Paris Holds the Key to My Heart

Most of us probably share a similar problem: not being able to enjoy good things because it has built up so much in your mind. This was my biggest fear about going to Paris. Going to Paris is the only dream that has remained a constant throughout my entire life. I wanted to go  before I even knew it was a real place. When I was kid I wanted to be a doctor who went to Paris. As a teenager I wanted to be a professor who went to Paris. In college, I wanted to be a person with a job, no debt, and a healthy diet who went to Paris. As other dreams fell away, changed, or appeared, Paris became even more important. As it aged like a French red wine, my heart ached to finally open the bottle.
When I saw Notre Dame, my hope shattered and it felt irreparable. I was tired. It wasn’t as big as I had imagined. I was standing before the cathedral which inspired one of the greatest works of my favorite author, but my life wasn’t immediately changed. I began lamenting having allowed my expectations to surpass reality.

Note the disappointment in my eyes in front of Notre Dame

But this feeling of despair flew out the window when I saw the Eiffel Tower. It was more beautiful than I could have imagined. It blew my expectations out of the water. Words cannot describe the feeling of pure joy that began pouring out of my heart and flowed through my veins when I saw its magnificent structure towering above me.
Paris turned out to be everything I could imagine.
I could go on an on about the places I saw in Paris. The small moments that add up to such great love and admiration. Who knew it was possible to feel that way about a city? Paris had always been a beautiful idea, but it turned out to be an even more powerful reality. Crying in Victor Hugo’s house. Seeing the protesters in the Place de la Revolution. Stumbling upon the small plaque which marks the place of  Louis XVI’s execution.
With each visit, each day, each moment in Paris, my love grew. On my last day in Paris, I was left wandering the city all alone. I was tired and anxious about my long journey home. I tried to decide what I should do as my last activity in Paris and in Europe. I thought about returning to the Eiffel Tower though I had seen it several times since my first encounter with it. I seemed too cheesy, too cliché. But when I tried to think of the next time I could possibly get to see it again in person, I found myself hopping on the metro, heading for Trocadéro.
When I arrived, the place was a mess. I had forgotten about the fan zone for the Eurocup in the Champs Mars. Everywhere that one could usually sit and marvel at the structure was now fenced off for security purposes. It was overrun with families and drunk Irish football fans. There was a small revolt in the street over some outcome of a game earlier that day (I must admit I never found out exactly the purpose of this march). My feet hurt, I was tired, and I just wanted to have a beautiful moment as I saw the Eiffel Tower for the last time for a long time. But it was looking like this idealized final moment wasn’t in the cards.
I made my way to the opposite side of the tower and sat on the sidewalk. I was next to a large group of Irish fans and attempted to make conversation. I wished that my good Irish friend I had made that semester was with me as every fan gave me a cold shoulder. I looked around and thought about my time in Paris.
So many people think being in Paris means great adventures. I loved Paris. But I had to admit my time there was void of  any romantic gestures or suspense. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Was I missing out on something amazing? Or was this just a silly schoolgirl fantasy that was ruining my last day in my favorite city?
Suddenly it began to rain. Perfect.
Thankfully I had lugged around an umbrella all day. People began running for cover wherever they could find it. For most, it was under the trees along the walkway next to the tower. I began walking towards the bus stop in order to go back to my AirBnB. I cursed the weather and my ridiculous high expectations. I felt like I was missing some key piece to my adventure in Europe. I was going to go back to America without some terribly romantic tale.
And then there was a person under my umbrella. I assumed he came from the group of Irishmen I had just passed. Every moment of silence seemed like an eternity.
Try to miss a puddle. He ducks a little lower under my short umbrella. My soaked shoes begin making weird noises. He coughs. I steal a glance at him.
“Um hello…” I finally say.
“Hi there. How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
“Oh I’m alright. Terribly wet though.”
“So Northern Ireland or Republic Ireland?”
“Well I was born in Republic of Ireland but I’ve lived in the north for a while. I don’t have much of an alliance to either.”
“Cool.”
Silence.
“Where are you from?”
“The United States.”
“Oh you’re American! Good. I was afraid I was being rude for not speaking French. Which state?”
I laughed. “No I definitely speak English. I’m from Oklahoma.” I prepared to say my usual spiel when the European doesn’t recognize my state: It’s in the south, just north of Texas.
“Wow you’re from Oklahoma?  The Thunder  did pretty well in the playoffs. Too bad about Golden State.”
We walked along the length of the Eiffel Tower. It always seemed like such a long walk, but this time it felt too short. I couldn’t tell you what all we talked about. I remember laughing. I remember feeling proud because he laughed even more. He offered to hold the umbrella and he tried to make sure it covered more of me than him.
We made it to the end and were nearing the street.
“Well, I better get back to my friends. It was so nice to meet you, Jillian. You were lovely to share your umbrella with a stranger.”
I mumbled something about it being nice to meet him, too. But it was hard to think because he was kissing my cheek.
When he pulled away, he didn’t turn to walk back to his group. He was talking. I must have said something clever because he was laughing again.
“Alright. I would love to stay, but I need to go find my friends before the match.”
He was leaning down again and my cheek awaited its kiss. But instead, he was kissing me on my mouth. I could feel my face burning and I hoped he wouldn’t notice how red it was. He looked at me a moment and walked away.
I made my way to the bus stop. The rain was pouring even harder now. My light jacket was soaked and I was shivering as I waited for the bus which was delayed for 30 minutes due to Eurocup traffic. Only to find out that it would be another 30 minute wait and I began the trek to the metro.
But none of it bothered me. I was smiling as if I was walking through a sunny garden, smelling the roses.
It wasn’t a long passionate kiss. We didn’t exchange information besides our first names. I never spoke to him after or had any hope of doing so. I’ve now forgotten everything about how he looked other than that he was quite taller than me. I couldn’t pick him out of a line up if my life depended on it. And yet this moment changed my life. I’ve forgotten almost every detail of this encounter, but I could never forget the feeling it gave me.
I’ll forever be grateful to Irish guy at the Eiffel Tower on June 12. This short meeting gave me such hope. There are times  you think your life is simple, boring, or even unworthy of anything spectacular. Then. Then is when you see the great beauty of the world around you. You’re worthy of everything lovely and magical.
I went to the Eiffel Tower to say good-bye. Sure it was cheesy and maybe stupid. But that was where my heart was pulling me. I allowed some random guy to share my umbrella. Any parent would be horrified (as perhaps they should be), but I prioritized being open to the possibilities around me, for good or bad.
Beautiful moments are waiting for you, you just have to be ready for them. You might just end up getting kissed by a handsome stranger below the Eiffel Tower.

The always beautiful Eiffel Tower.
Can you see the ball for the Eurocup in the middle
and the big screen in the distance for the Fan Zone?