On Being Human
“You are special,” she said as she passed me again minutes from our first encounter near the famous Saint Germain intersection where a man lie lifeless as she asked me what had happened.
“Excuse me?” I said.
She found me in the second spot still shaken and stunned by what I had witnessed and trying to understand how the motorcycle was hit so hard by a truck on the street where I was standing.
“You are very human, this is rare…” she said in her French accent. And I expressed to her, as my head dropped, how sad that made me feel.
Moments before as I stood frozen, counting the minutes until the ambulance arrived, two men shouted in French that there was no spectacle to see. Their harsh tones felt inhumane and I couldn’t help myself but snap back at them to mind their own business.
It was that instant masculine fierceness that comes online quickly to solve the problem in a second.
I held my breath until I saw the man’s fingers move, and taking that breath saved me from my own collapse.
A new friend asked me at lunch today how living in Paris has changed me.
Among the answers I shared that Paris, like most cities, has a hardening effect. Broader shoulders, a more certain walk, assertive asking, no eye contact, keen directions and instincts, armor…especially on the narrow battlefield sidewalks where any softness is a weakness that results in bumps and bruises…both literally and figuratively.
Paris has hardened me.
The reflection of softness I saw in the woman’s eyes who saw it in me that morning days ago was a moment of magic among this urban energy - and it left me with a sober feeling.
I feel the armor getting too heavy lately as I witness this city navigate the newest challenge to our humanity and compassion. I feel outnumbered here in a sea of city dwellers who have little tolerance for tender hearts, thoughts of sovereignty beyond what is given, a wide-open mind, and Bhakti spirit…and a yearning to be fully feminine - without the tough girl facade.
Time to adjust the lens, recalibrate…and realign…