C'est l'amour

It took a while, but I'm finally in love.

I was starting to feel a little concerned with myself - I'd been in France for almost two weeks, but my mental jury was still out about how I felt about the whole thing. I liked it, don't get me wrong, but I was still not pleased with the amount of cigarette smoke I encountered, the cabbies who turned down my fare because of where I live or the cashiers who answered me in English just because my French is a little slow. Since I've been looking forward to this experience since I popped out of the womb, I was afraid that I had played it up too much in my mind. I didn't want to go home, but I didn't feel like I was appreciating the experience in the right way.

I don't know what happened this weekend, or even today, but I feel more confident than before that this is the best thing I've ever done for myself. I'm a person who likes to be comfortable. Not too hot, not too cold, exercising only indoors (on machines that can help me regulate my breathing - physical activity is not my strong suit), and never appreciating a freak rainstorm when my hair is straight (if your hair fro'ed out like Diana Ross in the humidity, you wouldn't be happy, either).

Ever since I moved in with my host family, I've been out of my element. I can't always understand the kids because they speak quickly, and when I answer someone, I usually have to think about what words to use to respond for a few seconds, making me look like I didn't understand the statement, thus causing the speaker to repeat what he said either a) slowly (always good) or b) in English (pride killer). Spontaneous conversation has always been what I need to work on the most with my French, and living with a host family is the only way I'm going to get it down.

Little by little, I'm realizing that I may not get it right the first few weeks, but in time I will get better. I'm une vraie perfectioniste, and to not be able to improve instantly has made me feel more than incompetent. I can understand my host family a lot of the time; it's thinking completely in French that's hard, and it doesn't help that my friends and I all speak English to each other when we're hanging out. I'll never say another word about people in the U.S. who speak their mother tongues to each other when they're out and about. Who wants to be uncomfortable when they don't have to be?

Sunday night I had dinner with my host family and their neighbor. We were eating cheese fondue with tiny baguette pieces, and, but of course, I drop my first piece of bread in the fondue pot. Tradition has it that I should be punished. Luckily, my family didn't make me sing, in English or in French, like they said I should, but after that incident (and dropping a second piece in the fondue pot), I became more at ease with myself here. Just listening to my family speak with each other helps me more and more each day. I'm still the awkward American girl who mixes up some French words every now and then, but the only place to go from here is up. I'm nowhere near perfect yet, but I'm starting to accept it more and more.

There are still going to be plenty of times when I'm uncomfortable, like when it's pouring rain at 3 a.m. in the Latin Quarter and there isn't a taxi in sight, or when I ask a waiter for change and he brings me another espresso. But if I can tell a cabbie where to drop me off in French and feel at home studying at the local cafe in spite of a few verbal blunders, then I know I'm becoming more and more at ease and at home here in my temporary home.