Go it Alone!

I know, I know ---It has been 21 days since my last post and you are dying for some hysterical nonsense to read, right?. Recently, I have been outside of the 312 exploring life elsewhere. Paris, oh Paris, quite frankly my new favorite place, was absolutely lovely. Not only because EVERY man on the street can and is dressed to a T but, because the lifestyle is so laid back, laissez faire, so chic, historic and so mini motorcycle driven. I arrived in Paris on a Thursday morning, exhausted from having changed my body clock a few days earlier so the jet lag would be minimal, I must admit I wasn’t excited until I picked up my body bag luggage from the carousel and whisked off to the cab line. Grabbing a cab was easy, the hour and forty minute ride from the airport to my hotel seemed unnerving, but shit happens, so my first 1:40 in France felt just like being trapped on 90/94 in Friday rush hour traffic, no biggie. Speaking to the cab driver wasn’t difficult either. I am not sure how it happened, but the Spanish in me just came out. The minute I needed to speak a foreign language, French was not the first thing to come out of my mouth, Hable Igles?, then English. It seemed a great way to bypass people thinking I was an American or a dumb one at that, so for the rest of my trip, Spanish it was. oui? no. dios mio, si!. My days in Paris were glorious, sunny, 70 and a two block walk from the Champs Elysees (shopping and people watching mecca) and across the street from the Arc de Triomphe. Paris lived up to its expectation and then some.  

What still puzzles me is that for eight (8) months, I caught flack and second looks for my European Vacation. I didn’t understand why more people weren’t generally excited for me but were mostly dismal about finding out that I was “going it alone” across the pond. WTF. As excited as I was, I found myself keeping my trip to myself, like a hickey I was embarrassed about and had to hide. The part that irked me the most was I had to explain myself, defend myself. “Oh Paris”; people would say, “who are you going with?” – it’s the equivalent to “what house are you in?” during college introductions. You would have thought I had just popped a third eye out of my head or said I bought a one way ticket to Mars, the responses were fucking annoying not to mention disheartening. Hey no worries, just take the wind out of my sails, thanks for making me feel insecure because you can’t eat alone.  And not only had I decided to do one insane thing, someone informed me, (run a marathon) but to do it alone in another country according to them, was mental institution worthy. Of course, I visualized dumping them into the Chicago River and never looking back. Even when my own father asked me why, my reply was simply this: ‘for the last 15 years of my life, I have been waiting to go to Europe -- “with someone”, to explore, experience life outside of America, ride trains to different countries, see the world…and guess what, this year I turn 32 and I’m not waiting for “someone else” to be present for me to experience those things. I refuse to wait any longer.’ The next day my father phoned to inform me that Paris was getting bomb threats and that I should cancel my trip immediately, it was August and he didn’t get it.

The marathon, the inspiration behind Paris entirely, full of it’s own challenges (Race Day: ear infection from hell, out of water AND power-ade at mile 21 and 23, HFS and the 73 degree scouring heat), I did manage a personal record, a sun tan and therefore a success. Paris a la Solo, will always hold a special place for me. It came at such a time in my life, full of change and inquisition and for that I will remain forever, soulfully grateful. For those of you who were positive, thank you for seeing the other slice of life. For those of you afraid to “go it alone”, even to the movies, I suggest you stop being so afraid of what others think, you might surprise even yourself.