Teaching in France, oh la la!

A new year, a new semester. My last semester. Wait, what?

The last two months literally flew by. I feel like just yesterday I was sitting in my American literature class slowly trudging through Uncle Tom’s Cabin. Thank the gods the semester from hell is over. This time around, I’m in control. I’m making these classes my bitches, not the other way around. Granted, I’m enrolled in 7 more credit hours than I was in the fall, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.

More importantly, my graduation date is looming over my head, laughing at me as it peeks around the corner. Most people I’ve talked to who are graduating this semester are terrified, unsure of what their plans are or where to start. I’ll admit I’m a little wary of what is to come, but just yesterday I submitted my application to the Teaching Assistant Program in France, which if I’m accepted into, will require me to move to France in late September. Euh…quoi?

Zat eez correct! There is a distinct possibility that all my dreams will come true this year and I’ll be moving to Europe. Granted, I won’t be living in Paris, but I’ll take whatever I can get. The TAPIF program pays post-graduates between the ages of twenty and thirty to teach English in schools of all levels all over France. The pay is a little dismal, especially after taxes, but it’s just enough to get by. Of course I’ll have to take on a summer job or two to pay my way there, (and first month’s rent…I’ll also have to find an apartment, yikes!) but at this point, I’ll do absolutely anything to make sure that I’ll be in France before the year is out.

This is the hard part, I suppose. The waiting. I won’t find out if I’ve been accepted into the program until early April…a whole three months away! To say my fingers are permanently crossed is an understatement.  I truly hope that everything works out for me, because an opportunity like this is definitely a once in a lifetime deal.

Till next time, mes amis, bisous!

Paris Holds the Key

Mindlessly scrolling through tweets the other day, I came across one that spoke to me. We live in a world where it's rare to find someone who's not connected in some way or a coffee shop that doesn't offer free Wi-Fi, so we often scroll through our news feeds not really taking anything in. However, this one piece of 140-character goodness got me thinking. The tweet, written by my lovely friend Wesley (on Twitter: @Wes_Alexander_), read: "Be it a romance, a great friendship, or a love of culture, I want my first experience in Paris to be a story of true love."

As the words went dark on the screen when my phone went back to sleep, I sat there (with little Binx next to me, of course) thinking about my own first experience in Paris. It came to my attention that my month in that city was all three of those things, combining together to formulate the ultimate story of true love. 

A love of culture. I fell in love with the culture all over again, as if I was my fourteen year old self in a high school French 1 classroom learning numbers and "Hi, my name is...". I was constantly surrounded by a people who appreciate art and history and who are immersed in and who make up the glamour that is Paris. The bakery owners and the cute waiters, the museum staff and even the little self-righteous dogs in the park -- they all played a part in making what I thought Paris would be like pre-departure exactly what it was for me when I arrived. Paris: the lights and the sounds and the feeling that there was more to the world than what I'd experienced living in Florida for twenty years, was absolutely everything I dreamed it would be. I feel a connection with that city in a way I didn't think was possible, and I've realized recently that that's where I'm meant to be. My love of Paris is what keeps me going on days where all I want to do is give up and lay on my bedroom floor and sob because I can't get through a book I'm supposed to read for a class or because my parents are upset with something I've said. The thought, no, the knowledge that I'm going back so soon is what keeps me alive. That's true love.

A great friendship. I went to Paris without actually knowing anyone who was in my study abroad program. Sure, I'd talked to a few of them over Facebook chat a few times to discuss airport logistics and whatnot, but I wasn't going there with friends in tow. All of that changed about two weeks in, and I left Paris with more friends than I was expecting. But these friends aren't just travel buddies, these are friends who saw the best and worst of me all in the span of a month; these were friends who experienced with me the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower (Feu d'Artifice) on Bastille Day, all laughs and smiles, and who also saw me drunk and crying 10 minutes before leaving for the airport to go back to the United States. Living in a foreign country together for a month bonded us all for life, and I still talk to and regularly see almost all of them. That's true love.

A romance. After being in the city of love for four days, I met someone with whom I spent several hours exploring the city, lounging on the Champ de Mars underneath a looming Eiffel Tower, and dancing the night away to French pop music. Though it was nothing serious, nor was it true love, I learned through that experience that people will often come into your life so that you can see things from their perspective, and then they'll walk right back out, and you'll be fine with it. Maybe it was a true coincidence or maybe it was the corny cliché that is having a romance in Paris that brought us together for that short time. Whatever it was, I'm grateful for that experience and if I've learned anything from it is that you shouldn't ever have any regrets about things you've done in the past, because put simply, it's in the past. Living in the moment is essential to living fully and passionately. 

True love: that's what Paris was for me, and will hopefully continue to be as soon as I get back there in the next year. My time there taught me so much more than living in Florida for twenty years ever did, and that's how I know it's where I'm supposed to be; that's how I know I'm fully capable of getting myself back on that plane.