Significance of a Paris Drainpipe

Here I am, drinking a coffee and admiring the sunlight streaming into my little basement bedroom. The coming of spring brings relief for me after a long dark winter. I find the social expectations and weather challenging during the winter months. I often feel drained, creatively stifled, and tired to my core. I try to shift perspective and live in alignment with the idea of hibernation, the cycle of the year and slow myself down. It's manageable, but not necessarily enjoyable. 

On days like today, where it's bright and the birds are chirping their “cheeseburger” calls I feel peaceful and more expansive than I have in months. 

I returned just over a week ago from a trip to France. I was able to see Nice, Monaco and Paris. I have never really traveled much, mostly I’ve been in my little corner of BC Canada so it was overwhelming to travel across an ocean.

I don’t just experience things, I also process them, I’ve been thinking and journaling a lot about the trip. I happened to get sick while I was there with a pretty bad cold. I lost my voice, my nose was completely blocked, it was hard on my lungs trying to be physically active and walk a lot. I did the best I could even though it was difficult, but it added a layer of fog to the experience and nuance to the way I look back on it now. 

I think I have come home a more wistful person. Full of more longings, and desires than I had when I left. In the crowds of tourists, I didn't experience the same wonder and awe that I thought I should at some of these places. I long for that profound, almost spiritual sensation. I wanted to marvel at the architecture, and be immersed in it, but I found myself distracted by the sea of cell phones taking selfies. 

It's hard to complain about that, because I also love to take selfies, and film and photograph everything. So it wasn’t so much that it was happening, but it was almost like the energy behind it irritated me.  People flocked to certain status hot spots. Like the Notre Dame was a celebrity even if they had never seen one of their movies suddenly they were a big fan.  Like carrying around an expensive handbag, it wasn’t really about appreciation, but the indication of status. I felt sad. I felt sad that slowly meaning and soul were washed away from these places by the daily onslaught of ego. 

It was not a disappointing trip though. I am grateful for the amazing sights, I spent time with wonderful people. I ate delicious food…but like in most big experiences I think what I took from it was a deeper understanding of myself. 

What do I want out of life? How do I absorb, digest these experiences? I get a clearer glimpse of what matters to me. And its not bragging rights, its not status symbols, its not perfection or aesthetics without depth. 

I was drawn to the ignored bits, the empty spots, the mundane sometimes, because these things still felt real. I realized how much I want to savor things, not just food but experiences, moments, people. I remember vividly walking down the street in a hurry to get to the next attraction, and a drainpipe caught my eye. It was covered in cracked and peeling paint. An old weathered texture, and even though I did not pause or hesitate I continued on thinking about that drainpipe, how I was in Paris with so much to go do and see, and part of me longed to just stay and look at the drain pipe a bit longer. 

I am not drawn in by the loud, the flashy, the extroverted charm of anything. I feel connected to, and mesmerised by things of substance, the quiet background, forgotten, discarded, imperfect but real. Unassuming and overlooked. These are the things that capture my heart deeply.

Obviously I am aware that most people do not carry the same mindset that I do. They probably don’t even have the patience to read a blog post like this.  On one hand I have this deep intense eternal process where I evaluate everything in some metaphorical and symbolic way, and on the other slightly more dominant hand, my practical self sees no purposeful value in doing this. Yet I am caught in the middle of wasting my time thinking too broadly about the significance of a drainpipe. 

What does this all mean now that I am home? Maybe a deeper appreciation for the overlooked people, places and moments. An acknowledgment that who I am isn't in the photoshopped self portraits, but sunlit basement bedrooms, private conversations, moments where I am not performing, masking or trying. Moments where I just am.