Bittersweet

I’ve spent a good part of my day taking a few moments for myself. Not the Netflix-watching, facebook-trolling, tumblr blur that I’m used to when I take ‘time off’ during the day in the States. It was a deep meditative couple of hours to myself where I think I caught a glimpse of that cliché ‘–this-is one-of-those-moments-that-you’ll-cherish-forever-and-ever’.

This solitude was much-needed, as my passed few attempts at having ‘me days’ have turned into ‘we days’ along the lines out pig-outs, last-minute shopping sprees, and general errand-running. I think the alone time did me good. I spent the early afternoon walking from the city center across town to my favorite museum in Grenoble- Musée Dauphinois-  which is conveniently perched atop a mountain.

As I hustled through the streets, trying to escape the oncoming heat, I reminded myself to slow down. At the recognition that I was speed-walking as if late to a meeting, I took the scenic route towards the museum- passing by grand sculptures of the Musée Grenoble and the graffiti –laden bridge. Once on the opposite side of the river – “the Italian side” since it once belonged to Italy- I recalled when this part of town seemed so disjointed. Now it’s just the part of town with the best pizzerias.   

The ascent to Musée Dauphinois is about as beautiful as it is terrible. One has to climb .15 meters (still don’t know the conversions) of ancient stone stairs at an ungodly slope to get to it. On the way up, I stopped periodically to gaze out over the now-approaching distant cityscape (and to wipe off beads of sweat).

Once at the entrance (feeling like Rocky) I stepped inside to a now familiar space and guided myself to the “Lingeries des Isères” exhibition-once again. Today had been the third time I’ve visited just for that exhibit and I can’t help but still be enchanted by it; the timeline, the anecdotes, the seamless joining of fashion & function, old & new… ahh, so long to my eye feasting. I’ll miss this commodity once I’ve gone back to where the closest reputable museum is an hour away. I was sure to get un obscene amount of iPhone photos while scouring the place for any piece I might have overlooked. The delicates took on a whole new meaning knowing that it was the last time I’d get to visit and have such a rush of inspiration.  It was also a great feeling to be there all alone.

“Alone” has such an ugly connotation- as if spending time with just you is idle, selfish, and inconceivable to some. On the contrary, I think being alone is rejuvenating, intuitive, makes for good character. I’ve found that there’s no better feeling than being in a museum free to let your eyes roam without a time limit, or a schedule, or having the pressure of needing to say something clever to the person next to you about each piece.

Before departure, I made a quick stop at the garden terrace that overlooks all of Grenoble. Instead of snapping pictures to savor the moment, I placed my phone back in my pocket, went under shady tree, and sat. I had nothing to do and nowhere to be (thanks John Mayer) and it just felt…well, right.  People often get caught up in what they are doing and not who they are being. In Western culture we have so much running around to please this person or that person, to get ahead, to get anywhere but in the present moment. And it’s really in the present that we thrive- we just don’t realize. To sit and just be is such a blessing.

On my way down from the mountain, I was sure that it would take me at least half an hour to get back home from the opposite side of town. On the way back I darted and weaved myself in such a way that I made it to my first tram stop in 10 minutes. I was so proud to realize that after 5 weeks of getting completely lost and mostly following the directional cues of others like a school of fish, I finally know where I am. Just in time to leave tomorrow morning- no less. The city that seemed so treacherous during the first couple of weeks has become a sort of stomping grounds: I know exactly which trams go where, I can recommend great restaurants or tell one to avoid others, and I’m even a ‘regular’ at a downtown bar. 

I spent my last meal with my host family at lunch today. We’ve all gotten comfortable enough to where we take no more than 15 minutes to eat and don’t bother with small talk- I’ll take that as a compliment. My comprehension of their conversations has gone from minuscule to semi-pro; even though I know what they’re talking about now, I still can’t interject with appropriate swiftness- so I avoid it. Ya win some, ya lose some.

The line between ‘here’ home & ‘there’ home is becoming more solid. Things got very surreal as I packed last night. As I chucked trinkets and clothes that I never used, I felt silly about much I clung to the thought of absolutely needing 90 days worth of multi-vitamins before arrival in France. I carelessly threw out clothes (the holy grail of my people-fashion designers) and other “just-in-case” things of the like.  I nipped my hoarder tendencies in the bud by throwing out every shred of paper and flyer I’ve received.  “C’est pas grâve”, as the French would say.

As I look around, I appreciate the contrasts. My barren room is contrasted by my full journal. The un-uploaded photos living in my camera are contrasted by my intangible memories. My ease in conversing in another language is contrasted by my irrational fear of never being able to convey, with simple words, how life changing this experience was.  Bittersweet, it is.