So, I can’t believe what happened in Paris

So, I can’t believe what happened in Paris, but then again, sadly, I guess I can.

We all remember, well most of us who are old enough, remember where we were on September 11^th. Our parents remember where they were when John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Generations before that remember Pearl Harbor… I could keep going but I’m not a history major so I’ll probably miss quite a few KBD (Kind of a Big Deal) activities. I was texted by my ABS (Atlanta Big Sister) to check out the news on Paris. In my lifetime there have been countless school shootings, including the most memorable for me, Columbine. I was afraid to go directly to the news, because I have so many fond and life changing memories from France. It breaks my heart to think of that beautiful city filled with such terror.

I have been to Paris a few times, and I spent 4 months in Aix-en-Provence, in the south of France. Every time I went to Paris, I learned something new about history, discovered something new about myself, or realized how to keep a successful relationship with family and friends. Many of my experiences may not be specific to France, but the French setting certainly left an imprint. I spent Christmas in Paris one year with one of my most cherished friends, TBS (my Texas Big Sister). We went to Christmas Eve mass at Notre Dame (running home in the drizzling streets to meet the hostel curfew). The next night, we called our families from the pay phone in the hostel and wished them all a Merry Christmas. We spent our evening drinking from mugs we obtained in Germany, talking to strangers from all over the world that we most assuredly will never see again, and our Christmas in Paris was unforgettable. I missed my plane home that trip, and cried in the Charles DeGaulle airport cursing a down arrow equaling straight ahead instead of to go down the escalator… Let’s skip over the fact that I didn’t leave enough time.

As a college student in France, I was grateful for all sorts of experiences and opinions. Each day was a brand new opportunity to learn and grow mentally and emotionally. Sitting at a café for hours working on school work, purchasing a bottle of wine and asking the grocery store owner to open it and them surprisingly offer plastic cups, relaxing in the park playing cards chatting about life and drinking the wine were common occurrences during my time in France. On the train, in the park, at the café or at my host families house, I would journal about what I had learned, what I missed about home, what I wanted to do next. Each day left me a new perspective on living in the moment and appreciating the fleeting time left in this amazing country.

Anytime I take the time to embrace the people, conversation and the setting surrounding me, I think of France and the mindset I had at that time. Selfishly, I refrained from researching the tragedy because I was afraid my favorite places were destroyed. My memories of France are light and airy, devoid of any worries of responsibilities or my future. Let me re-iterate that this is certainly selfish, but I was scared to read about the injustice and add weight to those memories… Thinking about how our country felt after 9/11, I can only imagine the affect to such a passionate set of people as the French and those who visit Paris.

Eventually I pulled up my phone and did search for news about the bombings and shootings in Paris... It did break my heart. I can only imagine the horror, much like I can only imagine what it was like in New York on September 11^th, or in Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. I’ve never been directly impacted by such horrific events, but I do see the ripple effect. The problem is, there are so many horrific events throughout the years and increasingly, it seems, these days, why do we ever raise our flag all the way? In many cities, these types of attacks are daily occurrences. Why does our world suck so much?

At one time I had heard they may call the latest generation the “post everything” generation because they are post World War II, post the internet, post columbine, post 9/11. While the internet is great, the theme is that they are at “the tail end of a century of war and revolution” (as Nicholas Handler said in the article) two were horrible, awful things that shouldn’t be forgotten. However, these horrible, no good, (Can I add frightening?), very bad things just keep getting piled on with other horrible, no good, frightening, very bad things, WTF?! Even if it’s unlikely, these attacks in Paris could possibly kick off a world war III, which is terrifying.

For a sliver of hope, there are also random acts of kindness in the world… Once, I was having tea/lunch with two of my good friends in Dublin, Texas and a couple of seasoned women thought we were sweet and unexpectedly covered the cost of our lunch. Another time, a boy in college went out of his way to hold a door open for me (it felt kind and helpful, not anti-feminist;). I know of many occasions when my husband has stopped to help a stranger in need on the side of the road; he’s obvi a better person than I am.

So, in an effort to do my small part to battle the sadness in the wake of the bombings in Paris, I will try to do something kind for a stranger and I will reflect on my life and journal like a girl on a train heading on a new adventure.  #PrayForParis

#takenwithafilmcamera

 

 

Commutes

So, it takes me about 30 minutes to drive to work each morning.

As far as daily voyages go, this is pretty unimpressive — the average American work commute is a shade over 25 minutes, and, honestly, I could probably knock five minutes off my time if I actually allowed myself to drive like the average American. It's not the shortest commute I've ever had (I spent two years at a blissful 12 minutes), but it's certainly not the worst (a hellacious 90-minute saga), and, by and large, I've learned to live with it, because the trek supplies me with the one thing I can't really get anywhere else.

Solitude.

I discovered this quite by accident, many morns ago. As it turns out, I start my sunrise journey at a bit of a drive-time Bermuda Triangle (7:35 AM) — my go-to sports station is just hitting a commercial break, my go-to classical station is about to play a march*, and the rest of Dallas' morning programming is essentially 12-year-olds with Christmas Day drum sets.

Despite this, I tried to make things work for a while. I really did. I'd play music off my phone, or dig an old CD out of the glovebox — Matchbox 20 live hits? Whatever, yes, fine, anything — but my heart was never really in it. After a few years of exceptionally half-assed singing and one disastrous stint with audio books, I realized I was just turning up the volume for the sake of the noise. I'd had enough. One day, I pulled the plug.

And at that moment, with the gentle hum of the car as backdrop, for the first time I was officially "Travis, table for one."

As someone who writes pseudo-frequently, hearing my own voice in my head is not an alien experience. I know what my mental messaging sounds like. But over time, I'd grown used to penning my tales at the office, or at an equally busy homestead - sometimes a bar. Usually a bar. More than zero times at a bar. And perceiving your mental-self mull over daily drama in a place like that is very different than true solitude — there are so many other sounds and sights to be had. You can hear yourself think, but with mild interference. It's like being able to hear the conversation from the group next to you at a party. You have to lean in a little if you don't want to miss anything.

But once you turn your car onto the tollway/highway/freeway/expressway each morning, and you mute the distractions, you've no choice but to be a pretty rapt audience to yourself. You'd be surprised what you might learn. Or not. Honestly, it depends on the day. Sometimes, I'm a little appalled how boring I am. I should read more. I digress.

So why does this matter to the millennial? Aren't we the generation that wants walkable neighborhoods and shorter commutes? I thought we wanted dense living, where the office is a step away from the home, with some gastropubs and a pizza joint squished betwixt.

Truth told, I do want that. Or at least most of it. I'd save money on gas (but waste it on pizza), and I'd welcome the exercise of walking or biking right up to my cubicle. But at the same time, I realize I'd lose something there — I'd forgo that hour (30 minutes each way) where I can't look at my phone, can't really talk to another human, can't check my email, can't troll on Facebook, can't do really much of anything but sit and hear myself think.

Charting out my mental states during the morning commute.

You're going to tell me I can do that at home. You don't need a commute to be silently introspective, you say. But you know what's a tough sell? Coming home from work, kissing the wife, and telling her to hold my smartphone while I sit and stare at the wall for an hour. That won't work. I hope it won't work. I'm a little concerned if it works. And don't tell me this is what the shower is for — it takes me, like, four minutes to shower. My mental self hasn't even gotten through the preamble yet.** Brain Travis is long-winded.

Problem is, every other minute of my day is occupied by A) work obligations, B) home obligations, or C) mobile device connectivity. This is the millennial curse — we are always needed and always available. A brief commute is great, but isn't it just a shorter route from one hyper-connected spot to the next? Aren't we just trying to get to distractions faster?  

Trust me, I'm not high-fiving myself over this. I wish there another option. But as far as I can tell, the Fortress of Solitude lists just one address. When I run, I run with headphones on, and my brain is rattling around in my skull.*** Not conducive to deep thinking. When I walk the dog, I see neighbors who ask me about my day. Breaks the flow. No matter where I turn, my position has been surrounded. I've been hopelessly overrun by on-demand society.

As it turns out - and as horribly baby-boomer as this sounds - the car, and the commute I use it for, is my last solitary frontier. I can't divorce my daily drive. This is the very definition of Stockholm Syndrome. I know this. And yet I recognize I truly would struggle to adjust without that outlet. I can't find anything else that will do. I'm all ears for suggestions.

Just don't try and reach me between 7:30 and 8 AM.

*-I hate marches. I swear John Philip Sousa composed the same piece 200 times. The world is a monstrous place.
**-Your best ideas don't come in the shower - your half-baked ones do.
***-I run like I'm on stilts. No, like a duck on stilts. Why am I telling you this?