less-than-thrilled: when you don’t want your dream

“How do you find Montluçon?” When I arrived here, I was asked this quite a few times, always with a wince on the part of the inquirer.

C’est un peu triste, non? But no, no I didn’t find it sad. Blue skies and tropical flowers, temps in the low eighties, a new city and a new life to explore. AOP cheese inexpensive at the grocery store. Life now conducted in my second language, lending a sense of challenge and excitement to the simplest interaction.

Even without all that, I was just glad to have a job and a place to lay my head at night. It had been a long, tumultuous summer, one in which I wasn’t at all sure I was going to come to France. Money worries. Trepidation. I hadn’t found a place to sleep.

Things worked themselves out, improbably. I was here. My French future stood in front of me, bright and sweet as a macaron.

There was no time to be bored, listless, uncertain.

And then there was.

November was a rough month in which I understood exactly why people might complain about this place. C’est un peu triste? Ben oui.

It was dark, cold, and bleak. I missed the warmth and vitality and fun of my college town. I did get into a routine, but it looked something like this:

wake up very early (usually from nightmares about failing to sufficiently prepare for classes), go to work, ride the bus home with a killer headache, unwittingly fall asleep, and wake up as the sky turned black and it was time to think about the next day’s lessons.

November was one problem and annoyance after another in realms of: health, relationships, work, transportation, social life…

It was hard not to think: am I wasting my time? struggling to learn Spanish and going on solitary runs in the cold. Trying to make the bus thing work. Trying to make the bike thing work. Trying to make the work thing work, with less support than I’m due. Scrabbling for entertainment in a tiny town. Where was the big group of expat friends, the cultural events, the hole-in-the-wall restaurants with incredible food?

I spent Thanksgiving with Mary, eating pizza in the cité médiévale and feeling less than thankful. Optimism is all well and good, but sometimes you’ve gotta vent.

How easy it would have been to misrepresent the day. A picture of me and a glass of wine, captioned Thanksgiving 2016 in France: best Thanksgiving ever! But it wasn’t. What it was: the culmination of a month of feeling maddeningly frustrated, of trying to adapt to a lifestyle that can feel so stagnant, a month of trying to find friends and fun in a place where the over-18 and under-35 demographic is pretty lacking.

By the next day, I was beginning to feel a sort of begrudging thankfulness. I wrote:

…ultimately, though, I am thankful, that this year isn’t easy. It’s many things, at times very lovely, but not easy. So I will learn resilience (even when I’d rather not). I’m thankful for all this time: to figure things out, grow up, get in shape (even though I’d prefer to be busier). I’m thankful for a wonderful roommate and friend who understands the necessary balance between venting and staying positive. I’m thankful for the kids I get to teach, friends and family near and far, the chance to write about my adventures, and most of all, a God who provides.

pizza

It’s all true. Gain resilience? Patience? If given the choice, I’d rather just be happy. It’s natural to choose pleasure over pain. But growth and maturity don’t come cheap. That’s something I think about during the struggles: if I keep making good choices and fighting through it, what kind of person could I be at the end of this? I want to find out. A day (or week) (or month) that doesn’t go as planned doesn’t have to crush me.

And for better or worse, problems give me something to write about. I’m not someone who pretends that life in France is all rosé. I want to create an honest account of my time here, neither ignoring the bad times nor wallowing in them.

Mary says she thinks that in travel and in living abroad, the highs are higher and the lows are lower. I agree. It sounds really romantic to live somewhere new, but it’s still going to be real life, wherever you are. Real life in Italy. Real life in France. Real life is hard sometimes.

And here’s a real life lesson I’m learning: dreams are not always dreamy. You don’t always want them. It was my dream to live here. My dream to speak French fluently, my dream to become bilingual. To travel alone, to learn to teach, to become independent and solve my own problems.

It still is, as I sometimes have to remind myself.

 

 

6 thoughts on “less-than-thrilled: when you don’t want your dream

  1. Sandy

    Welcome to life after college! This was so well written and the lessons you have learned so quickly will benefit you forever. Thanks for sharing your innermost thoughts.
    We miss you too!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This post is so real. Life is weird in France, but we carry on. I find I have to remind myself everyday that I wanted to be here and I am grateful. Courage! Break is coming and I’m sure there are things just on the horizon.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Reblogged this on My Blog and commented:
    It’s easy to feel as though you’re experiencing the ‘November blues’ alone – but Jessica has expressed her experiences in a really relatable way. The transition into the cold and dreary month of November – which holds neither the pretty Autumn charm of October nor the festivities and Christmas lights of December – can be and has been a challenge, for myself at least (given the choice, it would be my month of hibernation).

    I love that she’s shared this because it has made me feel that less ‘seule’ in how I’ve been feeling some days. Would really recommend a read, especially if you’ve been struggling to keep up high spirits in the November rain – you’re not alone!

    Like

  4. Pingback: from newlywed to retiree: on places, and what it means to love them – Croissants & Conjugations

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