parisian thoughts

there are many thoughts running through my head this morning. many are based on the fact that i'm in the midst of reading "lunch in paris," which thus far has been a great read.


it has me nostalgic for the handful of days i spent there two and a half years ago. as the author describes her move to paris, and the undoubted subtle clashes with certain aspects of their culture it reminds me of how many different ideas there are out there. there are better ways to do so many things, and i miss them far too often.

many times i look at people around me, or other cultures, or what have you, and i realize that in many aspects, i have life all wrong. i know that once something becomes normal it's no longer exciting or interesting, it just is. and far too often that takes all the fun out of it. there's usually something "good old days-like" about something you can't or don't have anymore.

for me that usually comes in the form of missing home. there is so much of me that wants to move back home. [and so many of my family members who couldn't agree more.] i know though that moving back home wouldn't solve all the problems i think i have. i know that would pose certain problems and complications in and of itself.

i have this big problem with romanticizing things. looking back over events and times in my life something has to have been very bad in order for me to remember the bad. usually when i look back at "how things were" they were more or less perfect.

far too often i'm too much of an idealist. i know [or at least i think i know] how things should be, and i get very upset when life doesn't measure up to the "shoulds" i set out for it. i'm certainly not someone who looks at life through rose colored glasses, too often i'm much more of a pessimist rather than an optimist.

i think that's why i like to get lost in a good novel. especially the classics. [except for steinbeck classics which i highly dislike because in his world there is no such thing as a good ending - at least in the ones i have read] books let me fly off to another world, and get lost in a different time and place. and my favorites provide a building up of character along with adventure, love, and redemption.

but truth is stranger than fiction. and often, it's much harder to stomach. because in real life things don't happen the way they should, and while there is grace, and there is redemption, everyone doesn't find it.

even though i am the main character of my own life, and you are the main character of yours we are not usually as invincible as stories would have us believe.

it's hard for me to enjoy the normal, day-to-day-ness of life sometimes. much of the time if i'm being really honest... and yet life is not guaranteed. it's a gift each one of us has been given for an untold amount of time.

to paraphrase a quote that i heard a long time ago, by i don't remember whom - people who get the most out of life are usually the people who make the best of how things turned out. so so true.

i guess i should stop
being such a control freak,
and roll with the punches
a little bit more.

trouble is,
i like to punch back.


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