Chicken Run

Greg likes to quote a Bible verse to describe how the French drive: everyone did what was right in their own eyes.

Lanes are mere suggestions, and suddenly veering across traffic to snag a coveted parking spot is perfectly acceptable. The rule seems to be, "don't get hit, and don't get caught." Otherwise, anything goes.

I have to say, it starts early. You better watch out for kids on the sidewalks learning to ride their trottinettes (scooters) or their first tiny bicycle. But with kids, you expect it -- you naturally walk defensively, keeping a wide berth, anticipating a crash or a sudden turn.

I never thought I'd have to walk defensively amongst adults, though. Imagine walking down a wide, relatively empty sidewalk. You look ahead, and someone is walking straight towards you. There is plenty of margin on either side. What do you do? In the US (at least in the south), each person tends to give way a little bit -- there's a bit of a dance, maybe, to see which direction each person will move, but generally both parties give in a little bit. In France, there must be some hidden rules that I don't know about. Walking down the street is a bit like playing "chicken." People will walk directly ahead, not budging one centimeter, while they stare menacingly into your face. 99% of the time, I'm the one to sidestep completely out of the way.

Maybe there's a pecking order - do they size each other up to make the determination as to who gives in? Old vs. young, male vs. female? I'm not sure, although more than once I've actually seen two people come to a complete standstill on a blind corner, each one holding their ground and not willing to capitulate.

The funniest example of chicken happened just yesterday. You had to be there, but I'll try to paint you a word picture. Greg and I were running in the park on our favorite trail. On a very wide part of the trail, a man passed us on the left, however, there was still plenty of room to navigate. Looking ahead, I could see another man coming towards him on his same trajectory. I glanced over to see if the passer noticed, and yes - these two men were staring each other right in the face. The rest was like a slow-motion movie where two lovers run dramatically across a field into each other's arms. You guessed it - CRASH! They ran right into each other, hands flailing up to protect themselves at the last moment, stumbling into the bushes, mumbling half-hearted apologies. I nearly died laughing, which is entirely possible while you're already breathless from jogging.

Until I learn the rules, you can bet I'll be running defensively from now on!

The Writing Challenge

Can I make a confession?

I haven't felt like writing in a long time. Now that won't come as a surprise to regular readers who expect me to post something once a week. It's been over a month since I've posted anything, and the last one wasn't even mine - it was a guest blog from my dear daughter.

This is unusual for me. Writing is by far my most effective means of communication. I'm a slow processor as well as an introvert, so my spoken words are hardly profound -- at best they are factual observations and at worst they tend to be a spew of unfiltered reactions that I long to reel back in before they do any damage.

So back to writing. Why have I been resisting the admittedly strong urge to journal or blog lately? Why have I found any excuse, valid or otherwise, not to sit down for a few minutes and share my experiences as an expat in France?

I think it's because life has entered a new season. We're technically more than halfway through a 3-year commitment in Lyon, and I guess I've entered a "mid-life crisis" of sorts. Part of my heart cherishes my new vie française, while the other half beckons me back to my American comfort zone.

The second big thing that's happened recently has only intensified the tide-like pull back across the Atlantic: Lori was accepted to a university in North Carolina and will be starting classes there this August. While I'm thrilled beyond measure for her, I cry silently inside every time I think about leaving her stateside without us. This summer will be a very bittersweet time indeed as we return to the US for several weeks to visit family, raise financial support, take a much needed mini-vacation, and, at the end of it all, drop Lori off at college. I don't even want to think about getting back on that plane heading towards France without her!

Yet, it's time. Children grow up, and they should leave the nest. Hard decisions about staying or moving on have been weighed, prayed about, prayed about some more, and determined.

These realities are so emotional, so raw and personal and tender...that's why I haven't wanted to write about them. Writing them down for everyone to see exposes my heart, in its weakness and vulnerability. Keeping the mask on, the façade all shined up and pretty, is so much more comfortable. But this is reality - it's definitely a challenging one, yet this is a season that I want to remember and document in my journey.

Therefore, I choose to take the mask off.

And write.