The longer Alice immersed herself in this fictitious situation, the more she came up with ideas she had not even considered up to that point, and which she might never have dreamed of.
“They’ll bring you a microphone,” said Collins to a participant who wanted to ask a question.
A young woman made her way into the audience with a cordless mike.
“All that is fine,” said the man, “but there’s more to life than money. I’m not interested in tripling my salary. What I especially want is to have a sense of fulfillment in what I do.”
Several people in the audience applauded. Even though she was a fan of Collins, Alice felt almost relieved at this objection: Jeremy would feel less alone in the room.
Toby gave him a big smile.
“As your great Louis XIV once said: ‘I nearly waited!’ In general, when I bring up the question of money in France, I immediately have this kind of objection, and here, I found that it was late in coming.”
Some laughter from the audience.
“Well, yes. You see, it’s completely cultural. In France, people don’t want to work for money; they want to work to be fulfilled. In the United States, I have almost the opposite problem: when I talk about professional fulfillment, there is always someone who takes the floor and asks me with an air of total incomprehension: ‘What does that mean, “professional fulfillment”? If you succeed, you earn money, and if you earn money, you are fulfilled!’”
More laughter in the room.
“It’s cultural. That said, I’m not ignoring your question,” he continued, turning toward the questioner. “In fact, I base this game on money because it’s very convenient to take a salary and multiply it by three: you can be sure of the quantitative, and it’s much easier for everyone to imagine tripling their salary than tripling their fulfillment. But, in fact, if you took part in the game, you probably realized that in the end, we weren’t really talking about money. Money is not the essential point of that exercise. It is above all a question of gaining access to our abilities, of freeing the energy that is dormant within us, and money is nothing more than a metaphor for our possibilities, a way of measuring what we give ourselves permission to do, what we allow ourselves to receive.”
Alice risked taking another glance at Jeremy’s papers. He had written down triple the amount of money he hoped to raise for charity. At least he hadn’t been stubborn and had applied the lesson to his own situation.
“Using the virtual in this way to gain access to your real abilities is very effective, and it in no way excludes also developing your self-esteem. Everything is to be gained from loving yourself more.”
Toby Collins then launched into a rather complex exercise, with very strict rules, in which the participants, broken into groups of two in the adjacent rooms, were each led in turn to walk a time line drawn on the ground to represent their life’s journey. They went backward in time to their childhood to imagine receiving the unconditional love from their parents that they may not have often received and whose impact they might not have felt. They then took the journey in the opposite direction, bringing with them the love they had received virtually to the present day.
When it was her turn, Alice took part in the game and followed the rules step by step, guided by another participant. After this, she felt completely psyched up, and wondered how long that positive feeling would last.
“It’s very useful to learn how to love yourself,” said Toby Collins to the participants when they were once again all together in the large hall. “I’d even say it is essential. Everything that allows you to make progress on this point is positive, and you have to grab any opportunity to grow your self-esteem.”
Alice saw Jeremy make a face that said a lot about his disapproval.
“Now, on this point,” said Toby, “a very simple method is to regularly make a written list of your qualities, your skills, your assets: everything that can prove your value to yourself. Don’t be content with just doing it once. Do it every week, always write it down, until your self-esteem becomes natural. One of my friends suggests looking in the mirror every morning and saying ‘I love you’ or blowing yourself a kiss. That may make you smile, but I believe that in this area, any idea is a good one.”
Jeremy raised his eyes to the heavens and slowly shook his head.
When they left the hall, it was dusk. They walked in silence, side by side, on the Boulevard de Bonne-Nouvelle to get to the Poissonnière bus stop. Paris was cradled in the soft light of the end of the day, the air lovely and cool. At that hour, there were no more traffic jams and the cars flowed by almost silently.
“Okay…So what did you think of that?” asked Alice.
Jeremy took his time to answer, as if choosing his words carefully.
“Rather interesting.”
Hmm…It wasn’t a good sign when Jeremy said so little.
“The suggested methods are effective, don’t you think?”
“They seem to be.”
It was going to be like pulling teeth to get him to say what he really thought.
“But?”
He smiled and said nothing.
“Don’t you think it’s positive, encouraging, liberating?”
He agreed, but without seeming to fully believe it.
“Don’t you believe in the efficacy of his approach?” Alice insisted.
“Yes, I do.”
“But?”
“Let’s just say…that’s not the problem.”
“Really?”
He took a deep breath. “In the end, his approach results in reinforcing confidence, pride, self-love…That’s very good, but is it really desirable to become an arrogant person full of yourself?”
“I don’t think it makes you arrogant. Arrogance and devaluing yourself are two sides of the same coin, because anyone who really has self-esteem doesn’t need to prove his worth to others.”
“Maybe.”
She felt she’d scored a point.
“If I had to use a metaphor,” he continued, “I’d say that in the long run, by going to such seminars, you’d become a more beautiful, more balanced, stronger caterpillar. That’s very good, but when would you think of becoming a butterfly?”
Alice felt annoyed, without quite understanding what he meant.
“Wanting to become a butterfly before becoming a full-fledged caterpillar—isn’t that risking being a malformed butterfly that gets crushed by the first gust of wind?”
“Perhaps…But you see, the point of life is not to reinforce the self. On the contrary, it’s when the self is effaced that you can attain another reality.”
“That’s a little vague for me.”
“Letting go of your ego allows you to offer yourself to God and discover true power, the infinite power of God that works through us.”
Alice made a superhuman effort not to laugh.
“I know,” he said with a kind smile, “that means nothing to you.”
She gave in and let herself laugh out loud.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still laughing, “but when you talk about offering yourself to God, that gives me more or less the same feeling as if you’d said offering yourself to Santa Claus.”
Jeremy sighed and sadly shook his head.
“In any case,” she added, “as Desjardins once said, before you can offer yourself up, you have to first belong to yourself.”
He seemed to be considering what she’d said, so she quickly added, “Before attaining another reality, you have to know how to live fully in this one.”
“To live life fully, the important thing is to be in a place of love, not to stare at your navel. The most important of Jesus’s precepts is ‘Love each other.’”
Alice looked him straight in the eyes. “How do you think your parishioners can love each other if they don’t love themselves? And besides, Jesus also said, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
She felt very proud of having succeeded at quoting Christ. She’d worked hard
on her case. In business, nothing was more effective in convincing a client than quoting phrases from the leaders in their own field.
Jeremy did not reply. Silence fell once more as they arrived at the bus stop. Cars passed. One foot off the curb, a pedestrian was trying to cross the wide avenue, but no one was stopping to let him go. On the sidewalk, people walked past each other without even a glance, probably in a hurry to get home.
Jeremy had a faraway look in his eyes.
Now. She owed it to herself to tell him. With a great deal of respect and kindness, she said:
“And how do you think your parishioners can love each other if you…don’t love yourself?”
7
“The cleaner’s stolen some detergent again!”
Alice, annoyed, sat down at the kitchen table. Théo had already started eating breakfast, and his father was buttering his bread. The cafetière gave off a smell of freshly brewed coffee that spread throughout the apartment.
“How do you know?” Paul joked. “Did you put a webcam in the bathroom?”
He was sketching a portrait of Théo in a notebook while eating.
“I put a mark on the package. At first, I had my doubts, but now I have proof.”
“You put a mark on the package? You’re crazy!”
“I don’t like being taken advantage of.”
“Who cares? A few ounces of detergent won’t make any difference.”
“That’s not the problem! It’s a question of trust. I can’t continue employing someone I don’t trust. She has the key to the apartment, you know!”
“Just because she took a little bit of your detergent doesn’t mean she’s going to rob the apartment while you’re out.”
“That sounds ridiculous to you because you spend all your time with criminals and crooks, but I don’t want to let it go. I’m going to fire her.”
“You’ll be punishing yourself: you’re going to struggle to find another one.”
“Don’t care,” she said, buttering some bread.
She stopped to pour coffee into large mugs and switched on the pendant lights above the kitchen counter. When she was in a bad mood, light helped her feel better. The spotlights brightened the yellow paint on the walls, giving the pleasant illusion that sunshine was seeping into the house, even though the sky outside was a dismal gray.
“Want some, Mama?” Théo asked, pointing to a can.
“What is it?”
“It’s delicious.”
“It’s maple syrup,” said Paul. “I brought it back from Quebec.”
“In a can?”
“That’s how they sell it over there. The best kind, anyway. The syrup in the pretty glass jars is for the tourists, and it’s not as good.”
Alice put a spoonful on some bread, eager to taste it.
“Excellent,” she conceded, her mouth full.
“Yes,” said Paul. “It’s a killer, for sure.”
“It’s crazy how your job influences your everyday vocabulary.”
He smiled. “I visited a sugar shack in Quebec.”
“A what?”
“A sugar shack. It’s where they boil the sap from the maples to reduce it to syrup.”
“Funny name.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure they invented the name specially to get the tourists to come.”
“And your job makes you see marketing everywhere.”
“Papa, will you take me next time?”
“We’ll see.”
“Please.”
“Eat up. You’re going to be late for school.”
Alice had just bitten into her bread when her cell phone rang.
“Hi, Rachid!”
“You want a bit of early morning good news?”
“Go ahead.”
“We’re short-listed for Qatar International. There are only three firms left. I feel like I can taste the champagne.”
“That would be so fabulous!”
“Pauline from the Research department told me. The call went through to her by mistake. You know who I mean?”
“I think so.”
“I love her. Very intelligent, brilliant even.”
Alice hung up in a bad mood, despite the good news, because of that Pauline, whom she only knew by sight. Why did she feel belittled, put down, when someone else was praised in front of her? She felt it as a kind of wound, as if her own value were diminished.
She took a sip of coffee, and its warmth felt good.
She thought back to Toby’s seminars. They helped her feel better and better in her own skin. Ever since the one she’d taken Jeremy to, she had decided to become the head of her department. Once she was promoted, everyone would see her differently, respect her more.
She was so happy to have convinced Jeremy to continue. Not easy, after that first session two months ago. She’d seen him hesitate, very reluctant at first, then felt a true change in him. His decision had been hard to make, but he was an open person, prepared to hear points of view different from his own, and able to change his mind—a rare quality today.
Once committed, he had made great strides. He’d gone to four seminars, devoured the books she’d lent him, and he’d obviously changed. Toby’s system of sponsorship was perfect for her: with one free session for a friend for every five attended in the past, she could educate Jeremy without spending a single penny.
She went to Cluny every other weekend and enjoyed coaching him. Although she had taken on this mission out of friendship and a sense of obligation, to pay her debt to him, she had gradually started to enjoy the situation. She was happy to watch the change happening and felt great pride at her protégé’s results: fatalistic and depressed at the beginning, Jeremy had become energized and confident. Never had she observed such rapid progress, as if he had a knack for understanding and applying the concepts of psychology and would soon be able to help others.
He was now beaming during Mass. Resonating with Jeremy’s new attitude, Christ’s words of love had more impact. And as for the sermons, they were more positive and clearly were felt more by his flock.
He had thus had the courage to make a certain number of changes in church. Alice had observed these from her pew in the last row, which she discreetly slid into once everyone else had taken their seats for Mass. Little by little, she had become familiar with the place and no longer felt oppressed the way she had at first. Her initial discomfort had given way to a more neutral feeling. The church had almost become a workplace like any other to her, a place of business that was simply more serene than the ones she was used to.
She had, it was true, ended up making a deal with Jeremy.
“Can I ask you something?” she had said one day.
“I’m listening.”
“I’m happy to help you improve things in church, to touch more people. You just have to make me a promise.”
“What?”
“To never talk to me about God.”
He had agreed, with a resigned and slightly sad smile on his face.
Alice had learned to observe the little world of the parishioners and enjoyed their inconsistencies, which endeared them to her. How could she not smile, seeing them dressed to the nines to come to Mass, all dolled up to pray to Jesus—Jesus, who had walked barefoot and asked the rich to get rid of their beautiful clothes? How could she not laugh when she heard them gossiping about a neighbor right after they piously listened to a sermon on love and forgiveness?
Alice was quite fond of Victor, the retired winemaker who was half deaf, and his friend Étienne, who stuttered. They made a funny pair.
Several of the parishioners were obviously resistant to the new developments, and the conversations outside the church reflected the dissent in the air. Germaine and Cornélie, the two vicious gossips, were particularly skilled at signaling their opposition through seemingly innocent little remarks.
Her hair dyed as black as a crow, Germaine planted herself right in front of a person, her sharp eyes staring to ge
t their attention.
“He’s not bad, Bach,” she’d say, “but I enjoyed those little tunes you can hum. Don’t you miss that?”
Under her hawk-like gaze, one felt almost forced to agree. Standing at her side, Cornélie, whose yellowish brown hair seemed frozen for eternity under a thick layer of hair spray, nodded, looked inspired, and always supported her accomplice.
“Don’t you find that there’s something missing recently? Are we about to lose our traditions?”
They scattered little seeds of doubt, and Alice could see that a few of these ended up taking root in some people’s minds.
She had also overheard them complaining to Madame de Sirdegault, a baroness whose seat in church—in the first row, near the center aisle—seemed reserved for life, and even remained empty in her absence. She had listened to the arguments of the gossips and promised to have a word with the bishop, which seemed to have delighted them in the extreme, and worried Alice in the same proportion.
Everyone in Cluny knew Madame de Sirdegault, at least by sight or reputation: a woman in her early sixties with a stately demeanor and haughty attitude, elegantly dressed, who always wore a gold cross with a large ruby set in the center. Her husband had left her a few years before, and after the divorce, she had fought to preserve all the privileges of her rank: the large private house, the old Jaguar on its last legs, and especially her married name, which came with the title of baroness—so much more sophisticated than her maiden name, Josette Gross. As soon as she was married, she had taken great care to erase it from every document and every memory. She lived alone after her divorce, alone in that large private house that she no longer had the means to keep up, but she did her best to maintain, with dignity, the position she wished to retain in everyone’s eyes.
There was also the nun who slipped little pieces of paper into Alice’s hand as soon as she saw her come into the church. They had a few words scrawled on them and were folded over several times. The first time it happened, Alice, surprised, had patiently unfolded the tiny wad of paper as the sister watched her, smiling.
Alice Asks the Big Questions Page 5
