Day 198: Opéra Means Goodbye

Paris, Last Day. Been running around like crazy the past couple of days, soaking in my last moments in Paris. Dinner at Nancy's. Swing dance. African dance. Gospel show. Meeting with another of Philipe's students – this one from Calgary. Fielding calls from everyone I know here: I HAVE TO SEE YOU BEFORE YOU GO.

Today, I woke up to a schedule of dance class, lunch with Maud, more dancing with Nancy and a jazz club with Justine From Canada.

On the last day of Paris Part I, I ended up at Opera, taking melancholy photos of the gold-crusted facade and wondering if they'd let me live in the lobby or even a broom closet. I just didn't want to leave Paris. Yesterday, I found myself in the same state and the same place – staring at the building thinking, 'This is where I come to say goodbye.'

But this morning I woke up feeling so good, I didn't have time to be sad. The chill had cracked open and it was a beautiful day. The bird were singing like crazy. I still had the rhythm from African class in my head.

I canceled all my plans and decided to spend the day alone with Paris.

One of the great lessons of this trip has been about flow. It's been about opening up a channel in myself, my creativity and my life and saying YES to the crazy intuitions and opportunities that arise.

In that spirit, I decided to embrace the Opera – that place where Paris seems to end – and went to a matinee of the ballet.

There were no normal tickets left, unless I wanted to pay 100 Euros, so I bought a cheap rush seat they refer to as sans visibilité. Meaning you can't see. "Maybe we can hear the music," the woman beside me wondered.

I was tucked into the back of one of the side boxes – the ones where the fancy people used to see and be seen. And, if the play got boring, have relations with their mistresses in the vestibule near the door. (They still keep velvet chaises there...just in case.)

I could see fine, and when I couldn't, I just stood up and leaned a little. The ballet was boring as hell, but there was something delicious about standing-room-only dance.

It was the theatre itself that stole the show. A visual hallelujah of gold foil and sumptuous velvet. I feel the same way in a theatre as I do in a church. (Especially one where Louis XIV used to hang out.) High, high ceilings with lots of room for hope.

I'm going to be needing all the hope I can get these next few days. Coming back to Calgary is always a shock. And this precious, protected time will be harder to come by in the flurry of welcome home events, project deadlines and figuring out what the hell to do next.

I must remember what I've learned. Those tricks for connecting to joy: dancing, singing, drawing, play. I've gotta find me some markets – I don't care if they're selling CATTLE – and take my camera with me.

I need to build on the knowledge that if I do a little every day – of learning French, of writing, of asking for guidance – I'll get there. Wherever there is. I've got to protect that still, quiet place I found here. No matter what.

I found a long string of prayer beads the other day. I'm wearing them as a belt. I don't know why, but it feels good. Maybe they will be my private anchor, that magic golden thread that ties me to this precious, precious time I've spent in the place that feels like home.