brings me to the last point. I can't say that I'm actually going to miss France, because in all honesty missing to me usually implies that there is something that you feel was incomplete about the experience. When you miss a friend, it's because you wish you could talk to them about everything and nothing going on in your life. When you miss a restaurant (or your grandma's cooking), it's because your taste buds can't quite bring themselves to somehow align with your memory and bring back the particular flavors and experience that made that meal great. With France, I can't say that I have that feeling. Sure, there are buildings I haven't seen, museums I haven't been to, a theme park I might feel sad to have not seen, foods I have not tried. But in the grand scheme, France is everything I wanted it to be, which is to say nothing like I expected it to be. In the end, for me experiencing Paris has become less about checking off that always expanding list of cafes to pass an afternoon at, museum exhibits to ponder, and second-hand bookstores to revel in (though it is a noble cause), and more about the changes I have gone through, the maturity I have gained, and the indescribable sense of pride I know I'll feel to have conquered being abroad for so long.

So yeah, my body and my brain are going to miss Paris. They're going to go through their little withdrawals when my hand finds itself shocked to learn that B813A is not the code to every apartment building, when my legs start to veg out from not having to walk around cobblestone streets, and when my reflexes start to slow when it comes to navigating my way through a crowded street. But I won't miss Paris. No, better than that, I will be forever indebted to this city, to its residents (from the hot guy on the bus this morning to my host mom), and to its incredibly powerful ability as muse and as inspiration. I wondered before I got here why Paris was such a powerhouse when it came to turning out artists, philosophers, writers, and all those other creative types; now I know, it's all you can do in a city so inspiring. You'll forgive me, I hope, if after Paris I come home a chain-smoking, caffeine-infused cafe dweller with a penchant for waxing poetic from four in the afternoon until dinner time (around 9).