black contemporary art
Though technically the beginning of a new week, Sunday always seems more like the last breath of a week gone past. Depending on the prior week, it is either the panicked gasp of one who fears what comes next, or the peaceful exhalation of one having made the most of their time.
Sunday is revelation. It is the moment you realize exactly how you are living your life.
There is a lightness in the commute this morning. It's the same route,
same travel time, and same people, but somehow the air feels lighter.
Scowls are softened, smiles come easily and when the mind wanders into
the near future, dread is absent. If this week were a race, and you
were Usain Bolt, this is the moment you look back at your foes, and
realizing they have no hope of overtaking you, you smile. An eye
squinting forehead wrinkling all your teeth want to be seen sort of
smile. The finish line is moments ahead and now there's no stopping
you.
Once that computer screen goes black and you Fred Flintstone slide out
of your office, you contemplate all the joyous things you will do with
your newfound freedom. Will you celebrate tonight? Reveling in the
streets, a gold medal that says "Weekend" dangling around your neck?
Or will you simply dwell in the moment, feet placed gently on your
ottoman as you enjoy obligationless peace?
Either way, your relief feels unparalleled and your possibilities feel
endless. So no matter the choice you make, or plans you have for your
moments of respite, it will be a very Happy Friday indeed.
Honestly, that may not even be the correct translation, but I'm trying to tell you that I was looking at Paris with "new eyes". At least that is what Duolingo told me...I think.
I was given a cold reception by the city, as the cool mist in the air shook any hints of jet-lag off of me. With a wariness leftover from feeling like a country kid in the big city, I sat on the metro and tried to make as many observations as I could. Perhaps to little avail, I make an effort to weave into the fabric of the city. My first attempt was a failure, as I stood blankly in front of the train doors waiting for them to open, until a pleasant young woman smiled and pushed the button. With an mechanical click that seemed to be derisively directed towards me, the doors opened allowing me in the train. A few moments later, that same pleasant young woman was walking down the aisles, asking for money. Despite her earlier door pleasantries, my hardened NYC heart took over, and I let her walk by without opening my wallet.
I opted to not spring for the international data plan. I'd like to tell myself I was being an intrepid adventurer, bravely setting forth in a new city without the crutch of Google. Really I was just being cheap, though I began to wonder if it was worth saving the 70 bucks as I walked off the metro. With the help of foresight in the form of map screenshots, I rang the doorbell to the Airbnb, hoping that if this was the wrong place, the tenant would at least let me use their wifi.
