Lessons in authenticity

Part of why I came to France was because I just wanted time to think without the everyday routines or distractions of my life in the USA. I knew I would have lots of free time here (I do) and plenty of time to reflect (I have been). It's not easy accepting that I am the type of person who must philosophize about nearly everything - it's actually a pretty annoying personality trait.

I explained my hiatus in many ways - I wanted to travel, I wanted to try teaching, I wanted to improve my French, all of which are true - but ultimately I just wanted a different perspective of the world, and maybe myself. I felt before I left- and still feel- the need to justify my time here again and again. But the truth is, there is nothing to justify. It's just a choice. My choice.


Since I left my job in Chicago, and since this job is temporary, I have spent a lot of the time thinking what I will work at, and how I will make money. (Sidebar: I hesitate to use the word career because I am not sure that would accurately describe my trajectory, which has more zig and zag than a career, I fear.) I separate working at something and making money because what you work at (life goal(s) is not necessarily what puts dollars -or euro, or yen, or pesos- in your bank account.

All of this free time spent thinking is hard, mainly for two reasons:
1. I am forced to think about myself very critically - which I sometimes then feel guilty about, because why I am thinking so much about myself anyway?
2. There is pleasure in hard work, which I'm not doing.

However, I am learning to listen more to my inner motives. And that's something.

Authenticity is difficult. We find plenty of ways to hide our true feelings and intentions. I think this happens more as we get older, when trying to navigate the waters of social conformity or rebellion. We become aware of others' expectations and reactions. As children, we don't think about these things.

In France, linguistically, I am a child. This in turn affects my behavior and thought. I am going to loosely analogize this to linguistic relativity, which is the idea that "speakers of different languages will tend to think and behave differently depending on the language they use." To take a famous example, this theory means that if my language has 40 words for the "snow" (icy snow, snow that came early this year, slushy snow, big wet snowflakes, powdered snow, etc.), I will see nuances in snow that I would not if my language had one word for all snow. Therefore, I experience snow differently depending on my language. This is not really what I'm talking about though (hence, loose analogy). In France, I do not have full capacity of the language. This leads me to explain things in simple and often blunt ways - like children do. I also run into frustrations when I can't communicate properly. Ex: Yesterday at the post office. A package sent to me is being held at customs. I cannot communicate with the postman what needs to be done to obtain this package. This results in me crying - again, like a child. Is it easy to lie in another language? Nope. It's enough effort to think of how to communicate the truth, nevermind a lie. Children also don't lie well. For all of these reasons and more, I often feel like a kid. And it puts me face-to-face with my most essential reactions, desires, thoughts and motives. This is part of how I have found my authenticity.

I have been trying to understand how "authentic Amanda" operates in the work world and this much is clear: I like working in service of others, but not under direct supervision. I like being in charge. I dislike inefficiency. I don't like complainers. I am empathetic. I cry under too much stress. I enjoy hard work - it makes me feel useful. I also enjoy coffee breaks and naps. What this will all mean when I come back stateside and have to start thinking again about a retirement fund, I am not sure. But when I think, what have I accomplished so far with my life? and What will I do in the future? I at least know that I will remain true to my authentic self and continue to live life whole-heartedly. And that's not a bad place to be for 25. Neither is France. It's fondue time.