Misse

Many of the places I’ve visited have been a tumbled day or two that vanished in the dust of a bus or the rails of a train. I was entranced by the history and food and winding streets and lovely buildings… by all the things that make cities what they are. I extract from the brief stay in them their character. I meandered through them listening to their heartbeats, and find meaning in the rhythm.

But Misse and its surroundings—where I stayed for a sigh longer than two weeks—wasn’t like that; it wasn’t as a place that I experience it, but as interactions with different people in certain situations that led me to trusting strangers until they became a second family, truly understanding and embracing the small joys, and proving the true strength of those hidden parts of my character.

For all the chaos and uncertainty I experienced in the last two weeks, I found intense moments of peace, as well. There were many I experienced with others: singing and dancing in the kitchen with another volunteer helper at the house where we were working; collecting the branches of a pruned plum tree with a retired English detective;—and later, going shopping with his wife at a small, inexpensive store after a lunch out.

But I also experienced many alone, and I feel the need to record at least one because there is no one who can remind me of my memory if I forget: in the last week, I took out Echalote (“Echelles” for short; the darling cocker spaniel owned by the two men who’d hired me) for a walk. She was a bundle of energy, and it was stated that she needed to get out and burn some of it off, so I and the other volunteer helper went out with her.

My companion shuffled his feet, and Echelles pulling me as she did, and he tending to stop to ponder something or other and seeming generally to enjoy the time to himself—soon Echelles and I were by ourselves. She pulled the leash and I, in my flats, ran with her as best I could until the pain in my shins obliged me to stop, though I couldn’t stop smiling and laughing at the little dog’s excitement.

We walked up the road, through the forest, and in between two pastures—one which lay fallow and the other filled with sunflowers, their heads bowed as though they’d all fallen asleep in the senescent sunlight. We turned and went back the way we’d come, through the forest and back out to the road where some of the trees were already beginning to show the colors of fall. Past the lake and the blackberry bushes, and up the small hill.

As we approached the end, I stalled and walked with light, unhurried steps. The sun was beginning to set, the colors disoriented and confused in the mess of clouds above us, but seeming all the more peaceful for the lazy way they painted the sky. I could see the steeple of the old church, darkening into silhouette. The fields around us were pale hues of gold and pink and brown. Distantly the wind was blowing through trees; Nearly, it was in my face and my hair.

Not meeting the expectations of others, not feeling like I was absolutely the best at everything, used to really bother me. For much of my life, I have judged my self-worth on the worth others attributed or seemed to attribute to me. Now I can see myself for who I am instead of how others see me, and I can value the skills I do have rather than always worrying over those I don’t (and think I should—or think that others think I should).

 I feel like the last few weeks have been validating. But now, it’s time to move on. Paris will be my last city. Then, I will finally fly home.