Place of the Month: January

I thought I had been to Marseille. I had not. I had driven by. I’d taken the train through it at 23 during my gap year. (Did I look out the window as I passed by?)

The sun and I descended together and I was so tired, 25+ hours of travel tired. I felt airsick and I’d had a headache for hours. I wanted Advil and a bed. But the golden light stirred me. I had not expected these white cliff faces, jagged and polished. Mountains that I’d want to explore. Or the scattering of an island just across the harbor, something seemingly carved by a volcano millennia ago.

I was meeting my friend Emily at the tail end of her sabbatical. Her Airbnb was at the top of 107 steps—5 flights—that you were sternly warned by multiple multi-lingual signs to ascend and descend in strict silence, including your luggage. I was back in France.

One glance inside her flat and I knew we could never leave. Even the harbor was shouting at us through the picture windows to stay, to embrace this alternate existence thousands of miles from home.

Mostly, I have explored the world alone, picking up friends here and there, many of them found for just a few hours or days in those far-flung places. My photos tend to be of no one in particular, of slants of light in coffee shops and my various Airbnbs, of ripe in-season figs begging to be bought, small vignettes of corners of the city most might not notice, the meal I ate alone. Traveling with Emily, I had a muse.

We called this muse, French Emily because while she was still my Emily of New York (where she mostly presides), French Emily was possibly a little better at not hesitating to devour all the small joys that life offers up. French Tori is the same.

French Emily and French Tori, drink their coffee slowly. And at least twice a day. There is no such thing as too much cheese. Or ease. Eating is of course for pleasure. Dinner might not occur until 11pm because how can one fit everything France has to offer in a day? Pastries are required sustenance. Sandwiches must be consumed next to bodies of water. The only drawback, French Emily and French Tori are not very good for their bank accounts.

I am aware we are a cliche and those reels about everyone who comes back from abroad, especially Europe, and not so subtly point out all the things they thought were better in X country, are correct because of people like us. 🤣

However, I can also recognize that what we were actually attracted and drawn to during those carefree fall days in France, was the ability to fall into step with our alter-ego selves we’d like much more of our in day to day lives. Distance does that. Different does that. It creates space to trespass on sides of the self that can be hard to access at home, but that are nonetheless true to who we are. Because wherever you go, there you are.

Emily and I have seen each other many times since our days in France. I sense in both of us a continued effort to embrace more of French Emily and Tori, no matter where we are or what is going on.

The Place of the Month series is in part an attempt to reconnect to my sense of wonder, whether I’m at home or away. Wonder at being alive and ALL that is wrapped up in that complicated but worthwhile experience.

Thank you for being here and see you next month.