Great Expectations, Part I

I'm sure I've mentioned that when I set out to write this blog, I wanted it to be real.  I didn't want it to all be flowers and sunshine because, well folks, that's not reality.  Life has a tendency to chew you up and spit you back out, so all you can really do is hang on tight.  This post explains just that.  Everything I have felt since returning to Paris up until now.  I know it may come as a shock to some of you, but I can be a little long winded, therefore I broke this post up into two parts so it is not quite so wordy.  Consider yourself warned!

I feel like I have so many scattered thoughts swirling around in my head right now, and I'm really struggling to get them all out.  In fact, this post has been about a week and a half in the making because I've written it, reread it, added to it, added to it again...only to delete the whole stupid thing and start from scratch.  I think that's been one of my problems since I've returned.  I'm still kind of searching for my muse to get back into the "expression" groove, so please bear with me while I'm working it all out.         

So, where is all of this going, you ask?  Well, let me start at the end.  Pretty much from the time my plane landed at Hartsfield, I had a nagging feeling of anxiety about returning to Paris...similar to a horse fly buzzing around your head that just won't go away.  That feeling spawned a degree of  apprehension associated with Thanksgiving, and then Christmas, because I knew that as soon as the big milestones were checked off the list, I would have to head back.  No matter how much I tried to slow down time, it seemed to speed up.  And let me tell you, in the back of my mind, I dreaded every.single.minute. that inched me closer and closer to Paris, all while trying to savor each moment that I spent at home...enjoying friends, family, and good ol' America.  Before I knew it, I was staring straight ahead in the center seat of the airplane, flying over the Atlantic, with every passing second increasing the distance between me and home.  And what's worse?  I couldn't help but constantly remind myself that I was going to be gone for DOUBLE the amount of time that I was before!  I left in the dead of winter (and missed Snowpocalypse 2011!!!) and will be returning to the blazing heat and humidity of the Southern summer.  

I know it seems insane to complain about leaving Duluth, GA for Paris, France...trust me, I get it.  But some things in life aren't as romantic and ideal as they may seem.  Aside from the obvious fact of homesickness -- which I think I've pretty much driven home at this point -- there have also been about a million and one other thoughts, worries, and stresses that have made me doubt this experience.

For starters,  I think that the first three months of being in Paris and starting Le Cordon Bleu could be likened to spending the summer at camp (aside from a couple of hiccups along the way).  We were all sequestered in this tiny place in the middle of a huge city, constantly seeing and doing new things, meeting new people, and taking in every second of the experience because it was a novelty.  Coming back, however, could not be any further from that.  I felt like I knew exactly what to expect and what it would be like...everything from the classes themselves, to the same old shops and restaurants in my neighborhood.  I understand that's crazy because how could I have possibly experienced everything in the short time that I was here before, but it's how I felt.

So, that whole anti-climatic, I-know-exactly-how-it-will-be -like-so-it-isn't-new-and-exciting-anymore mentality, coupled with homesickness, the stark realization that most all of the post-college nest egg I had built myself over the past 2 years was depleting at an alarming rate, and that I was actually having to borrow money to make this happen was all starting to make for a grim reality.  Needless to say, Mt. Etna ain't seen nothin' yet.  I was a hot mess.

After wallowing in my own self pity for a good while (and an "ah haha" moment with my guinea fowl), I finally realized what this all boiled down to.  Expectations...and "expectations" have a funny way of breeding other negative thoughts like fear, pressure, failure, and on and on...

What was expected of me if I finished this whole thing and received the Grand Diploma from Le Cordon Bleu Paris? (Or worse, what if I failed and didn't get it??)  That sounds pretty important, right??  I mean, let's look at this again.  When I set out to do this thing, I was only planning on staying three months for the Basic classes, not nine months for the whole enchilada.  At that point, it was just kind of a fun, once in a lifetime thing that I was doing to escape and heal.  Over the course of time, however, this "fun experience" manifested itself into an albatross with no direction.  Don't get me wrong, assuming I pass all of my Cuisine and Pastry classes to receive the Grand Diploma in the first place, I think it would be pretty awesome to have, and I would be honored and ecstatic to receive it.  The problem, however, arises with my post-Le Cordon Bleu life plan.  While I am definitely interested in a career in the food world, I am not interested in spending my entire life working nights and weekends getting yelled at in the kitchen.  That complicates things a little bit, no?  I mean, when you say you went to culinary school, that's the most obvious direction, so the fact that that is the opposite of what I aspire to be puts bit of a reality check on things.

Also, nearly everything I cooked at while I was home was a disaster.  Perhaps disaster is a strong word, but things definitely did not turn out how I wanted them to.  Although I think some of that had to do with being so used to having fully stocked kitchens at my disposal, I think it primarily had to do with expectations.  I felt like I needed to perform the absolute best that I could because everyone was expecting me to do so.  I know that this was almost 100% self imposed, but I think it was pretty natural given the circumstances.

I'm sure y'all find this hard to believe, but that's just the tip of the iceberg in this whole mess.  If I tried to lay it all out there, we would be here for weeks.  I felt like it was important, though, to try and get some of it off my chest for my own mental health.  For one, I've kinda stopped writing in my journal for no real reason at all, so this blog really is an expression of my innermost feelings.  Scary, huh?

Speaking of which, I have also been trying really hard to incorporate running back into my routine to get the endorphins pumping and lose some of the weight that I gained at home.  Yeah, that's right.  Not the weight that I gained here when I was eating croissants and baguettes on the regular because, I can say with confidence, that my clothes fit the exact same from when I arrived in Paris to when I left!  No, I'm talking about the substantial weight that I gained at home because I was back to eating American sized portions and not walking at least an hour a day to and from class.  I think the French are on to something. 

Anyway, yes, back to the running thing.  I've tried to go a couple of times a week, but it's so bloody cold outside (and rainy...I can count how many times the sun has been out for more than 30 minutes on one hand) that it takes all of the fun out of it.  I am also rrrreeeaaalllyyy excited for warm weather because life is just more beautiful when it is nice outside.

Thanks for sticking with me all the way through this.  I have a laundry list of other things I am doing to ensure that I'm making the absolute most out of this incredible journey that I'm on.  Stay tuned!

 - a tout à l’heure!