Before moving to France, I wanted several things:

1. Eat lots of cheese.

2. Spend a fair amount of time in cafés.

3. Go to Festival Avignon one summer.

Well, numbers one and two I did almost immediately. Last week, I got to check off number three.

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The Festival Avignon is a gigantic theatre and live performance festival that takes place in Avignon every July. I had heard about it, and put it high on my list of things I wanted to do in France.

The Festival itself is comprised of two parts —the Festival “In”, or official festival selections, and the Festival “Off”, the massive independent fringe festival that runs alongside. The Festival “In” features around 40 highly curated pieces of intellectual theatre from around the world in the most prestigious of venues in the city.

The Festival “Off”, on the other hand, showcases over 1,700 different theatrical experiences from every style and in every type of venue—theatre, courtyard, school gym, warehouse—you can think of. Want classical theatre? You got it. Raucous comedies? Yep. Musical acts, clowns, stand-up, dance, cirque, café-theatre, hypnotists, magicians? All there.

Unlike the “In”, where you could see such luminaries as Oscar nominee Wagner Moura, you’re not always sure of the performance you’re going to get. Companies who want to perform in the “Off” work out their own contracts, so you might be seeing a professional clown who is bringing back a production for the 20th year in a row…or you might see a group of high schoolers who are completing a final theatre project. What you can be sure of, however, is the absolute dedication of everyone who is a part of the arduous task of creating live theatre. It’s chaotic, it’s inventive, and it’s passionate.

It’s everything I love about theatre.

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When I first got to Avignon, I started crying. That may seem dramatic (please re-read the title of this post), but the infectious energy got to me immediately. Every inch of possible space is covered by a poster advertising one of the many, many shows. As you walk down the street, people are passing out fliers, asking if you have a free spot in your show schedule and pitching their productions.

But it’s not just pitching the production. In order to stand out in a sea of 1,700 options, companies get creative — this is a theatre festival, after all. Performers walk through the windy streets of the ancient city in costume, playing instruments, or conversing with passersby. You might be having a quiet cup of coffee, and then the next thing you know, the cast of Tartuffe might engage you in an impromptu scene. Suddenly, you’re not just seeing theatre, you’re a part of it.

With shows starting at 9 AM and going non-stop till about 11 PM, you could easily fill your days with back-to-back performances. I had been counseled to see no more than 3 shows a day to fight fatigue and to leave a bit of flexibility to enjoy the ambiance of the city. Deciding on those shows… let’s just say for a Libra who is not great at making decisions, this was the worst part of the week.

Choosing a show in the Festival “Off” is always a gamble. You could see a true gem…or you could see someone who was “having a lot of fun up there.” This is where word of mouth becomes essential — and there, I hit the jackpot.

Of the 9 pieces I saw, 5 were recommendations I got from other people — and each one was fantastic. From a minimalist, yet riveting one-person show based on her own life to poignant and heart-wrenching family dramas to feminist productions exploring known entities from a new lens, each piece was inventive, profound, and made me think. Some of them were performed and directed by professionals who have established careers in the industry, while others were created by young companies, showcasing the work of up-and-coming writer/directors hoping to be booked in a theatre for the upcoming season.

I also saw two wonderful clown shows. One of my favorite performances was the 1 hour and 20 minute silent clown show that was pure joy—it was easy to see why people have returned to see it every summer for the last 20 years.

At the end of each show —even those that didn’t blow me away as much—I was awed by the creativity and tenacity of the performers and the technical teams. These groups performed daily for 3 weeks, having to change their own set in minutes so the following performance could take the stage. They had to be inventive, economic, and have crazy endurance. But they all did because they loved it.

Then there were the audiences. Nothing replaces the energy of seeing a live performance with a group of people. When something was funny, that joy was multiplied by the surrounding laughter. When something was poignant, you could hear a pin drop because the audience was on the edge of their seats. At the end of each performance, there was an electric energy thanking the artists for sharing their art with us.

Not only did the pieces I saw at Avignon provide incredible moments of storytelling, but the event as a whole was a reminder that art is inherently human. In the 3 weeks, the festival sold over 1.2 million tickets. While many people there were participants in the festival, spectators ranged from all different backgrounds and ages. All of these people came together to have a shared experience, something we profoundly lack today.

I think that’s what I like most about theatre—it’s a communal moment of experiencing art. In the age of social media and streaming, so much of the “content” we take in is in isolated silos. Additionally, so much of what we consume is made to play to a generic audience without taking a risk. Taking in content like this strips us of one of the most important parts of storytelling: the human need for connection and emotion.

I will forever be seeking this type of human connection. It’s what makes me feel alive. It’s what makes me me.

It’s what makes me forever a theatre kid.

À la prochaine,

Melanie

It’s been a minute, since I last wrote. I love writing this Substack, and having it as an outlet for my many, many musings. When I put the artificial constraint of « travelogue » on it, it became harder to find new experiences to write about.

But here’s the thing. I’m not traveling. As I’ve said time and time again, life in a new country is now «normal life ».

So, this marks a return to form. While the name of the Substack remains « Melanie in Paris »— because I am, in fact, in Paris —the content is shifting back to « Melanie’s Musings ».

I’ve missed having an outlet to write like this, and removing the arbitrary constraints opens it up again for me. I’ve never written this Substack to grow readership (though I’m glad you’re here), but I find that sharing in this way is a bridge to find connection and community. And isn’t that what we all need right now?

So, thanks for joining me on this journey. Now onto our regularly scheduled content.

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I want to live an unoptimized life.

I want slow Sunday mornings with a cup of coffee and a crossword.

I want to read a book from cover to cover in one sitting because the story is enthralling.

I want to write and erase one word for 15 minutes as I try to find the perfect way to express what my characters want to say.

I want to paint watercolor landscapes or flowers, turning slight mistakes into « happy little accidents ».

I want to page through old cookbooks to find a recipe.

I want to sit at the table with friends and family and savor a meal, not rushing to get to the next event.

I want to practice the same four chords on guitar until I get better. You only really need four chords to play most songs, anyway.

I want to live an unoptimized life.

I want to create useful materials myself for my clients because I worked hard to be an expert in my field, even if it takes all afternoon to format the PDF.

I want to sit on the sofa, petting a dog and watching my comfort show for the 10th time.

I want to lay in a park and watch clouds go by.

I want to spend all night talking to my best friends, laughing at things only we will understand.

I want to struggle to learn something new because am never done growing.

I want to dance all night under the stars, taking a break to point out constellations and send a picture of the moon to my parents because it’s pretty.

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I want to live an unoptimized life.

I want to buy a plant and really believe that this is the time I’ll be able to keep it alive.

I want to dress in bright colors because the world needs more light.

I want to eat ice cream by the canal on a hot day.

I want the joy of discovering something new: a place, a book, a show, a friend. Anything.

I want to wander through a museum and marvel at the tenacity of human artistry.

I want to see more comedy in a room full of people. Group laughter is one of the best sensations.

I want to take my time to be sure of myself. I want to act quickly when my intuition is strong.

I want to live an unoptimized life.

I want to move my body in ways that bring me joy because being healthy and strong is important.

I want to fall in love and spend all day cuddling with nowhere to be.

I want to go to the theatre and see a play in person because you can’t beat the powerful connection of experiencing art as a community.

I want to say hello to my neighborhood boulangère who knows my order. Same for my neighborhood café, boucherie, and fromagerie.

I want to wander through a cemetery and ponder life while listening to birds singing.

I want to experience and create music in awe-inspiring venues that have existed for centuries.

I want to stand in the ocean and feel the waves crashing on my feet.

I want to be surrounded by people I love. To laugh. To cry. To go slow. To go fast. To create. To rest. To learn. To be challenged.

I want to live a life unencumbered by the need to be efficient or where output is the only measure of productivity.

I want to live an unoptimized life because an unoptimized life is HUMAN.

À la prochaine,

Melanie

A few weeks ago, I had a rare Saturday on which I didn’t have to go to work. Normally this year, Saturdays have been reserved for teaching children from the ages of three to ten the art of musical theatre. So, finding myself with two full days of the weekend felt like a luxurious way to catch up on some of the art expos and events I hadn’t had the opportunity to visit.

On this particular Saturday, the Bourse de Commerce was hosting the Salon du Dessin, an art fair featuring galleries from around Europe, primarily showcasing sketches and other drawings. Seeming out of the ordinary (and not as long-lasting as other temporary exhibits), I decided to take advantage of the event. I am a big fan of art fairs, and I grew up looking forward to the Cherry Creek Arts Festival every 4th of July weekend when I lived in Colorado. Using this as my reference point, I expected that most of the works showcased would be by newer artists featured in these top European galleries.

I didn’t expect Picasso.

Or Seurat.

Or Monet.

You know. Those up-and-comers.

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I very quickly realized that this was not the type of art fair I was familiar with — unless, of course, Cherry Creek Arts Festival has started to showcase paintings by 15th century Italian masters.

At first, I felt immediately out of my league. What was I doing standing mere inches away from a signed Pissaro? Who let me get that close to a priceless (okay 35 000e) work of art?

Then, I started to realize what I was looking at.

Yes, I was up-close-and-personal to works by some of the greatest artists in the world, but they weren’t just finished works…as advertised in the name of the event, many of them were sketches, drawings, or studies. They were works in progress.

As I went through the salon, I saw a sheet of paper on which Pisarro was refining the male form — including a sensible depiction of male pattern baldness; a drawing from an Italian Renaissance sculptor that would be later immortalized in marble; a sketch in which Seurat was perfecting the form and shadow of the bustle from the woman I can only correctly refer to as “Dot” in his famous “Un dimanche après-midi à l’Ile de La Grande Jatte”.

Once that realization properly sunk in, I was overcome with emotion. I have seen many of these works several times in photographs or in museums, but here I was witnessing their genesis. The germ of the idea that developed into something magic. The inspiration that the artist wouldn’t let go until he had it just right.

So rarely do we get to see where artists begin their work — we just see the masterpiece and assume it was like that all along. We forget that these artists spent hours and hours honing their craft, and even then they kept finding new ways to explore.

In a world that is so fast-paced, striving for optimization, and now is contending with AI slop, I found this salon to be an eye-opening reminder. Art takes time. And even more than that — it takes humanity. It takes the willingness to make a mistake, to try something new, and see where it goes.

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Over the last year, I have had a hard time writing. Writing is one of my favorite activities, but I had put such high expectations on myself: writing a consistent newsletter (ha ha), finishing my novel, etc. that writing became more of a chore and less of the creative expression that I so crave. I was putting pressure on myself to get it right, thinking “if I am a “writer”, the idea should be fully formed before I sit down at the computer”. This line of thinking completely overlooks the fact that often the hardest part of writing is starting — half the process is letting the ideas flow once my fingers are already in motion.

This exposition made me rethink about writing. What if, like these greats, I allow my writing — and myself — to be a work in progress? I don’t have to have it all figured out. I just have to start. And just like that…I started writing again. Only a few lines at first, but that was enough.

In fact, perhaps the most impactful piece of art I saw at this exposition was just a few lines. An outline of a dove in red with a blue flower in its mouth. Above it was written one word - Picasso.

I’m not sure Picasso ever intended this piece to be sold in an art festival for several thousands of Euros, nor did he probably imagine that his 30 second sketch would have that much of a pron a viewer. But this simple sketch captured everything I loved about this salon. It was deeply human.

That’s why I create — whether it’s writing, watercolors, music or anything else. Creation is a reminder that there’s more to learn, there’s more to understand, and in the end, we’re all works in progress.

À la prochaine!

Melanie

One of the first books I read in French upon moving here was Autoportrait au radiateur by Christian Bobin. Written in the aftermath of his wife’s death, the book is basically a series of daily (or mostly) journal entries about how he is moving through his life now that he lost his wife. Primarily, he takes stock of the world around him: the way the flowers are wilting in the window, the random musings of his young granddaughter, the way the radiator makes noise when it starts up. It’s a poetic meditation on how the world keeps turning even when we can’t fathom how to continue on. In these little things, Bobin finds solace and discovers a way to move through his grief and keep going.

A few months ago, I was reminded of Bobin as I was listening to a podcast in which one of the hosts said that one of the biggest challenges he thinks we face as a society is that we don’t take the time to find wonder any more. Life moves at such a fast pace that we go through our days without taking the time to pause and notice what’s around us. And, when we do have time to pause, we fill those moments with distractions thanks to the computers that live in our pockets.

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I am as guilty of that as anyone. It is a rare moment that I don’t have a podcast in my ears while completing the crossword as I take the metro. My 30-40 minute commutes become time to fill. To combat the boredom and anxiety, especially in the depths of winter and the never-ending deluge of catastrophic news.

Given this, I’ve had trouble thinking of things to write about — both for this newsletter and in creative projects. I’ve begun to think that this difficulty could be directly related to how much time I spend filling my time. There’s much that has been written about the importance of boredom for creativity— how it is something that has been lost with the aforementioned fast pace of life and need for distraction. We miss out on opportunities to be with our own thoughts, find new ideas, and come up with ways to entertain ourselves.

When I was younger, some of my best stories came from moments of boredom: waiting in long lines at amusement parks, taking car rides with my family, sitting in the interminable doctors office waiting room. I didn’t have the option to fill my brain with other people’s thoughts. So I found ways to create my own.

Now, I notice how much I motivate or entertain myself through distraction. After my ADHD diagnosis, I learned to use podcasts as a helpful hack to get myself moving in the morning—give my brain something to mindlessly listen to so I bust through the deadly monotony of my morning routine. And it works. Having other people talking at me convinces me to hop out of bed and confront the arduous task of brushing my teeth for a whole 2 minutes.

Recently, however, the constant influx of chatter and scrolling has had a different effect. Having a constant stream of other people’s thoughts in my head has made me less comfortable in sitting with my own. Not only that, I have had moments of irritation and disappointment with myself when I think about how I could be actively creating instead of passively listening.

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So, I went back to Bobin. One of the reasons the book spoke to me so much was because it was full of wonder and curiosity. He took the time to pause and notice the little details of the world around him, finding moments of sweetness in a world that can often be harsh.

The last two weeks have been the vacances scolaires, so I am spending a little less time running around metro stations as I usually do. Instead of packing that time with activities, I have gone against my nature and taken time to sit, taking my ears and eyes out of my phone to pay attention to what is in front of my face in the present moment.

It may have something to do with the beginnings of spring and longer days here in Paris, but my mood has been considerably different. Searching for little moments of wonder has made me notice that flowers have started to bud on some trees, a new mural has been painted on the corner, and how two dogs became friends at the café. It’s these little things that make Paris special to me.

The vacances scolaires will end, and I will go back to running through Paris metro stations on my way to my various different jobs. The world will continue being chaotic and there’s much that will anger me. However, it’s also nice to have the reminder that we can still find wonder and curiosity in challenging times. In fact, I think it’s this connection with our humanity that will help us get through our collective grief and keep going.

I hope you go searching for little moments of wonder this week. I’d love to know what you find.

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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I have now lived in Paris for the better part of a year. I am gainfully employed by several organizations, my social life is thriving, and my apartment is starting to take on little touches of « Melanie ». For all intents and purposes, Paris is home.

So when people asked me if I was going home for the holidays, I didn’t quite know what to answer. Yes, I was going to see my family and friends in Denver, but Denver isn’t necessarily home.

I haven’t lived in Denver since 2020 when I spent 5 months living in my parents’ basement during COVID. But before that, it had been years since I have called Denver home. I haven’t had a Denver address since 2013. And even then it was Lakewood. In fact, the only time I have lived in Denver as an adult was those few months in 2020, and I can’t say those were the most normal of times.

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So, when I found myself back in my parents’ basement last week, I didn’t quite know how to feel. I am not the person I was when I last lived in Denver, and it takes a few days to recalibrate. Not only have I changed, but so have the people and places I was familiar with. How does 35 year old Melanie who lives in Paris fit in to this old environment?

I am lucky to have a wonderful relationship with my family. I have two incredibly supportive parents, awesome brothers, a sister-in-law who I adore. And 4 nieces and nephews (dogs) to spoil rotten with hugs. Yet, they are all there, and I’m not.

As someone who loves being with her family, this decision to be apart from them is hard to reconcile. I miss family dinners, outings to sporting events, and doggie play dates. My dad can’t just stop by for a walk, and I can’t stay up late watching The Golden Girls with my mom. Their lives move on without me there.

Being in Denver for a week was lovely. After a few days of adjusting (jet lag is real), I sank into the comfort of being surrounded by familiarity. I caught up with friends, spent sometime outside in unseasonably warm weather, and even watched a little bit of the Broncos game. By day 5, it felt like I had never left—but it’s not my real life.

My uncle asked me what I prefer about France to the United States. I’m sure he expected some answer about the socialized healthcare or superior cheeses, but that’s not why I love it (though they do help).

I feel like myself here. I have made friends quicker than ever, I am surrounded by art constantly, and I have created opportunities to pursue the career I want. In short, I am building the life I’ve always wanted.

Paris is my home, but a lot of respects, Denver will always be home as well. It’s where I grew up. It’s where my family lives. It’s where I have some of my oldest and dearest friends. I know I can always go back and be greeted with love.

And aren’t I lucky to have two places to call home.

I hope you all have had a lovely holiday season, and I wish you a healthy and happy new year!

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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Earlier this week, I celebrated 8 months in Paris. Eight months ago, I was lugging two very heavy suitcases up three flights of stairs to my new apartment and walking into a boulangerie to meekly ask for a baguette.

Now, I’m bounding up my three flights of stairs multiple times a day (bounding may be generous) and confidently asking for a tradition (like a baguette, but better) from my neighborhood pattisserie. So much has happened in these past 8 months that stepping off that plane seems both several lifetimes ago and like it was just yesterday.

When we last chatted, I was leaping — literally and figuratively — into “La Rentrée”, starting several jobs I had lined up. “La rentrée”, or back-to-school in France, is no joke. Having now experienced the fast pace of September and October, it makes sense why it’s customary to take all of August off.

Since then, there were several times I sat down to write this newsletter only to realize I had nothing I wanted to say. Life was chugging along — being life. I took the metro to work, I taught English, I got sick thanks to the kiddos and their germs, I went to the gym, I had dinner with friends, I celebrated my birthday, I saw plays and movies, I took day trips outside of the city to find nature, and it all felt…normal. Because even in a new city, in a new country, on a new continent, life is just that: life. With the same highs and lows as I had before. Now they’re just in French.

As we’re well into November, things are starting to become calmer as the weather turns chillier and the sun sets much, much earlier. I’m taking a cue from nature and slowing down a bit as well. My dad tells a story about how in his first year of law school, he was so stressed that he didn’t notice that the leaves changed. Having grown up with this lesson, one of my favorite activities is taking a moment to stop and appreciate autumn leaves. However, living in LA for 5 years doesn’t provide you much opportunity to gawk at a beautiful array of fall colors. Paris has more than made up for it this year.

We’ve had a rather mild fall this year, so I have taken the time to savor the season. I’ve made several pilgrimages to my beloved Père Lachaise, ambling through the cobblestone paths as leaves fall, mingling with flowers left on the stone graves. Whenever I’m there, I turn off my podcast app (a rarity since 2013), and I listen to the world around me. Watching the people in the cemetery while listening to the birds chirp and leaves rustle awakens my creativity in ways that have become incredibly necessary. With my now busy work schedule, I haven’t had as much time or energy to write as I’d like (as I’m sure you can guess with the long absence of this newsletter). I’ve cherished these moments in Père Lachaise that have reminded me to take time to connect with me and what fills my spirit.

Similarly, I have made it a point to get out of the busyness of Paris to find ways to intentionally slow down. During the October school break, I took myself to the village of Troyes in Champagne to enjoy a few days of calm and walk through changing trees. Troyes is a city filled with color. The medieval city is made up of colorful wood lodgings typical of that time period surrounding about six or seven gothic-style churches with impressive stained-glass windows. In fact, this region is so well-known for it’s stained glass (in addition to its eponymous beverage), that there is a museum in Troyes dedicated to the art of making stained glass and how the practice has changed over the centuries. It’s a small museum, but definitely worth a visit if you find yourself in the area. In and around the city are several parks, as well as a larger forest if you have a car, and I fully took advantage of wandering along the leaf-covered paths, jumping into some piles along the way.

The weather turns colder this week, reminding me that winter is just around the corner. Despite the busyness of the back to school season, this autumn has been such a time of gratitude for me. I cannot be more thankful for the time I have had to take a break from running around, reflect on the beauty around me, and go out of my way to step on a crunchy leaf, just because.

For those of you celebrating Thanksgiving next week, I wish you a wonderful holiday and I hope you have time to slow down and appreciate the color in your life.

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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As I’ve mentioned, August is a month of vacation and relaxation here in France. It’s the time to take a break and recharge your batteries so you can come back refreshed and ready to get back to work with a clear mind and renewed energy.

Planning a month long jaunt somewhere didn’t seem practical for my first August in Paris — but I can’t say I didn’t have full-blown FOMO while passing shop after shop boarded up for the month as their owners took advantage of the annual break. So, when my friend Élodie proposed that I join her on a short trip to Marseille, I quickly said yes. It has been 6 months since I left Los Angeles, after all, and I was quite due for some ocean breezes, sunshine, and palm trees swaying in the wind.

In a lot of ways, Marseille reminds me of Los Angeles: it’s spread out and has less-than-ideal public transportation; there’s a marina housing boats of rich people and people who are pretending that they are rich; there’s a pier with carnival games, a large ferris wheel, and various types of fried dough; and you kind of take your safety street-by-street. The best comparison, however, is the wonderful mix of backgrounds you have throughout the city as people from all over co-mingle to create a beautiful tapestry of culture that gives Marseille a unique flair.

And, there’s the beach. While Paris likes to say it has “beaches”, les Paris Plages sprinkled along the Seine really can’t hold a candle to the real deal.

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Now, historically, I have not been someone who can sit at a beach all day and “do nothing”. Just ask my dear friends Anna and Sarah about my ability to sit idle and unwind during our 2007 trip to Greece. After 1.5 hours, I was ready to rinse the sand from various crevices and go explore the islands. I lost that battle.

I am happy to report that as I have grown older, I have also grown wiser. I have seen the error of my ways, and now wholly welcome a day where I can do nothing except read a book (maybe) and listen to the soft ocean waves crash against the shore line. I should note that it does help if I have ample shade and am sitting in a beach chair to minimize sand.

The best way to experience the ocean, however, is on a boat. Our second full day in Marseille, Élodie and I treated ourselves to a sailboat ride through the Calanques National Park. The Calanques are composed of steep limestone cliffs that stretch from Marseille to nearby Cassis. While it is possible to hike the rocky terrain, it is far more enjoyable (for me) to approach the cliffs from the water. Our tour took through some of the smaller formations before dropping anchor near the famous Sormiou, where we had a chance to swim in the ocean.

To get into the water from the boat, you have two options: take the slightly unstable looking ladder…or jump. After initially waiting several minutes for people to slowly and carefully descend down the ladder, I decided I was fed up with waiting. I wanted to get in the water, and get in the water fast. I was going to jump.

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I cautiously climbed onto the edge of the boat, grabbing a rope to steady myself as my feet hung over the small banister. I took a deep breath in, and I hoisted my body into the air till I splashed in the water a second later.

As I hit the water, swimming up to the surface, I had a nostalgic flashback unlike anything I have ever experienced. Suddenly, I was 10 years old, swimming up to the surface of the Cherry Creek Vista Pool, having just jumped into the deep-end while playing “Olympics” with my friends. My head popped out of the salty water, and I laughed and smiled in a way I can only describe as unbridled joy. Something awakened in me, and I had to do it again. Each time I did, I got more and more confident.

Jumping into the ocean, I remembered how much time I spent playing at the pool when I was a kid. Before adolescence. Before trying to be cool. Before fear of being ridiculed, getting hurt, or god-forbid looking dumb in front of my crush set in. Before society told me how I was supposed to act. I was free to play as I wanted to. It has probably been 2 decades since I JUMPED into water like that, and in doing so that day, I questioned why I ever stopped.

On our boat, there were two women who just graduated college and were taking a trip before they started their “big girl jobs”—both had lined up impressive gigs at top US banks or as a nurse at a well-respected hospital. They asked me what I did, and where I lived before moving to France, assuming that I was in LA for college myself. When I told them I was in my 30s, they were shocked (I took this as a compliment). I explained to them that I had been a teacher, worked a bit in marketing, and am now finding my own path doing a whole variety of things.

I had to laugh listening to these two be so excited to take on “adult life” — because I was exactly the same way at 22. I had an idea of what it meant to be an adult: find a safe and reliable job, settle down and get a house, and be responsible. To me, this meant stepping out of the realm of play and into the more practical world of modern society. Now, I have reached a moment where all I want to do is get back to being a kid (while not eschewing adult responsibilities of taxes, bills, etc., of course).

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So much of my time since I have moved to France has been spent uncovering the little girl that just wanted to play. The little girl who ran around the backyard pretending she was Madeleine. The little girl who would spend hours in her room casting, choreographing, and performing musicals (complete with notebooks of cast lists and detailed choreography). The teenager who wrote scripts on Friday nights at her family computer instead of going out with her friends.

I came to France expecting to be making money translating marketing materials from French to English, following the practical skill set I had highlighted on my resumé for the last few years. As summer comes to a close, however, I find myself employed in entirely different spaces: co-directing classes and program assisting for a children’s musical theatre school; tutoring French school-children in English, teaching private voice and English coaching lessons; working at a respected Parisian theatre as the teacher for Acting in English; writing scripts with friends and filming them ourselves. In short, I’m doing all the things little Melanie dreamed of doing.

It’s not lost on me how the chaos of the world today has been driving my desire to find joy where I can, nor is it lost on me that I am incredibly fortunate to have the opportunity to do so. I have found that the more I have allowed myself to follow what lights me up, the more I am able to contribute to building the world I want to see. It’s through acceptance, community, and empathy that we’re going to make the world a better place. By giving each other permission to reconnect with our true selves, we open up space for others to do the same and demonstrate that we all matter — just as we are.

As I come up on 6 months of living in France, I could not be more grateful for the ways my life continues to unfold. I have been learning to slowly release the grip on what I think I should be doing and instead trust that each twist and turn will lead me in the right direction for now. Even if it seems overwhelming or impractical, the only way to move forward is to jump in and make a splash.

À la prochaine!

Melanie

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In the months leading up to August, I have consistently heard that Paris shuts down in August.

This wasn’t entirely new information as I was introduced to the concept of “Les vacances” in French classes in middle school, understanding that many stores or restaurants in France close for a summer break. However, I assumed that Paris was kind of exempt from this. Being a tourist city and all.

And in some ways, I was right. Around the must-see landmarks, stores hocking souvenir trinkets and over-priced brasseries are still open. But take the metro a few stops out of Paris center, and you’ll fine store after store of graffitied garage doors sporting signs saying “fermeture estivale”. It’s official. Parisians have left the building.

Despite the slight inconvenience that all of the boulangeries in a two block radius are closed till August 27, I quite admire the idea that many people in the city quite literally close up shop for the month. In fact, I have several friends whose officies have closed for two weeks or who are required to take a break from work. The question isn’t if you are going on vacation, but where you are spending your well-earned time for repose.

As I started to realize that most of my French friends would not be in Paris for the month of August, I began to consider if I should follow suit and book a last minute trip. It turns out that moving to a new country and trying to establish a life doesn’t leave a lot of brain space for taking a vacation. Never mind the mansplainer who I went on a date with who had the audacity to say that it’s basically like I’m on vacation now. No sir. I live here. And though I don’t have a full time job at the moment, searching for clients, establishing connections, and feeding myself daily does not a vacation make.

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That said, it became very clear that no clients were going to be signed in August, so I could either a) Prep for the go, go, go of September and get a lot of admin work done or b) lean into the August vibes and take an actual break. As I former teacher, I can quite honestly say that I never knew how to turn off in the summer and started prepping for school after the Fourth of July. Now that I am my own boss and have time to fill, I find myself falling into old habits and trying to fill every moment with “productivity”. Part of my goal in moving, however, was to find more balance in my life: work to live, not live to work. So, I decided to choose option B. When in Rome…I mean…Paris…

Having committed to cat and dog sitting, as well as leading some bar crawls (story for another time), I managed to carve out a few days to getaway from Paris and unwind in nearby Fontainebleau. I do realize that 3 days mid-week 45 minutes outside of Paris is not a true French vacation, but changing learned behavior takes time.

Similarly, I have been working on making decisions based on what I wanted to do, not what it feels like I should do. As a textbook Libra, decisions are not my strength, and in a city with as many options as Paris, I sometimes find myself paralyzed when determining just how to spend my day. Part of the reason I chose Fontainebleau was because I wanted to exercise this muscle. To go somewhere quiet and small where I could easily sit in the garden and read and not feel like I was missing a grand tourist adventure if that is what my body and soul called for. I found a perfect AirBnB just across from the famous chateau — a smaller chateau of sorts with private rooms and a shared pool and garden. It also helps that it is free to get to Fontainebleau from Paris on my Navigo pass.

My first day in Fontainebleau, I did exactly what I set out to: Nothing. I meandered around the town center to kill time before checking in and grabbed a lovely lunch in one of the few open restaurants. Then, I sat by the pool, read my book, took a nap, and only emerged again to read my book while having Moules Frites for dinner.

The next day, I ventured to nearby Barbizon, and I fell in love. Known as the “village of painters”, Barbizon is famous for the Barbizon school of artists, who eschewed the snobbery of Parisian high art, deciding to pursue their passions and make the nature around them the star. The village is the picture perfect ideal of a small French village: stone, vine-covered buildings, surrounded by lush gardens and nestled at the foot of the Fontainebleau Forest. Just walking around the village, you can see why artists flocked here to paint. Equally inspired by the beauty, I wanted to learn more about these “rule breakers” and visit the museum that is now housed in the old artist lodging. The museum beautifully tells the history of the artist colony through their artwork, including wood panels of the house itself that became their canvases, and showcases 30 minute intro film that outlines why these painters decided to turn their backs on the academic norms of painting grand subjects to focus on everyday life and nature. Normally, I don’t love museum intro film as I often zone out, but this had me captivated.

As someone who considered herself first and foremost an artist, I sometimes struggle with claiming that title because what I tend to create is not deep or serious. I write stories that bring me joy and entertain me, a far cry from what a lot of academics would call grand literature. Yet sitting in that film, listening to the words of artists who would pave the way for Impressionism, I found a renewed pride in what I do. Leaving the museum, I continued my artistic musings over a lovely lunch followed by a walk in the vast and beautiful forest, allowing myself to disconnect from technology and be alone with my own thoughts and fancies. It’s very rare that I don’t have a podcast or music playing, and I remembered how important the silence is. Both the museum and the forest walk allowed me to reconnect with myself, slow down, and allow myself to be inspired — which was exactly the goal of the mini vacation.

My final day in Fontainebleau, I did visit the famed chateau that the city is known for. Housing all sovereigns of France, this lavish chateau rivals Versailles in its grandeur and elegance, though perhaps with fewer mirrors — and fewer crowds (its biggest asset in my eyes). Standing alone in many of the rooms, I got to appreciate the art that covered every inch of the building—from the detailed walls to the ornate ceilings. it is truly majestic.

The juxtaposition between the simplicity of the artist compound to the lavishness of Fontainebleau brought me back to the musings of the day prior. As much as I was awed by Fontainebleau, its portraits of important people, and gilded works, it was the purity of the artwork in Barbizon that captured my heart. There is so much value in looking at things a little differently and trying to find the joy amidst the challenges of everyday life— it’s what connects us as humans. This idea has fueled me as a storyteller, and it’s why I continue to pursue different ways to connect with an audience.

Though I may not have taken a full vacation, I returned to Paris refreshed, with even more clarity about what I want to make of this next chapter in my life.

And that includes taking time for a 2 week vacation next year.

À la prochaine!

Melanie

Isn’t it fun when you discover a new or new to you artist?

I had been hearing about the David Hockney exhibit since I moved to Paris, but I have to admit, I was not familiar with his work. Maybe I heard his name once or twice, but I tend to be fascinated by the art of old dead white guys more so than the art of old living white guys.

For those of you who are equally unfamiliar, David Hockney is an 88 year-old British painter who is still creating art and experimenting with media today. This exhibit, which he helped curate, features over 400 works spanning from 1955 - present that were created across the UK, US, and France.

Going in to the exhibit, I expected to have an enjoyable afternoon. Leaving, I was mesmerized.

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Hockney paints life in vivid color. Whether it’s a majestic view of the Grand Canyon captured in vivid oranges or a Renaissance-style portrait of a 1970s couple, complete with shag carpet you could reach out and touch, there is a sense of vivacity and movement to every work in this collection. You can practically feel the splash someone makes when they jump into a pool. The bitter cold of winter in the English Countryside nips at your nose. Gentle drops of rain make light “plops” to send ripples through a peaceful lake. Everything is alive.

I think what impressed me the most about Hockney’s work was the simplicity and the whimsy of his technique. It’s abundantly clear that Hockney is a talented artist with the ability to render life-like representations of his subjects. But that’s not where he shines. He shines in the playful strokes of a brush that create a rolling hillside. The unnaturally bright purple used to color a tree trunk in the dead of winter. The swirls of the paint to create movement in the air and the sky. There’s no doubt that Hockney has been inspired by Impressionist masters — one of the rooms even featured Hockney’s interpretations of masterpieces that are hanging on museum walls just 30 minutes away. However, with his playful perspective, he sees things from a different angle and makes use of the blank space in a way that brilliantly encourages the viewer to fill in the rest.

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Well into his 90s, Hockney isn’t done experimenting and learning new ways to express himself or his art. Several brilliant rooms are dedicated to iPad paintings he made during the pandemic, capturing the passage of time in Normandy during a dark season of our lives. The final room in the exhibit is a cavernous hall showcasing how opera has influenced Hockney, using the same technology to animate his art to fit with some of opera’s greatest hits. Opera lover that I am, I sat through the entire circuit twice, crying the whole time.

Hockney’s work may not be considered the most deeply challenging, statement-making or political, but I found it to be some of the most moving work I have seen in a long time. Perhaps because of it’s lack of agenda. Hockney paints the world around us as he sees it with joy and effervescence. And in today’s world of conflict, noise, and sound bites, that perspective is incredibly refreshing.

As an artist, I think it’s easy to get caught up in the worry that if something isn’t “deeply profound”, is it really art? If I just create something because it pleases me and brings me joy, is that enough?

After spending 2 hours with David Hockney, I can answer, unequivocally— yes.

If you’re in Paris before August 31, I cannot recommend this exhibit highly enough. And, if you’re wondering if you should pick up a pen, paintbrush, or any other art-making utensil, consider this your sign to start creating today.

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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As is no surprise, settling into a new country has its difficulties. For starters, there’s spending all day thinking in a different language, which can be surprisingly exhausting. Then, there’s learning customs and how to not make a total fool of yourself upon entering a store, sitting down at a restaurant, or meeting new people. I still haven’t quite figured out the etiquette for claiming a sidewalk table at a brasserie.

But perhaps the biggest challenge is settling in when the newness wears off and creating a life. As someone with ADHD, I am inspired by novelty. My first three months of any new day job I have ever started is “the best most interesting job ever”…until it becomes routine and I realize I’m doing the same thing day in and day out, and it really doesn’t align with my dreams of being a writer, art curator, theatre producer, or insert other form of creative expression here.

In Paris, I’m finding the opposite challenge. I am my own boss. My days are my own, and I really have no structure or routine. I have many irons in the fire, all of which are pursuing my creative passions in some way. Now, according to what I said above, that should be my dream. Something new every day! How exciting! Yet, ADHD is full of contradictions, and this expanse of freedom can be as challenging as pursuing the wrong thing. I get overwhelmed with choice, have a hard time making decisions, and feel like I’m not doing anything (even though an external viewer wouldn’t agree).

I have now been in Paris for 4 months. In the scheme of life, that is nothing, and the way I have planted roots to build my life in these 4 months is unlike any other place I have ever been. At the same time, Paris has become home, and along with that comes all of the regularities of day-to-day life: running errands, dealing with sickness, doing laundry more often than I ever wanted to. Yes, I am doing all of that in one of the most interesting cities in the world — and for that I feel incredibly grateful — but it does not change the fact that the novelty has worn off, and my ADHD brain has replaced the excitement from all the new things with questioning whether I’m doing the right things or doing enough.

Typically, I greet this energy by following the worry, trying to control the situation, and fix what is not moving as it should. Results vary on the efficacy of this tactic, but for the most part, it has led to discontentment, overwhelm, and utter exhaustion. Since being in Paris, I’m trying a new approach.

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Taking a cue from my French neighbors, I am learning to move slower. Yes, Paris is a busy city with people working very hard in all sorts of industries. But at the same time, there is an appreciation of slowing down. Long lunches, relaxed apèros with meandering conversations, sitting in a park and just people watching. There’s a sense of balance that is not present in American hustle culture. Which is why my visit to the Bourse de Commerce — Pinault Collection on Wednesday with a former colleague from my high school teaching days was such a welcome reprieve.

The museum itself showcases a rotating selection of exhibits, curated from over 10,000 pieces in the art collection of François Pinault (also known as Salma Hayek’s husband). The contemporary art exhibits are designed to showcase the works of artists from all over the world and of all generations. Housed in the old Bourse de Commerce, the building itself is a work of art, with a large rotunda in the center.

Currently, the rotunda has been transformed to showcase a multi-sensory installation by artist Céleste Boursier-Mougenot, entitled “clinamen”, in which an 18-meter pool is filled with water, reflecting the sky peeking through the rotunda dome. On the water sit porcelain bowls of varying sizes, which are set into motion by light currents. Thanks to the light ripples of water, the bowls move in unexpected ways, clinking against each other and the walls of the pool. And that’s where the magic is made.

I watched and listened with tears in my eyes as the soft water propelled these unexpected musical instruments. The installation took a lot of planning and very calculated work, but once that work was done, it was the artist trusted the elements of the art to create something new. From the random clinks and clanks around the pool, melodies formed, objects existed in harmony, coming together in an ephemeral way that would never be repeated. Five minutes later, the sound would be different. All that mattered was the beauty that was being created in the present.

Sitting at the edge of the pool, I began to see this art installation as a lovely metaphor for where I’m at in my journey. I have put in a tremendous amount of effort to establish myself in a new city, and that work has set me up for opportunities that are beginning to take shape. Part of me is trying to control when those opportunities exist and how they show up in my life. This exhibit reminded me that I can’t. I have worked on the elements, put things in motion, and now I need to trust the process to carry me in the direction I need to go. If I get too caught up in what the next step is, I miss the beauty of what is here right now.

It’s not easy for me to breathe and release control, but I’m finding that’s when the best things have happened. As I write this, I’m sitting at a café where two women began to talk with me and offered their contact information, enthusiastically encouraging me to contact them if I need anything. I hadn’t intended on sitting at this café today, but I stumbled upon it after my walk along the canal. If I had tried to force my direction today, this interaction never would have happened.

I’m grateful for reminders to trust the process. Building a life isn’t about finding the next new thing, it’s learning to be present in the moment and be open to the opportunities that come. Each day will bring something new — sometimes challenging, sometimes wonderful — and I am excited to see where the current takes me.

À la prochaine!

— Melanie

"Music is nothing if it's not communication"

I said this so much to my choir students that I needed it tattooed to my forehead.

Yes, music is the notes on the page, the sound of the instruments, the lyrics sung, the rhythm — but taken apart, those individual elements of a piece of music mean nothing. At its core, music is meant to tell a story that connects us to our humanity.

From my early years as a die hard musical theatre kid (which, let’s be honest, I still am) to teaching high school choirs how to convey a meaning in a different language, it’s this communication aspect that has drawn me to music as an art form.

There’s a reason why every culture has a music used for everything from celebrations to prayer to morning. Music is ephemeral. It can express feelings better than mere words. It gets in our bones, in our souls, and it makes us feel.

When married with words and pictures, the power is even stronger.

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It’s this marriage of music and pictures that is the impetus behind the Soeurs Jumelles Festival, held every year in Rochefort, France in June. The Soeurs Jumelles Festival celebrates the partnership of images and sound, particularly in cinema and television.

Throughout the festival, there are concerts and movie screenings open to the general public, and there is a professional side of the festival, bringing together music publishers, producers, composers, directors, writers, music supervisors, editors and anyone else associated with the creation of these art forms. I had the distinct honor of attending the professional portion of the festival as a volunteer thanks to my friend Neary.

Neary and I met at the French American Film Festival in Los Angeles last October, and we quickly became friends throughout her stay in LA. When I moved to France, I asked if she needed volunteers — she said “always”.

Which is how I ended up managing 8 rounds of speed networking, facilitating the meetings of professionals in the film and music industry. These meetings were designed to form new connections and strengthen the links between film and music. An easy job, it was not as the majority of my job was interrupting lively discussions to say “we need to switch now”…which was largely met with polite nods and continued conversation. That said, I loved it.

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Throughout the three days, many of the same people circled through my small room, allowing me to get to know professionals throughout the industry both in France and abroad. Despite my French name, it is abundantly clear I’m not from France as soon as I open my mouth. This created a entry talking point for people to ask about me and how the heck I found myself at a small festival in Rochefort. Though I didn’t have any official meetings, I ended up with numerous contacts, who wanted to stay in touch and get to know more about me and what I do — as I did for them. It’s a little ironic to think that I moved from Los Angeles and am more connected with movie and TV making here in Paris, but life is funny like that sometimes.

Most excitingly, I got the chance to learn a bit more about the music and film industry, both in France and abroad, specifically music supervising. A music supervisor works with the director and producer to find music for a film, documentary, commercial, video game, or TV show, pairing the right sound with the image while pairing the right price with the overall budget. It’s largely behind the scenes, and not as well known as a role like “director” or “composer”, but it is equally important. The Risky Business dance scene to “Old Time Rock and Roll?”. You can thank a music supervisor.

Inspired by these meetings and some sessions I got to attend that explained some music supervision choices, I spent a lot of time reflecting on what I am drawn to in the arts. In fact, I often have a hard time defining myself when people ask me what I do — I’m a writer, singer, director, English coach, etc. I have so many interests in the arts that my answer always is a bit scattered. I end up saying something like “I’m an artist”.

I think that’s why I found this festival so interesting — it perfectly encapsulated all of my interests — music, film, words. All the things that come together to make a story meaningful.

After all, music is nothing if not communication.

À la prochaine!

Melanie

Every year on June 21, the streets of France are alive with the sound of music as the country celebrates the Fête de La Musique.

For those unfamiliar, Fête de la Musique is just that—an entire day spent celebrating music. The idea for the event followed the creation of the UNESCO World Music Day in 1975, when Joel Cohen, an American musician working in France, proposed the idea of musical celebrations to celebrate both the winter and summer solstice. A few years later in 1982, the first official Fête de la Musique was held by the Minister of Culture Jack Lang with the whole purpose of allowing musicians to create their music in front of a large public for free. Since then, Fête de la Musique has made music accessible for everyone, allowing the public to discover new artists, share in a common passion, and create social links that span generations and cultures.

Ever since I heard of this celebration as a passing plot point in a French detective show, it was the day I was looking forward to the most. I mean, as a musician, this is the type of event of my dreams. An entire day devoted to music? Sign me up.

In the weeks leading up to Fête de La Musique, I began to see posters everywhere, advertising concerts at bars, libraries, municipal buildings, you name it. In addition to the official events and concerts organized by the city, seemingly every bar, restaurant, and street corner had some event planned for Fête de la Musique, mostly for free. While there were concerts that required tickets, most events were open for any passerby to participate.

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And when they say “Fête de la Musique”, they mean all types of music. A Gospel concert by the Louvre. Traditional Japanese music at the Palais du Tokyo. Klezmer and other traditional Jewish music at the Jewish Museum in Paris. Choral music, jazz, accordion, salsa…the list goes on. Everything was represented.

As is typical for me when presented with more choices than I can count, I did copious research about which concerts I would want to attend, only to decide on nothing definitively and see what I felt like in the moment. Sometimes, this ends up a bust as I spend my time wandering aimlessly, searching for the exact right thing to excite me. For Fête de la Musique, wandering without a plan was the perfect choice.

My friends and I began the evening in the popular Marais area — an area which is also known to be a center of gay bars. As soon as I got off the metro and saw a DJ standing on the balcony of a department store playing Madonna, I started crying. It was everything I hoped for. We “danced with somebody” to queens such as Gaga, Britney, Whitney, and many more. And in the 95 degree temperatures, we were definitely feeling the heat.

Wanting to experience other ambiances, we began wandering through Paris to get a taste of music all over the city. An open air techno club took over a normally orderly neighborhood. A string quartet was perched just in front of an old church. A rap battle erupted in the middle of the street. A very local bar cranked out Soulja Boi like it was 2008. A duo of guitarists playing a mix of French and American classics, including a rendition of “Everybody Wants to Be a Cat” that I did not know the words to and stubbornly insisted on singing the English lyrics. I loved all of it.

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Our wandering stopped when we stumbled upon a side street where a DJ was playing the greatest hits of the 1990s and early 2000s. Can’t really pass up people dancing on tables singing (screaming) “sweet dreams are made of these”.

I spent the rest of the evening among a crowd of people, dancing without a care, making new friends, and celebrating together. I did hear stories of more nefarious activities and menacing atmospheres elsewhere in the city, but the biggest “problem” I experienced was a light water gun being sprayed over the dancing crowd. A welcome addition in the 90 degree night.

At 2:00 AM, the bar we were at ended their set, and we decided that it was time to head back home. Around the corner from my apartment, DJs kept the party going til much later in the morning, making sleep a difficult proposition.

In all honesty though, I felt too wound up to go to sleep. I’m often disappointed after an event I’ve been looking forward to with so much anticipation. But Fête de La Musique lived up to every thing I hoped for. I let loose, sang at the top of my lungs, and danced like no one was watching. I felt alive.

It’s moments like these when I’m so grateful I listened to myself and made the move to Paris. Not every day is the Fête de La Musique, obviously, but I have moments everyday where I feel awake and alive in ways I never have before. I already cannot wait till next year. Perhaps with a little less heat.

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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Last week, I had the immense privilege of attending the Festival du Film de Demain in Vierzon, France. If you haven’t heard of Vierzon, or you think I just misspelled Verizon, you would be in good company with many of the people that I’ve talked to in Paris. In fact, when I mentioned I was going to Vierzon for a film festival it was not uncommon for me to be met with “where’s that?” — even from my French friends.

Vierzon is a small town in the Berry region of France, about 1 hour and a half south of Paris. While the greater Loire Valley is known for its beautiful castles, Vierzon has a history as a hub of manufacturing and a seat of progressive ideals and union organizing. This makes it the perfect backdrop to host the Festival du Film de Demain.

Only 4 years old, Cannes it is not. It has yet to reach the level of notoriety that some other festivals have. So, how does a girl from Los Angeles find herself in a small town in France at a relatively small festival? This is the question I was asked almost daily throughout my 4 days in Vierzon.

To answer: Luck. I had been doing research about film festivals around Paris that met several criteria: 1) Not too expensive, 2) Not too far from Paris, and 3) Interesting themes.

This fit all three.

If the first two requirements made going to the festival possible, it was the third that really hooked me. For those who don’t speak French, Le Festival du Film de Demain translates to “The Festival of Films of Tomorrow”, and the festival mission is “to provide a space for inspiration and reflection, essential for imagining better tomorrows together and contributing to a more comprehensive and peaceful vision of the many issues that shape our daily lives.”

As the kids say. Say less. I’m there.

All of the films presented at the festival talked about some challenge facing society today: be it the realities of overworked hospital workers, the combat to preserve a cultural venue in a small town, the creation of co-living societies for people with handicaps, the fight against violence against women, the importance of adolescent mental health, or fighting the stigma of autism. Each film shined a light on the problems while at the same time offering hope for a brighter tomorrow. I rarely see 9 films in 4 days—and it is even rarer for me to be thoroughly moved by each one. Each filmmaker had something important to say and forced the audience to think, showcasing the people who are unafraid to stand-up in the face of injustice. To fight for what is right for humanity.

As I write this, my beloved city of Los Angeles has become the subject of national spotlight once again. Besieged by the fires earlier in the year, this time it is ICE who has infiltrated the city. But just as they did in January, Angelenos are coming together to care for their neighbors. As many of my friends still live in LA, I have seen countless videos of real-time protests — protests that are peaceful, strong in their convictions, and caring. In some, people are dancing and singing, expressing themselves in the best way they know how. They are making art in the face of fascism.

We are in an interesting moment of history — certainly in the United States, but there are reverberations of fights for human rights around the world. As someone who likes to see the glass half full, it’s hard to not feel overwhelmed by this moment, to feel like there’s no way out.

And that’s when I turn to art. Both the Festival du Film de Demain and the people using their voices and talents to protest give me hope for a brighter future. I’m not naive to the challenges facing our society today, but I am so proud to be among people who stand up and say “this is not right”. This has always been the role of artists — to challenge society and push us to a brighter future for everyone.

I left the festival last week more inspired than ever to create art and lift up voices that need to be heard. This week, my heart is with the LA community as they come together to protect their neighbors.

Let us all work for a brighter future together.

À la prochaine!

— Melanie

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I have long said that I am the world’s greatest bandwagon fan. I don’t follow sports in anyway, shape, or form—save the 3 years I had a fantasy football team to have something to talk about with my Men’s Choir. If you need someone around to start cheering when you do, I’m your girl.

So, when my friend Emeline suggested we go to a rooftop bar to watch the Europe Cup finals of Paris Saint-Germain vs. Inter-Milan, I didn’t hesitate. Especially since that seemed to be the only thing to do on Saturday night as over 3,000 bars were showing the match.

We decided to get to our chosen bar right when it opened…4 hours before the match. Unfortunately, so did nearly 300 people before us. Spending about an hour in a slow moving line, I kept asking Emeline if we should go to one of the other 2,999 bars instead. She astutely reminded me they would all be this crowded.

I’m glad I listened to her. When we finally (finally) made it in, we found ourselves in one of the largest, most beautiful rooftop terraces I had ever been in. It didn’t hurt that it was looking over the Seine.

One of the major differences I have found between US and Paris bar culture is how easy (or not easy) it is to meet people. Whereas in the US, we might easily strike up a conversation with whoever is around us just trying to order a beer, that is not going to happen in Paris.

Saturday was an exception. As we were waiting for food, we struck up conversations with people around us. I’m not a huge fan of small talk, but it was nice to exercise that muscle again and exchange niceties while waiting too long for pizza.

When the match finally started, projected on one big screen on the patio and many smaller TVs inside the bars, the mass of spectators crowded around, jockeying for a view, leading to many yells of the French equivalent of “down in front”, which a large group of people listened to, to my surprise.

Watching the match was electric from the moment it started. Paris had been dominating all season, and it was easy to see how. The crowd sat with rapt attention, applauding each attempt on goal. One enthusiastic onlooker behind me added “Bien Joué” (well played) at every shot. When PSG finally scored their first goal, it was unlike anything I have experienced. People started singing, jumping and throwing their arms around me in a celebratory embrace. Leave it to football to get rid of any standoffishness.

The rest of the match continued with the same electricity and excitement as PSG racked up a 5-0 victory, and the team’s first ever Europe cup win. Immediately, songs of victory and fireworks from every direction filled the air. Including that old French favorite, We Are the Champions.

The celebrations continued as we left the bar, as groups of people were dancing in the streets, honking car horns, and waving PSG flags. Astutely, Emeline suggested we head home early before things devolved (I will never understand why people become violent and destructive because of sports), but it was exciting to be a part of the victorious energy on the way home.

I think the reason why I am a good bandwagon fan is that I love to be a part of moments. As strangers through their arms around me and jumped with me in celebration, I was where I belonged. Cheering on my city with my fellow Parisians.

Ici c’est Paris!

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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When French people ask me why I wanted to move to Paris, my answer is pretty simple:

“I’m an artist”.

Generally, that elicits a knowing nod and recognition that, for the artistic soul, Paris is paradise.

Of course, that’s nothing new, artists for ages have been flocking to Paris to be inspired by its ornate architecture and beautiful views of the city that can make your heart melt (especially at sunset). There’s a reason why Gertrude Stein, Ernest Hemingway, Josephine Baker, and so many more ended up here (not to mention all of the French artists who called Paris home). Whether it’s the tiny galleries that pepper the quartiers, grand museums that attract thousands of visitors a year, or even the street art that covers the sides of building, there is something to be seen at every turn.

And it’s not just visual art. Paris is brimming with theatre, music, and performance every night. On a random weeknight, it is possible to walk along the Seine and see a large group of people ballroom dancing. Move a little bit further and you’ll hear a jam session with people from all over the world coming together in song. Every night, there are countless plays, comedy shows, concerts — you name it. Culture and art pulse through the windy cobblestoned streets of the city.

Recently, Time Out Magazine named Paris the best city for culture, based on 96% of Parisians rating the city’s cultural offerings as either “good” or “amazing.”

I would be in the group that calls it “amazing”. In the last week alone, I saw Esperanza Spalding (fulfilling a dream concert bucket list item), went to a jam session along the Seine, participated in the nuit européenne de musées (a night with over 300 free events at museums around the city), watched Eurovision in a public square, saw a stand up show, and went to the free Musée Cognacq-Jay to take an afternoon walk. And the week isn’t even over yet.

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When I visited Paris last May, I was lucky enough to be in the city for the nuit européenne, and spent a lovely — if crowded — evening in the Musée D’Orsay (my favorite museum). This year, my friend Emeline and I decided to venture a little off the beaten path and we went to the Musée Bourdelle, where a contemporary dance group was performing throughout the museum. I had no idea what to expect, thinking we’d watch the dancing for a little bit, then wander around the sculpture garden and museum. Instead, we were enchanted by the enthralling — and somewhat erotic — series of dance duets that led us on a complete tour of the museum. The dancers told a story of passion, heartache, love, and pain, accompanied by classical music and against the backdrop of the incredible sculptures. It was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.

As an American, it really struck me how comfortable the audience was with the sensuality of the performance. The dancers were generally in undergarments, with the women wearing oversized, open shirts. My favorite dance was a very sensual dance of longing between two men. In both instances, audiences of all ages sat at rapt attention, particularly a group of young children who were spellbound by the artistry. I couldn’t help but think about how this would go over in the US and marvel at the acceptance of the human body and expression here. Though the dances were sensual, they were never overtly sexualized; we were watching natural human experiences.

Later that evening, Emeline and I joined a crowd of exuberant Parisians to cheer on Louane as she represented France in Eurovision — an entirely different type of cultural event. As an ardent enthusiast of anything that is campy and over the top, not to mention being the world’s greatest bandwagon fan, this was right up my alley. While the results weren’t what we were hoping for (Louane ended up in 7th place), it was so exciting to experience the camaraderie and spirit that was throughout the square. I already can’t wait for next year.

The access to so many cultural activities is probably my favorite thing about living in Paris. There’s always something to do or see — so much so that it can feel that I’m not taking advantage of it enough (though reading back the week I just had proves otherwise). As I build my life here, I am reminding myself to slow down and appreciate where I am and allow myself to be inspired to create. I am an artist, after all.

For a good list of museums other than the most famous ones, Time Out Magazine as great suggestions. I’ll be working through it slowly myself :).

À la prochaine!

Melanie

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Hello friends!

There are many ways to say hello and goodbye in French.

Bonjour and au revoir (hello and goodbye) may be the most known to non-French speakers, and are your most formal options. A simple bonjour as you enter a shop and an au revoir as you leave will go a long way in establishing a rapport with anyone in Paris.

Then you have salut, which is less formal than the above options. It’s also used interchangeably often with ciao, which is indeed Italian, not French. Both terms can be used to mean "hi” or “bye”.

My personal favorite way to say hi is coucou, a term used with people you know and have an established relationship with. It’s endearing and just fun to say.

To say “see you later”, you have even more options, including but not limited to: à toute a l’heure, à plus tard, à bientôt (technically “see you soon”), and à la prochaine (till next time).

That last one is my personal favorite. While they all indicate a later meeting, à la prochaine feels more intentional to me, perhaps less indefinite than the other options. It implies that there will be a next meeting, something more concrete than the less exact “later”. There’s a certain familiarity in it that makes me feel a part of something.

Recently, I have found myself changing which salutations I use as I interact with the local vendors in my neighborhood. Though I started with the more formal bonjour, I find myself using the more familiar options more and more as I frequent the same markets, boulangeries, cafés, or other establishments. I see the same people every time I visit, and they are becoming part of my established life here in Paris.

The other day, upon returning from a week in Denver, I went back to my favorite market stand to by produce. I was greeted with the now expected “Bonjour mademoiselle” from the man who always tries to get me to buy melon (I hate melon). I had a brief conversation with him as I loaded up my shopping bag with other fresh produce, which has become our norm.

As I left, he changed up his usual parting message:

“À la prochaine”.

It was simple, but it meant a lot. Having spent a week back in the US, where I felt well-surrounded by people who love me, this tiny statement made me feel like am establishing myself here. I am finding my place, my people, and yes, even my routines (something my ADHD tendencies truly hate).

Since then, I have slowed down to recognize how I greet people or how they greet me. It’s an acknowledgement of our shared humanity — our shared experience trying to navigate this thing called life.

This week, I challenge you to pay attention to the ways you greet the people around you or how they greet you. It’s a little thing, but I have a feeling it could change the way you move about your day. I’d love to hear any stories that come out of it.

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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I have been working remotely for 5 years now.

Starting with my parents’ basement during the pandemic, I “taught” choir from the comfort of my couch. Of course, “taught” is a misnomer because no singing was done. But for the one or two kids who showed up to my office hours, I did my best to maintain some professionalism and hide the fact that I was generally still in my pajamas (weren’t we all).

When I moved to LA, remote work continued—first from the confines of my apartment, accompanied by virtual “coworkers” in the surprisingly productive Jane Club work sprints, and then from a variety of coffee shops where I would order an overpriced drip coffee to have the pleasure of sitting at a very uncomfortable booth for a couple of hours a couple of times a week. My favorite remote working set up in LA was when I belonged to a coworking space called Second Home (since renamed but I could not tell you to what), and I found friends who became my work buddies—providing me the body-doubling my ADHD brain very much needs.

As I’ve been settling in Paris, I’ve been exploring the places I can go to continue my remote work lifestyle. I have long said that I am more productive and focused when I have other people around me. I need the activity. Left in the quiet of my own home, my thoughts fill the silence, and suddenly, I’ll be cleaning the kitchen instead of finishing the email that I just started but really don’t want to write. So, I’ve tried to find a healthy balance between being out of my apartment to work and not being gone so much that I eat every meal out.

For my first few weeks, I worked almost exclusively out of cafés. I love this for the 1€50 café, the bustle of people walking down the streets of Paris, and the adorable café tables that really make me feel like I’ve entered into a movie. Less helpful, however, is when it hits 12, and cafés make you put away your computer for 2 hours to respect the pause déjeuner. I get it. They need to turn over the tables, and we should all take a lunch break—and I do!—but sometimes I’m hitting my groove right when that noon bell chimes, and the need to vacate the premises ruins my flow.

Which is why I’ve started turning to libraries. Being free places to work, I went to the library once or twice in LA, but the austere buildings and fluorescent lights were not my ideal conditions for creativity and inspiration. Paris libraries are different.

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My first Paris library was the Bibliothèque nationale de France à Richelieu, the “historic birthplace” of the French National Library. The palatial location is comprised of several specialized research rooms, a museum, a café, a gallery, a garden, and the famous Oval Room. While some research rooms require a special reservation, the Oval Room is free and open for anyone to work from—if you can find a spot, that is.

The day I went to Richelieu, I got there too late to claim a desk spot, as every open seat was full with someone diligently working on a project or simply reading a reference book they pulled off the stacks. After circling the oval several times to see if I could snag a place, I finally decided I wouldn’t be able to work from the Oval Room that day, and I would just treat it as the lovely place of inspiration that it is.

There’s a reason this room is famous—it took my breath away as I walked in. The ceiling is ornate windows, beautifully designed and letting in the perfect amount of light to create a calm atmosphere. Move a bit further down, and you have gilded molding and exquisite arches that could be the envy of any palace in Vienna. Along the sides of the oval, there are interactive screens that share the history of the museum, including information about the architecture and collections owned by the museum that aren’t on display.

Then there are the books: stacks, upon stacks, upon stacks lined up from the floor to the ceiling. Over 20,000 individual volumes and 9,000 comic books. I wandered around the oval in awe of how majestic and vast this collection is, feeling every bit my Beauty and the Beast fantasy (aside from the whole Stockholm Syndrome thing). I can’t wait to go back right when it opens so I can snag a desk for the day.

Wanting to try out another location, I went to the Bibliothèque Sainte-Geneviève near the Sorbonne and Pantheon. This library is not part of the BNF system, instead operating as a library open to students and the public. While the Richelieu is open to tourists to explore, the Sanite-Geneviève is the absolute opposite, featuring one of the most rigorous reservation systems I have ever seen.

To enter the building, you need a card—or be on your way to getting a card just as you walk in. This includes filling out an online form before you sit down to take a picture (just as good as all ID pictures always are) and get your card. Then, you are told the library rules. A popular location for students, space is at a premium in the Sainte-Geneviève. In fact, if there’s no spots in the library, you have to stand outside and wait in line, just like you’re waiting for the hottest night club in the city. To account for this, there’s a very strict system of entering and exiting the reading room. Upon entering, you are to scan your card, noting your presence. When you leave for any reason—including going to the bathroom or refilling your water bottle—you need to scan your card again and indicate whether you are leaving for a short break or a long break. You are entitled to as many 20 minute short breaks as you need per day, but you are only entitled one one-hour long break. If you don’t come back from that long break in time, your spot will be given to someone else.

Ordinarily, strict confines like this and complete silence wouldn’t be my ideal workspace, but—like the BNF—something about the absolute beauty of the building energized me to focus. I spent three hours at the Sainte-Geneviève before leaving for my long break and deciding to call it a day. I can honestly say that it’s one of the most fulfilling productive days I’ve had in a long time.

As much as I love the bustle and romance of a café, I’m enjoying libraries more and more. There are so many other beautiful locations to explore here in Paris, that I can’t wait to discover as my new offices. I’ve come a long way since a basement couch.

À la prochaine!

Melanie

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Bonjour tout le monde!

Today marks 6 weeks since I moved to Paris.

It has been a whirlwind of non-stop activity since I arrived: getting my apartment set up, walking around the city to the tune of 15,000+ steps a day, making connections, going to film festivals, showing friends around the city, writing a lot… And, in all of that, my monkey mind somehow convinced me I wasn’t doing enough.

I have been so focused on getting myself installed in my new life and taking advantage of my new city, that I forgot one of the things I was most looking forward to…taking time to just BE.

A few days ago, my body said enough, and with the force of a hefty stomach flu, I took time to breathe. I can’t say that I’d recommend non-stop nausea as the sign to chill out, but it was the reset I needed.

After sleeping for no less than 18 hours two days in a row, I finally had the mental clarity to take stock of the accomplishments I have already achieved (like living in Paris, for example), find gratitude in everything that I have experienced so far, and reflect on everything I have learned in these past six weeks.

So, today, I present to you some of my favorite learnings of six weeks of living in Paris in the hopes that you find something useful from them as well!

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1. Lunch time is very specific here. Unless specified as a “service continu” location, you will not find a restaurant serving lunch before 12:00 or past 2:30 PM. Also, if you do go to a service continu location outside of those hours, don’t be surprised if the restaurant is very empty. It’s not a comment on the quality of the food. You were just too distracted by the beautiful architecture that you lost track of time wandering the city and forgot you need to eat (no one I know).

2. Similarly, many cafés will be packed with people on sidewalk tables around 5:00 or 6:00 PM. This is not an indication that you’ve found a popular restaurant, but rather a great neighborhood bar for daily apèro (like happy hour, but better). Apèro is something of a ritual in Paris. Enjoy the great drink deals on alcoholic and non-alcoholic beverages (note: it’s not the best quality wine, but you’re still in France), dodge cigarette smoke, and wind down from your day. Very rarely will people be eating. Dinner starts at 7:00 at the earliest (but no later than 10:30PM).

3. There are multiple boucheries, boulangeries, and primeurs (fruits and vegetables) on every street. Rather than competing with each other, they are all open and closed on different days to serve the neighborhood. So you’ll never have to go without your daily baguette.

   1. You will have a daily baguette (or a baguette for every 2 days).

4. Know which marchés are when and where you buy what. Boulevard de Belleville (my street) has a big, BIG marché on Tuesdays and Fridays. Selling everything from household wares to baby clothes to produce to fish heads. It is PACKED. It is one of the cheaper markets in the city, and is perfectly sufficient for produce or packs of extra underwear. For a slightly calmer shopping experience, I prefer the Marché Popincourt, which has a better layout and higher quality products for not much more. There are still so many other markets farther afield that I cannot wait to explore.

5. Speaking of markets, the best deals on anything are at flea markets (brocantes or vide-greniers). My 3rd weekend in Paris, I went to a once-a-year market in my quartier, and I found the perfect black blazer, black pumps, and a BRAND NEW sweater from a quality brand, all for under 20€. At another market, I found beautiful vintage cups to organize my makeup brushes and lipstick at 4 for 1€. This is how I plan on decorating both my apartment and wardrobe. I’m still searching for the perfect leather jacket.

6. There is a scarf for every weather and they are called different things. Cold out? You might be looking for a basic écharpe to be wrapped around your neck or draped over your shoulders. Sunny day? A lighter material or silk carré (silk square scarf) will fit the bill. As long as your neck is covered, you are ready for a day in Paris. This is a singer’s dream.

7. The life of the citoyen (citizen) is very important here. As I wrote about in my last post, so many things are put on by the districts. There are free lectures, performances, employment forums, and many more activities. A French friend told me recently that the word “communité” can have a negative connotation sometimes (too much like a commune), which I find ironic because this is the most community-focused environment I’ve ever lived in.

8. Ever wanted to hang a beautiful piece of art in your house for just a little bit without paying for it (without committing grand theft)? Good news! You can. At an artotheque, you can check out art just like you would a book. Enjoy the beautiful work for a bit and then bring it back to get something new. Redecorate your house every month!

9. In many areas of the city on many days of the week, a metro at 11:30 PM is basically a rush hour train.

10. There is SO much to do here—and a lot of it for free! It’s so easy to get so swept up in all the city has to offer that it is important to rest. You’re not missing out on anything by taking a night (or two) off. In fact, it is necessary. Get rest so you can enjoy the city fully when you are feeling your best. Your body and mind will thank you.

À la prochaine!

— Melanie

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Last week, I saw 50 films in one sitting.

I didn’t even get up to use the bathroom in the middle.

In fact, all 50 films together were shorter than the run time of Wicked.

I saw 50 films that were each 2 minutes and 20 seconds, maximum.

That’s the conceit of the Festival Nikon held in Paris every year. For the past 15 years, the Festival Nikon has celebrated short (very short) films. They announce a theme, and then filmmakers create stories that fit that theme that are no more than 2 minutes and 20 seconds.

I found out about the festival thanks to Gabriel, someone I met through my friend Leslie. His film had been selected as one of 50 finalists among over 2,000 submissions, and he had mentioned. that there was a screening of the finalists the next night. I had nothing to do, so I decided to go. I was blown away.

In the age of movies that are three hours and require an intermission, it seems unthinkable that stories can be told in 2 minutes and 20 seconds. And yet, many of the films I saw last week had better storytelling than internationally lauded films that are 90 times as long.

There’s something to be said about the creativity and ingenuity that goes into telling a story in 2 minutes and 20 seconds. You can’t have anything superfluous, and you have to be so clear about what story you’re telling because you don’t have time to hide behind montages that garner praise because of their technical achievement but don’t further a story. You have a beginning, a middle, and an end. Every second counts.

The theme of this year was “Super Powers,” a broad enough theme that it could be taken in many different ways. You could think that seeing 50 films around the same theme could be repetitive, or at least be all of one genre. That could not be further from the truth.

Among the 50 films, there were supernatural takes on super powers to be sure, but there were also every day super powers, like kindness, taking care of people, or just surviving. There were comedies, dramas, horror shorts, touching family stories, animated stories, and even a musical. Even if not every film was my taste, I had an immense appreciation for the creativity and talent that went into making these films.

In fact, I was so moved by some of them, that I decided I had nothing to lose and emailed the directors of some of my favorites and asked if I could take them to coffee to talk about their films. In reaching out to these filmmakers, I figured I’d start building my circle of creative individuals. I thought maybe one person of the nine would get back to me, so imagine my surprise when six of nine all responded positively.

One of the main reasons I wanted to move to Paris is because it inspires me as an artist. Yes, I lived in LA for 5 years and had Hollywood as my backyard, but there’s something about the atmosphere of Paris that makes me want to create. Talking to filmmakers about how they came up with their concepts and the process they went through to make the film made me want to do it too. Over coffee, we chatted about ideas we have for future projects, our experiences, and what we hope to do as creators. Each person I talked to offered to introduce me to other people or suggested something I should pursue either for a day job or in entertainment. Similarly, one woman I talked to is moving to LA—I didn’t hesitate to make the same offer.

I have been amazed at how quickly I’ve met people in Paris. Before moving here, I had heard it can be hard to build friendships with people from here as they have their friend groups already. However, in the last month, I have had more experiences like these coffee meetings than I can count. And while it is incredible to have people making overtures for potential creative opportunities, it has meant even more to find creative people who could become friends.

Through luck, one of my new connections had an extra ticket to the closing ceremony for the Festival Nikon, held at the Grand Rex cinema, the biggest theatre in Paris. Having spent time getting to know some of the filmmakers, it was so exciting to attend the ceremony and cheer them on and learn more about the festival. Though I was sitting all the way in the balcony this year, I fully intend to be closer to the stage as a filmmaker in the near future.

One month into living in Paris, and I feel incredibly lucky to be here and grateful that I am pursuing my dreams. I didn’t know what to expect in moving here, but I knew in my soul that it was the right call. Now, as I am living it day-to-day, I am more present, creative, and inspired than I ever have been. This is only the beginning.

If you are interested in the Festival Nikon, all of the films can be seen online, including the 50 finalists. Some of my favorites included the following:

1. Omnibus

2. Casa Susanna

3. Invisibles

4. Hot Dog

5. Super V

6. Manicure 24/24

7. Ma

8. Ex of Tomorrow

9. 18h18

10. First Kiss

That said, so many were fantastic—and you can watch all of them in 2 hours.

Happy film viewing!

À la prochaine,

Melanie

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There’s a brasserie around the corner from my apartment.

To be more accurate, there are about 5 brasseries around the corner from my apartment, but there is one that I have claimed as my neighborhood bar. My “Cheers”, if you will.

It all started when I decided to go watch the rugby match a few weeks ago. After passing multiple, very crowded bars, my last ditch effort to watch the match meant walking into the last brasserie I would pass before getting to my place. As I mentioned a few weeks ago, this led to a waiter welcoming me in, finding me a spot at a table, and me asking three attractive men about the rules of rugby.

I have gone to this brasserie at least 3 times a week. It’s open all day, welcoming laptops, making it the perfect place to do some writing—especially as more posh coffee shops prohibit the use of computers between 12h and 14h30 (the French take their lunch very seriously). That’s not to say that I routinely work through lunch, I have begun to adopt the French mid-day break as a part of my routine, but rather I have found that my brasserie is my ideal work spot after I take my mid-day pause and return home for lunch. I have found that my most productive hours are between either 9h-12h or 16h-19h (4:00-7:00 PM for my Americans). So, for my afternoon work block, I often find myself downstairs with either a café allongé or 3€50 glass of wine.

The more I go, the more I find the same people, many of whom are doing the exact same thing as me. The waiter—the same one who welcomed me on rugby night—says hi to me when I’m passing along the street and not stopping. When I do decide to stop, he greets me with a warm “Salut!”.

One of the things I am loving about living in Paris is how central neighborhoods (or quartiers) are to daily life here. You have your neighborhood markets, butchers, boulangerie, rotisserie chicken place, wine cave…and so many more. By frequenting these small boutiques, I get to see the same people all the time. And, much like my brasserie, I am greeted with growing recognition each time I walk in. In fact, the woman who owns my favorite vintage store, saw me pass by on the street yesterday while she was having lunch with her family. She took the time to say hello and introduce me to them, explaining that I just moved to the neighborhood and she once helped me find clothes when the airline lost my suitcase. I am amazed by her memory.

Each arrondissement, has a “mairie” or district town hall that manages the day-to-day life in the quartier, whether that is administrative, cultural, active, you name it. Along with the mairie, there are a number of other municipal buildings in each quartier, including libraries, schools, and cultural centers. All of these places host events for the residents of the area—most of which are free and open to the public. These range from forums on issues concerning the neighborhood to concerts featuring local musicians to sporting activities to job fairs or other networking events. They even offer classes throughout the year including language, theatre, and exercise courses. It truly seems like you could find some free activity at a municipal building every day.

Yesterday, I went to two different events at the cultural centers in my quartier: a forum de bénévolat (a volunteer fair) and a monthly apéro (happy hour) for the residents of the arrondissement.

As I am getting settled, I am recognizing how important it is for me to find some sort of structure and purpose in my days. I love the freedom that I have to write and be in control of my own career, but I need some sort of activity that will connect me with people. So, I went to the volunteer fair to see what opportunities were there. The first group I talked to was an after school program for students aged 4-11, focusing on artistic activities. All it took was for me to say the words “music teacher” and the two staff members couldn’t sign me up fast enough. Meeting someone who could teach music—and English at the same time—seemed like it made their day. And mine too. As much as I don’t miss the day-to-day life of a teacher, I care deeply about music and music education, and I am so happy that I have found a way to use those skills here in Paris.

Riding on the high of my volunteer fair success, I went to the neighborhood happy hour a few hours later. At this monthly event, local organizations have the opportunity to present. This month is Mental Health Awareness month in the country, as mental health has been declared a big national cause and there is a focus on de-stigmatizing mental health diagnoses. In line with this, this months presentations were focused on mental health.

The first was “Yoga du Rire”, or in English “Laughing Yoga”. I am no stranger to yoga, but I can’t say that “laughing yoga” has ever been a part of my repertoire. From what I could gather, the purpose of “yoga du rire” is to improve well-being through combining movement, breath, and laughter. By marrying the movements of the body, breath, and voice, you get out of your head and into your body, allowing yourself to feel. I am absolute pro at thinking through my feelings as opposed to paying attention to my body, so this is something I should really do more often.

We participated in a mini-class, pairing small body movements with laughter type sounds. Though initially we sounded like some hesitant imitation of Santa Claus, by the end of the 10 minutes, the entire group was genuinely laughing and smiling. I had built up a bit of stress throughout the day, and just this short exercise of being silly in community allowed me to release. It felt silly at first, but it created a sense of connection and humanity that was incredibly needed, even if I didn’t really talk to anyone.

After that presentation, an association called La Maison Perchée presented what they do for the neighborhood. The organization is designed as a place where young adults who live with a mental health diagnosis can come together and be supported. More than that, however, the organization is open to the entire community, hosting events and exchanges allowing for the destigmatizing and refusing to hide behind these diagnoses. Throughout the presentation, several members of the neighborhood shared their stories with their diagnoses and expressed sincere gratitude for the community built by La Maison Perchée. Being new to the neighborhood, it was truly beautiful to see how this community comes together to witness each other’s stories and offer support.

And, like all good community events should, the evening ended with karaoke (I regrettably did not stay for too long).

I have always wanted to live somewhere where I could form this type of community in my neighborhood, walking to a neighborhood coffee shop or bar and becoming friends with the people at the next table over. So, on my way home, I stopped by my brasserie to do some reading, and I decided to introduce myself to the waiter. I told Youza that I just moved in around the corner. He welcomed me to the neighborhood, and when I left, he said he’d see me soon.

It’s sure nice to go where people know your name. I’ll probably end up there later today.

À la prochaine!

Melanie