>I've been sitting on the draft of this for entirely too long. Today is 8 months from when I first began writing it, and when I first began writing it'd already been 3 months from the events I was writing about. Nearly a year. >When I travel I find myself filled to the brim with imagination and a desire to write and when I return I find myself exhausted by the prospect of editing. Daunted by the tedium of tying all the little threads of notes together and wrapping them with a bow. I'll be a coward no longer. Time to publish. [https://open.spotify.com/track/1SldN7GTd0ADTjspv96wCl?si=43a1865f9bbf4001](https://open.spotify.com/track/1SldN7GTd0ADTjspv96wCl?si=43a1865f9bbf4001) >The figure of the flâneur—the stroller, the passionate wanderer emblematic of nineteenth-century French literary culture—has always been essentially timeless; he removes himself from the world while he stands astride its heart. [The Paris Review](https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2013/10/17/in-praise-of-the-flaneur/) Back in September my (then) boyfriend got on one knee in our Parisian hotel room and asked me to marry him, and I said yes! I am now a fiancee. I'd known it was coming for months, and candidly, I'd *known* for years, but there was still a surprising delight in being asked, in playing the object of an earnest declaration of love, in expressing an intent to commit to life together--in being pursued, and embracing the pursuer in the City of Love. City of Love indeed. I have this love-hate-love relationship with cities. I love them because they’re chaotic. Cities hum with energy, whirring with new people to meet, new shows to see, new food to try, new places to love. But I also hate them because they drain me. Too many people to meet, *too* many things to do. *Too much*. I find myself gasping for air, for quiet, for solitude. In my past visits, Paris has not been an exception to the love-hate-love relationship with cities. From my scant memory, embellished with photos and fleshed out with all those things people say about Paris over the years, I recall it being dirtier than expected, all packed trains and Parisians who were rude to those who did not speak French. We were always in a rush. The first time I was in Paris I was a child, on a European adventure with a large assortment of extended family. I remember wanting most fervently to throw a tantrum when I wasn't allowed to sleep on the top bunk of one of our home rentals. We were only in Paris for a day! Just passing through. All I truly remember is a beautiful picture of myself sitting on a traffic barrier in the foreground of the Eiffel Tower, watching my father sweep my mother in his arms and kiss her, exaggerating his usual theatrics for the benefit of the photo - posterity and nostalgia. The second time I was on a trip for school, once again only for a day. I remember grappling with anxiety that entire trip because I felt that while I was friends with everyone on the trip, I didn't belong, and when we were given free time I always felt like an outsider tagging along with friends who were better friends with each other. Of Paris itself, I remember little but flitting around on the subway, playing a little subway game I excelled at known as who can balance the longest on a moving train without grabbing a pole, and chocolate ice cream melting all over my hands, courtesy of a cone I struggled to eat while running for our bus in the oppressive heat. People often say that there's no city like Paris. The Paris of legend is a beautiful, romantic city filled with lovers on nighttime strolls and delicious food and wine on every street corner and grand architecture that has inspired artists, poets, and writers to create their best, most passionate works. This time around Paris delivered on all its promise. In Paris I felt more beautiful. In Paris, we were slower paced and receptive to leisure. In the spirit of the flaneur, one strolled, one lounged, one wandered, one idled and experienced a time elongated by bliss.  Maybe I had to be in love to experience it for the first time. Paris was chaotic in a way that drained us. While attempting to find the Uber pickup spot at Charles de Gaulle airport, we were propositioned and followed around by an unregistered driver. We made the mistake of heading to the Sacre Coeur on a weekend and were overwhelmed by the crowds and touts attempting to sell us souvenirs and designer knockoffs, one of who even grabbed us as we attempted to walk away. Looking to enrich our minds and appreciate the art, we visited the Louvre, and I am more than slightly embarrassed to write that after we waited on the extremely long line to see the Mona Lisa, we looked at each other, agreed the museum was just Too Damn Hot and Too Damn Crowded, and instead sought refuge in the soothing shade in the Tuileries. $35 for the two of us to see the Mona Lisa, and I don't regret it a single bit. Don't get caught up in the things you think you should do. Do the things you want to do. Paris was chaotic in a way that energized. The lights in Pigalle and the boisterous dancers at the Moulin Rouge dazzled us the night he proposed. He proposed twice. (That story is for us). Hand in hand, we strolled among the crowds and delighted in watching artists hone their craft at the Place du Tertres, and bought watercolor paintings of the Eiffel Tower and the Moulin Rouge to commemorate our adventure. The two of us circled the huge, bustling roundabout surrounding the Arc du Triomphe, absolutely stumped about how we were supposed to get in. After we finally figured it out, we were greeted with countless flights stairs to make it to the top. When made it to the top winded, we were greeted with an underwhelming sunset view of Paris shrouded in clouds, with the Eiffel Tower rising in the distance. But it was beautiful because we were there together. Paris was leisure. On the second or third day we discovered a lovely boulangerie a few blocks from our hotel, and bought a jambon-beurre for sustenance every day the rest of the trip. We devoured them while lounging on our hotel balcony, watching the Parisians in our neighborhood go about their daily lives. We'd stroll around the Tuileries, taking copious pictures to remember each moment. I'd lean my head on his shoulder while we people watched and talked about our plans for the future at Luxembourg Gardens. At night we'd sit on the balcony and cuddle while gazing at the moon. We traversed all the gardens at Versailles, making our way through the Petit Trianon and the gorgeous pink Grand Trianon, alternating between comfortable silence and laughter as he'd joke around, informing me very earnestly that all of these estates belonged to us, and I could take my pick for our regular residence. We perused our engagement photos and debated our favorite ones over crepes and cappuccinos at that one cafe. Made googley eyes at each other over late night charcuterie and escargots. A tiramisu bubble tea from The Alley I'm still thinking about, 10 months later. When he proposed with the balcony doors wide open, inviting in the Parisian twilight and slight drizzle and the twinkling of the tea lights adorning the Haussman-style apartment buildings across the way, the yes tumbled from me, easy, elated, like it was never a question. I can't wait to do all the boring things with him for the rest of my life.  --- Created: August 7, 2023 Last Modified: August 7, 2023