Art is a risk. It’s a risk that you create something and no one will enjoy it.
Being creative is the action of producing something. It’s active not passive, which makes a “writing block” fictitious. If it’s fictitious, why am I spending so much time pondering what I should write about for this last blog post. Should I write about Cosette, Jean Valjean, or Marius? Where do I even start?
Last year, if you told me to study abroad for a month, I probably would have told you “no.” I would have told you “it’s too expensive.” But in reality, I was too scared. Too scared to throw myself out of routine, out of my home, out of my comfort zone. I was also scared to become a new person or even change. What if when I come back I lose all my healthy habits and become someone of zero ambition?
That seems a little irrational and ironic. Studying abroad is one of the most “self-growth inducing” things I’ve done. Sure, I’ve thought about going home almost every single day. At some point, I was begging my dad to book me a flight home. Take me home. But I stuck it through. It’s August 7th, which means I’m three days away from returning home.
Packing my bags and looking through everything I got, I realized how many souvenirs I got. And I quickly noticed how none are for me. There are all for family and friends. Well, it was intentional. One I don’t want to spend more money of course. And two, my souvenirs are the lessons I learned and my growth as a person.
The first lesson I learned is about art.
I will never be someone that will choose to go to a museum. Call me basic, but I prefer pretty views and destinations. I never really had an appreciation for art. When I was excited to go to Paris, I was looking forward to seeing the Eiffel tower and the Seine River. I wasn’t expecting to see a million museums and churches.
Slowly, I gained an appreciation for art. Art is something that is vulnerable. It requires courage for someone to paint their strokes with no promise of outcome. Not every stroke is a guarantee toward a finish line. It’s completely creation-based. It’s a risk. Maybe the painting will turn out ugly, but no one will ever notice all your hard work. Maybe the painting will only be beautiful when you are not there to reap the benefits.
Art is not just paintings. Art is anything that requires creativity. Something that causes you to produce something out of nothing. Yes, art’s a risk, but life without art is soulless. The absence of art would mean no beautiful paintings, no entertaining movies, no delicious food, no beautiful clothes to wear.
Art is the root of our enjoyment. It’s the root of slow sustainable enjoyment, giving one a boost of serotonin. Forgive me, I love science.
The second lesson I learned is that Paris is not the city of love, it’s the city of romance.
Love is different from romance. Love is a deep feeling of bondage one feels with another individual or thing. Romance is something entirely different.
Officially, romance is “a feeling of mystery and excitement associated with love.” But romance, I argue, is something entirely different. It’s an essence. It’s the beauty of the buildings. It’s the sun shining through the stained glass of the Saint Chapel. It’s the articulate architecture of the Eiffel tower. It’s the texture of the pages flipping through your fingers. Romance is a feeling.
In the U.S., we’ve capitalized on the whole “romanticize your life.” We’ve turned it into a spending hobby and a trend, rather than an act of appreciation and art. Before I knew what was true romanticization, I thought it was buy yourself a coffee, take a bubble bath, indulge in a movie, and of course don’t forget to take Pinterest worthy pictures so you can post it in your Instagram story. Both of those could be romanticized, but romance doesn’t require you to do anything extra.
It’s about taking what you already have and turning it into something beautiful. Walking to class, ok let me gallivant to class and smile at people when I walk there. Reading Les Miserables for this summer class, ok let me light a candle and make myself a cup of warm tea. Eating a meal, ok let me sit down and enjoy all the flavors of the food.
Samantha caught me right as the Eiffel Tower started sparkling. I think this was the first time I actually understood what true romance meant.
Being a romantic is about enjoying every moment, regardless of whether it’s something you want to do. Being in Paris makes it a lot easier, but I will admit not everyone is a romantic here. Or not everyone is retaining their romantic behaviors.
When I’m walking from our accommodation to Accent, the first thing I notice is people walking with their phones open and their heads down. When I'm on the metro, people are scrolling through TikTok. Technology has hurt this sense of romance.
But I’m choosing to take only the good with me. Doing one thing at a time. Not scrolling while I’m waiting. Instead, noticing what’s around me. Not watching while eating. Instead, talking to family and enjoying the flavor profile of my meal. Not texting while walking, rather smiling to the people around me.
These small shifts turn me into a romantic. Someone who enjoys every little moment. Someone who’s ok with being bored. Someone who sees extra time as a way to be creative and produce art, rather than merely consume it.
Don’t get me wrong, consuming art is the basis of inspiration, but there comes a point where consumption overrides production. And it’s not about producing as much as possible in as little of time (aka productivity and hustle culture). It’s about taking the time to enjoy those brush strokes on the canvas and the words on the paper. It’s about taking the risk to enjoy the act.
Paris and London! Here’s a little video diary of some of the special moments.