On finding beauty in hard times
Paris as a balm
“We’re all terrified.”
“My mom is heading into a shelter”
“No one has anywhere to go.”
“We’re hoping to get them out and into France”
These were among the text messages I’ve received from different Lebanese and Israeli friends in the last week, all of whom live between Paris and Belgium. Neither their pain nor their fear get fainter as time goes on and the words to console them don’t come any easier, either.
Amid all this, I was sitting around a table the other evening with French and American thinkers, writers and designers, unpacking the emotions of the moment but also the broader erosion of democracy and hope in a post-truth society where people are losing patience with their inability to affect change in the ways most accessible to them — at the voting booth. Homegrown crises are on the ballot but so are those which our nations are responsible for sustaining. In France, in the U.S. and countless other places, we need a new system, we all agreed. We need another way. Until then, it feels like we’re existing within tinderbox societies, with all the existential anxiety that comes with operating on the brink.
Naturally, the air feels thick with turmoil. To me, anyway. Those of you have followed me for some time won’t be surprised to read that I am lousy at keeping on, light and fluffy, comme si de rien n’était. I am simultaneously bowled over by the beauty of my surroundings and heartbroken for people I care about deeply whose families, homes, burial grounds, and cultural sites are in peril. I cried with a girlfriend whose family will need to risk their lives to escape the suburbs of Beirut and leave behind their hillside home where they can see the bombardment a short distance away, right from their windows.
How do I reconcile these opposing feelings? Yes, mixed emotions coexist. But even doing my job, seeking out uplifting stories, or enjoying a meal has felt tinged with sadness.
Years ago, Aline Asmar d’Amman, one of the Parisiennes in my book and a dear friend, told me that she found hope and solace in literature when she was growing up during the Lebanese Civil War. She forced herself to find shreds of light and beauty amid the destruction around her. And it’s these techniques she returns to now, she reminded me. Interestingly, bibliotherapy and art therapy were among the methods I discussed with author Cody Delistraty during our talk at the American Library in Paris this week about his book The Grief Cure: Looking for the End of Loss. They’re not cure-alls by any means but they can be cathartic in inspiring a perspective shift about one’s circumstances.
So I continue to read and learn and pay attention to even the faintest feelings of wonder when they happen, realizing that part of being human— or a human with an open heart— is carrying the beauty with the pain.
A few sources of beauty and comfort for me in Paris the last few weeks:
-Seated on a bench in one of the enclosed floral areas inside the Palais Royal Gardens, observing young people on their lunch breaks, retired couples in hushed conversation, and birds flitting from one flower bed to another.
-Watching a group of big dogs race tirelessly in circles in the park in front of the Saint Ambroise church, beneath the golden glow of a 6 p.m. autumn sunset.
-Sipping on tea on a plush armchair in the rotunda-shaped Belle Epoque library salon of Maison Proust, surrounded by old books.
-Talking about life, books, pain, and writing on a terrace for four hours with a friend over bottomless filter coffee and homemade bagels at Fitzcarldo.
-Crossing the Pont d’Alma on a clear night, once the hordes of selfie-snapping tourists have scattered, and turning to see the tower glowing. It used to be part of my commute during grad school but now I hardly see it.
-A steaming chicken and fig tagine with sparkling wine from the Loire at a corner table at Le Tagine and leaving with a hug from the owner, Marie-Josée Mimoun (and a selfie).
-A meal at my favorite restaurant (again!), prepared by a brilliant chef who is channeling all of her hurt and worry into her food. There were hugs aplenty.
-Revisiting the videos I took from the final week of Mathieu Lehanneur’s Olympic Cauldron, the ultimate source of magic in Paris in any recent memory.
What heals you in Paris? Tell me in the comments, I’m sure we could all use the suggestions.
This was a beautifully written piece my friend. I’m learning that real joy comes not from forcing yourself to see only the light, but embracing and processing the darkness and learning that joy can co exist in those places as well.
Thank you. I try to stay upbeat and encouraging in the midst of such world turmoil. The reminders of specific points of beauty are important. I return to Paris soon, almost guilty, but with gratitude.