“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
A reckoning with what it means to be an ambitious American in Paris
I had lunch on Sunday with a new friend who moved to Paris early last year, just before the pandemic. I asked her what it means to be American. She said that she felt she didn’t fit in back home, that she wasn’t very American. Then when she moved to France and experienced a different way of life, she began to understand how very American she really was.
For example, in Paris, there is a concept called flâneur, which is a city stroller who observes life, an urban explorer who is on the hunt for ideas, inspiration, and insight. A flâneur is never in a rush to get anywhere, watches the way people interact with one other, sees the tiny details that make a story interesting. Cafe life caters to the flâneur lifestyle. Parisians sit side-by-side in wicker chairs with their backs to the cafe, sipping coffee or wine, depending on the time of day, while watching the world go by. Observing the world around you can teach you a lot about yourself.
We don’t have an equivalent word in American English. We don’t admire the aimless stroller. We certainly don’t let people sit for as long as they want over one coffee. We fill our time with productivity. You can always tell who’s American in a coffee shop because they’re the ones in front of laptops. This lifestyle doesn’t leave much room for introspection, doesn’t leave room for creativity.
An op-ed in yesterday’s NYT has really got me thinking about whether seizing the American dream is really what I want. I worked my ass off during the pandemic juggling multiple projects at once. Not only because I need money to pay bills, but also because I enjoy achievement. I have been conditioned for that all my life. I feel lucky to have had the income, but I wasn’t writing much, though I claimed to want to be a writer.
Losing the funding for my primary project last spring forced a reckoning. I reduced my workload and forged a plan that would allow me the freedom to think and write for a few weeks far away from home. It wasn’t easy, and I am already feeling anxious about finances and productivity, like a good American. I’ve been here less than a week, though, so hopefully I’ll get over that soon. I am lucky and grateful to have support and to have a little sustenance for now.
The op-ed says:
“While jobs are sustenance, careers are altars upon which all else is sacrificed.
In her poem “The Summer Day,” Mary Oliver asks, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
My answer: to write from my depths. What’s your answer?
