You asked for it...homesickness!

Warning:  Whining ahead...if you are having a good day...do not read any further...this blog may kill joy!

So, two months down and about 34 to go in my sojourn in the City of Lights. I am not sure I can make it that long though. The luster is wearing off a bit and we have definitely moved from tourists to city dwellers...we are NOT Parisians.  And,  herein lies the rub.  I am a proud, flag waving patriot.  For most of my forty-eight years, I have pledged allegiance to my flag and said amen at the end every time.  I am an American in Paris and for some reason, everyone expects me to be French.  And all due respect to our hosts, but I don't want to be French.  Let me be the kind, friendly, helpful American I am proud to be. Stop forcing me to be something I am not and realistically what you insist I can never be.  To be French, you must be able to trace your lineage back before the 15th century...anyone else is a pretender...and this is the source of much political agitation in the capitol city these days...but I digress from whining. 

I am happy to learn about your culture and try new things, but I love my country.  I love my culture and I am proud of the USA, the good, the bad and the ugly.  It is my country and I am tired (so soon) of hearing about what a terrible place the US is.  I am tired of hearing that we throw old people into the trash to die.  I am tired of hearing that going to an emergency room in the US is tantamount to a death sentence  I am tired that my neighbors and colleagues feel the US is responsible for all the ills of the world.  The only reason the French like Obama is because he is not Bush, and frankly, the European Union sees our president as a pushover.  Hillary is so inconsequential that she doesn't even get a mention when she is here in Europe at a summit or something...unless someone feels like having a protest then you can see her hanging in effigy.

I am tired of hearing that I should be fluent by now.  I'd love to be, but whenever I start speaking, one of two things happen...people who know English immediately start speaking it to me even though I try to continue in French OR, I get the "you are so pathetic" eye roll and usually the French give up on me...except those folks in the service industry; they seem to appreciate the effort. I am tired of being afraid when I am approached by someone with a clipboard and a cross to bear, that, as some nearby placard tells me, was placed there by the USA.  I am tired of being surrounded by people who love American fashion, movies, music and even fast food but hate America.  They love Starbucks and hate that they love Starbucks!

Cut me and I bleed stars and stripes.  I am tired of apologizing.  I am tired of everyone insisting I act like the French while at the same time being reminded I will never be French.  I am really, really tired of people treating me like I am stupid.  But most of all I am afraid of being forgotten.

I am the wife of an ex-pat.  I cannot work, unless the job cannot be filled by a French citizen first.  I have no network of my own.  I don't have the traditional means to connect to other people...my kids are grown, my volunteer work doesn't have an extension here and my interim status prevents me from some other possibilities. I had all that back home and I am not thrilled that I have to start from scratch to find and make my place...I am more than cooking and wine...more than books and museums...but there seems to be an expectation that this is of what and where I am to be fulfilled. 

Our situation is not typical of most ex-pats.  Bill's job brings him to Paris because Paris is centrally located to his clients and transportation.  There is no "site", plant, office or business address.  He works from home or travels all over the EU and back to the States.  Because of the time differences, he is "at work" in Europe by 9 am but still at work in the US until 9, 10 or 11pm Paris time!  He has been away from Paris about 50% of the time we have been here, so when he gets back, he is catching up on the work he missed while out of his office. 

This has been hard on us.  I realize that he and we are still adjusting...I mean, he is pretty much creating this job from nothing, except a newly conceived business model...but it is new territory.  It may sound shallow, selfish and unappreciated, but this has not been easy.  Without exception, everything that we have had to do to get to where we are has had some sort of problem.  For the most part from our world view, it is because this has not been done this way before...creating something from nothing.  Also, though, the layer upon layer of red tape, barriers and mediocrity have left us try, try, trying again to accomplish that which needs to be done. 

I was promised a new life, one that would make putting my other "new" life as empty nester and woman of a certain age who was free to become the center of her universe again, easy to set aside.  My husband and I would travel Europe, visit all the great cultural sites, host friends, family and colleagues in a city that can entice.  Instead, I find myself walking my dog and wondering where the hell my universe went, never mind finding me at its center. I didn't come to Paris to experience it alone.  I never dreamed that this would be my life. 

The build up and expectations that this move presented were pretty much pushed on me.  If a year ago you asked me if I would want to be in Paris, alone and writing a blog on March 3, 2010, I would have said huh, me?  No, thank you.  But here I am. 

I feel bad when people send me messages about how lucky I am to be able to go to the market or a museum in Paris and I think, how lucky people are to go to the Gibbet Hill Grill and smile at folks you know across the restaurant.  I miss chatting with Raul at Donelan's.  I miss the nice folks who do my dry cleaning.  I miss my friends and my life. When I was at home in Groton and Bill traveled, I was often alone, but I had things to do, I had purpose in getting up each day and I had people whom I could call, visit.  I'd grab a cup of coffee at Main Street Cafe and eventually see someone I know.  Here not only am I alone, I am lonely.  I am crying right now too...maybe the eye rollers are right, I am a bit pathetic.  For sure, I am a homebody.  I am a worry wart.  I am a control freak. I am a perfectionist. I am not an ex-pat.  This experience is not conducive to said character traits/flaws.   I am not brave.  I am not spontaneous.  I am not sure what I am doing.

It has been 63 days.  Things, people, stuff still seem so temporary.  Connections are yet to be made, routines established.  We do get a nod or a wave from the waiters in the Cafe right next door...that's something.  I apologize to all of you who are so happy for us.  When I feel this way, I feel like I am letting you down.

Tomorrow is another day...64 to be exact.  Reilly and I plan on heading over to the book store to find The Elegance of the Hedgehog.  A book about contemplating suicide, hmm...maybe I should pick up a copy of
The Hunchback of Notre Dame, instead.