by S. L. Finlay
"I'm sorry dad." I told him earnestly. "I didn't really think anyone would understand. I need to get out of here."
"Why do you need to get out of here?" He asked, too quickly, his voice sounding as hurt as his face looked.
I shook my head and looked down at my hands in my lap. Feeling disappointed in myself now, I wasn't sure what to say. I wasn't sure what to tell him. I couldn't exactly say, 'hey, I am not cut out for your life. The life you and Ma chose. I am meant for other things', as it would sound like rejection. It would sound like I was rejecting their choices for me and my brothers. It was rejection though, I thought to myself. I tried to push it out of my mind though and not let the thought of exactly what I was rejected bubble to the surface. Instead I just shook my head for too long, and didn't give any real answer.
My father let out a deep sigh and sat back in his chair. Without looking up, I knew he would be looking at my mother. I knew they would be having one of those secret eye-conversations only a couple who has been married for over thirty years and raised four children could have.
After the silence came a quick, "okay." From my father.
I looked up at him, was everything alright? Really? He looked fine now. What had changed from before?
"If you're going to do this, Lindsay, we're going to have to help you. I've never done this, but I'll help where I can. And so will your mother." He told me.
I nodded then, allowing the smile to creep onto my face for just a moment. Then, just as quickly as his mood had changed the last time, it changed again, "But if you get yourself into trouble over there, I won't be able to do anything from here. You're on your own. I want you to know that before you go. I might want to come help, but I can't. And that worries me."
Rolling my eyes, I told him, "yeah dad."
He decided not to push it then, and asked, "so, you're going to work there? As what?"
Smiling, I launched into a monologue about all of my research, and how I had applied at a few places already and how they all seemed interested, quickly responding to my applications with follow-up emails, asking me what I wanted for work and how long I would be in Paris for. While I was telling my father all of this, it struck me that even though I had told myself how I really had no idea what I was doing, all of that research I had completed really showed me that I knew exactly what I was doing. As I spoke about it, I realized I was in a better position than the one I let myself believe I was in.
When I spoke to the employers, I would answer emails with questions of my own and tell them about my flight. Most employers sounded more interested then, as, not only was I serious enough to already have a flight booked, but then they wouldn't need to worry about me asking for my flights to be compensated by them. When I told my dad this, he seemed impressed by me and my prospects.
My parents and brothers took everything in, listening intently as I told them all about my plans. I would go to France, I would have a proper visa, and I would work with children to teach them English. Either as a tutor or as an English-speaking babysitter (there was such a thing in Paris, and they were very popular with parents who wanted their children to be fluent in English as well as their native French).
Questions about practical things like housing came then and I told my parents I would be renting a small apartment for the first month (I had found it on a holiday rental website) before moving into my own room somewhere as a more permanent thing as it's cheaper to share an apartment than to live alone in such a big city. I told my family about how agencies provided you with cards to use public transport and assistance with things like housing, gave free French classes (I needed those!) and also had 'social nights' where their expat workforce would meet one another and make friends.
I knew I would need good friends, coming into a new city and country on my own like this. It was scary to be on your own and like my dad had said, I wouldn't be able to rely on my family like I always had. I would need to rely on myself. But then, this whole thing was about relying on myself.
I needed to strike out on my own, I needed to be myself. This wasn't about a break-up, an idiot ex, or feeling trapped in a small town. Things had changed, they had shifted. This was about finding out who I was without anyone else's expectations on me pushing me to behave a certain way. This was about finding myself, finding the Lindsay who had always been there, hidden under everyone else's expectations and imaginings of who I was.
In Paris, no-one knew my name (well, the agencies did, but they didn't count). I could be whoever I was, explore a new city, while exploring myself.
My parents understood that this was something I needed to do, yet they didn't really understand all of the why. I think when I first told them, they had enough trouble taking in what I was doing just by itself, without taking in all the reasons why I chose to do what I did as well. After my parents went to bed, I tried to explain to my brothers that I needed to go away to find myself. When I told them this my words were met with those strange looks small-town people give big-city people. 'But why?' they kept asking. It was a barrage of questions about why I would want to do this, go to another city, see another place. Why couldn't I just live here like everyone else? Why couldn't I just date someone else? Work somewhere else? Make other friends? Maybe, if I had to, at most, I could move to a nearby city. But Paris? Paris was in a foreign country! Was I crazy?
Mostly, I was unable to answer my brothers' questions. Mostly I was in a place of being unable to give them, or anyone else, any real answers. When you're going to a place with the purpose of discovering yourself, you have to do it for you and you alone. You have to get out there and just, discover. You can't really talk about it, you can't really explain.
Explaining that I couldn't really explain what I needed to them, my brothers just rolled their eyes at me, and slowly, one-by-one, they all went to bed. Until the youngest of the three, Jackson, was sitting with me, chatting to me about Paris.
I was closest to Jackson of all of my brothers, and he was the one who understood what I was doing the most, even though he didn't understand it at all. He seemed to be trying the hardest to understand, and for me that was enough.
"Okay. So, you want to do this weird thing." He told me, "well, I don't think you should. You'd be too far away. But, if you have to do it, and it'll make you happy, then I support it."
His words caused a big, warm smile to spread across my face – I could feel it, deep within my cheek-muscles – as I told him, "Thanks Jackson, you're the best. You don't know what this means to me!" My voice was all high and I could feel the burn of happy tears in my eyes.
My brother stood up and offered me a big bear hug before we both turned in for the night. It would become a regular thing, late-night conversations with my favorite brother in my lead-up to moving to Paris, and it was support like that which made the move that much easier. In time to come, I would be grateful for that one gossiping girls telling my mother about my plans.
CHAPTER THREE
As my flight date drew nearer, I would spend more and more time doing practical things, and less time watching videos online and reading blogs.
My research had told me that the French medical system was cheaper and more efficient than the American one, so I decided I would wait until I was covered by medical insurance (by my employer there) before I would get any shots updated, or anything for travel. This made my parents nervous, but when I reminded them that the medical system really was better over there, that they didn't have shamans or anything treating you and had fantastic doctors like most places, they relented.
With a passport ready, and a flight booked, the visa came through just in time (I had to send my passport off to the French Embassy over here before I was approved to go there to work, bureaucracy is annoying like that).
All the important stuff was done then and all I had to do was work out what to bring with me.
My dad had set aside a day for us to go shopping for whatever I needed. It was the Saturday before I flew out (I flew out on
a Tuesday). This way I could make sure I had everything before take off, and my parents would be able to breathe their own sigh of relief, too. Knowing I would be okay on my big adventure.
Usually when we went shopping it was in our own town for most things. It was only once or twice a year that we headed to the next city (not a big city in the scheme of things, but a big city for anyone from a small town) and did our shopping. Usually we went there for Christmas shopping or when we couldn't find something for someones birthday in town.
Today, we were here for my going away. It was just me, my father and ma, and of course Jackson who had wanted to come along. Jackson usually got away with doing things because no-one wanted to tell him no. Jackson and I were close though, and he did have good taste in clothes, so it was alright.
Although, one must ask, who buys clothes before they're in Paris? I had other things in mind.
We hit up the department stores, then the camp goods stores, then the luggage stores. By the end I was a hybrid of a backpacker going camping and someone going on holiday. When I looked at all our shopping, I had to admit, I probably wouldn't be taking all of it. I felt bad, because my parents had spent so much money and I would reject their gifts but they just weren't what I wanted to take with me. I had some very specific ideas about what I would need and what I wouldn't need from my research and no matter what I said, my parents insisted I bought this or that thing. So I would agree, Jackson and I would exchange the 'really!?' look then we would move on to items I wanted.
When we were finished shopping and I had everything I needed (plus all the things I didn't need) we had lunch together at a Chinese place my parents always went to when we came here.
Sitting down and ordering, my parents told me that they had initially agreed to let me go because they thought if they said it was fine and they supported the idea that I wouldn't go anyway. As if this was some sort of rebellious thing I was doing to push the limits. I was taken aback by their comments and my mother saw it on my face.
"When we realized that this was serious though, we agreed that it was probably good for you anyway." My mother told me.
I nodded and my father went on, "We can't give you anything here, you're right. There's nothing here for you. So it's better for you that you're leaving." My father's tone was sad and his eyes were sadder still.
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. "I know dad." I told him in an attempt to reassure.
As we all spoke, I realized how much I would miss everyone and it made me sad, but I knew I had to stay strong in my resolve. I had decided to make this big move. I was doing this for myself - for my personal development, for my personal growth, to learn who I was - and I couldn't not go. It was important that I took this leap, for me.
As much as I loved these guys dearly - and loved my other brothers, even though they didn't understand what I was doing as much as these three - I knew I had to go off on my own for a bit. I knew in my heart that this was the right thing for me.
When I found myself, and I was happy with myself, if I did return to this small town by choice at some later time at least I would be happy. At least I would feel fulfilled because I did this. Rather than if I gave into the fear I felt of going there and having everything go wrong.
I had read somewhere on the Internet that before you make a difficult decision, you should go through your fears and see how founded they are. You work out what the worst case scenario could be, then you work out what you would do if that thing happened. Then you realize that you've got this, and you've got nothing to be afraid of because you know what the worst case scenario is.
So, if I went to France and it worked out that everything I had agreed to before I left - the work with the agencies, the holiday rental, etc - wasn't legitimate, I could at least find a hotel and stay there for a few nights while I found somewhere else to stay long term and went to visit agencies offices once I was already there to make sure they were legitimate.
It was a big fear of mine that this would all vanish like a mirage, but I had made contingency plans, and I was getting more faith in myself as time wore on.
I could do this, I just had to have some faith in myself. Not an easy feat when you have never had faith in yourself before, and had never done something like this before.
After we finished up our food we went home. Once we'd arrived, Jackson followed me into my room to help me with everything. The things I actually needed were packed and everything else that I didn't need I gave to Jackson. He would hide things in his room so my parents didn't realize I hadn't taken them then if I needed them he could post them but more likely he would take them back to the stores and put the money in ma's purse. We had agreed that my parents had spent too much money on this stuff to just let it sit around the house collecting dust.
Looking at my bags, I felt the pinch of nerves in my belly. I was not just dipping my toe out of my comfort zone but launching myself right into the unknown and it was scary.
Scary and exciting.
CHAPTER FOUR
When the day that I was flying out came around, I was still determined to believe that I was doing the right thing. I was making the right choice in leaving this small town for the City of Lights. I was going to find work, I was going to find somewhere to live, I was going to find myself.
If I could make it in Paris, a city where I did not speak the language or even have citizenship - visas were good, but they weren't the same as being from that place and having full citizenship rights because you happened to be born there - then I knew I could make it anywhere. Should I return to the US again, I knew I would return to the likes of New York and have no real problems. Moving from a small town in fly-over-land USA to a big American city like New York though, was more daunting than moving to Paris for some reason. Another plus if I did move to an American city like New York after living in Europe too was that I could then understand any French New Yorkers when they jabbered on the subway about whatever it is that New Yorkers jabbered on the subway about.
Even though I had found all those positives, and I kept telling myself that story - that everything was for the best, that this was what I needed, that I would be so much happier in the long run and freer - it still didn't make it any easier leaving my home and family for the last time when I headed to the airport.
The morning that I was due to fly out, I had to wake early to travel to the airport in our nearest major city. It would take us several hours to get there and again, it was only myself, my parents and my brother Jackson who were going together.
My other brothers still woke early to say goodbye though. Even as they weren't going to go all the way to the airport to see me off.
In shorts and shirts with eyes still tired from sleep they all saw me off in our lounge room. There was lots of hugging and making fun of me, their baby sister. My oldest brother even teased me saying that he expected to see me back here in a month when I had spent all my money on wine - because I could drink in France, even as I couldn't drink here being under 21 - and would need to come home to earn more money in the end.
"But I will be working over there! I will have lots of money!" I protested, feeling annoyed.
My oldest brother laughed and told me, "But there will be a lot of wine, too."
I shook my head, he tousled my hair.
When everyone had said goodbye, my father ushered me out the door, muttering something about traffic and needing to get there on time.
Somewhere in my mind I thought that he wouldn't want me to get on that plane anyway and maybe he would make me miss it on purpose but I said nothing. It was better to say nothing and smile than to open my mouth and give my father any ideas. He didn't need to know that he could still stop me leaving, especially now as everyone was so emotional, it would be too easy for him to act on it.
The drive to the airport was at times quiet and reflective for everyone in the car then at times sad. It was sad when myself, ma or my father spoke about my leaving. It was only when Jac
kson spoke that everyone laughed. While Jackson was joking I stole a glance at him and we shared a smile. We both knew that he and I hated heavy moments, but it was only him who could lighten things up. I knew I would miss him most of all.
"You'll have to come visit me!" I insisted to my brother. The words left me before I could help it. They surprised me a little. I was taken aback by my own words, but didn't want him to see that.
My brother looked taken aback too for a moment before giving me a big genuine smile and telling me, "I'd like that."
We shared that smile for a few moments until Jackson cracked another joke and everyone in the car laughed.
When we pulled up at the airport it was still early in the morning but things were already hectic. Everyone around us was rushing and it felt like we didn't have enough space for all of us plus my bags. Everyone was squeezing to get past or standing too close in the lines.
By the time I reached the front of our check-in line I saw the woman behind the desks smiling face, "next please." She said.
The women was half way through checking me into the flight when she looked up and asked what town we were from.
My mother smile and told her the name of our town and the girl told me she knew our name - she was from a nearby town and had gone to school with my oldest brother, and how was he?
Ma chatted to the woman about my oldest brother, then a few people in the town and the girl smiled all the while. She seemed happy to hear about everyone. I wondered if my parents remembered the girl, or even if my brother would. I was sure he would. Even if they hadn't been friends, if they went to school together, they would remember one another. Everyone knew everyone and no-one got out of our town ever. This girl didn't go far (only to the city) but she had gotten out, and that didn't happen enough for people to forget you when you did.
