A Fleeting Identity - A Personal Narrative, Assignment #1

I do not know who that person was. I got swept up in the whole “French” thing and completely let go of myself and all my inhibitions. I was no longer preoccupied with my studies or my future goals. The Lindsey in Clermont-Ferrand is not the same person as the Lindsey in the U.S. In France I was apprehensive about my surroundings and uncomfortable with my language skills and social capabilities. In the U.S I have enormous amounts of self-confidence and am proud of my social grace; I look to no one to help me out.

We held hands as we stepped off the metro and made our way to the Eiffel tower. My face ached from smiling and my heart was beating so fast, it was neither my first time being in Paris nor my first time seeing the tower. The air was cold and winter was on its way, I didn’t care. I was wearing my scarf and a long black dress coat and was proud of how French I felt. We had to make it under the center of the Eiffel tower before midnight; otherwise the moment would not measure up to his, or my, expectations.

Ten years of learning the French language would never have prepped me for this experience. I blame the countless chic novels and sappy romance movies, that I was infatuated with for so many years. They romanticized the city of Paris and I fell in love with the city that seemed to be the perfect place to fall in love. They were at fault for setting the ridiculously high standards for the dream that I just happened to find myself being a part of.

Two minutes to midnight and the extraordinariness of the moment had not yet hit me. I had spent the last two months so focused on attempting to be comfortable in every situation I was put into that I became accustomed to the abnormal. I was no longer Lindsey, I was his petite americaine who had constructed a new identity and had become smitten with the French lifestyle and a French man.

I had always been an independent woman, who never searched for anyone else to make myself happy or to fulfill something inside of me. I was extremely content with who I was, and prided myself on my solidarity. I did not travel to France searching for anything, certainly not a significant other. If anything I was too content with myself and needed to find my weakness. I never could have guessed that it would be found after having left France, and would involve a boy.

The lights on the Eiffel tower began to do their dance and I knew it was midnight. It was my twentieth birthday and I was in Paris. He leaned over and kissed me. I had no idea what lay in store for my heart, it was the best birthday of my life and I was living in a dream world.

The next four months passed rather quickly, I was absorbed in my French life. I wanted to perfect my language skills and immerse myself as much as possible in the culture. I felt like I belonged and almost all of that had to do with the fact that I was with him. I had never been in a relationship before. I am not the relationship type. I did great on my own. I spent every spare moment at his apartment, meeting his friends, watching his favorite movies, eating his favorite food, spending weekends with his family, doing his house chores. I lost myself in him, quite literally.

It was la fin, he drove me to the airport; of course I didn’t want to go. Obviously we were both crying. It feels so cliché now. He says “Je t’aime,” I walk through security, I turn around, wave for the last time and continue down the hall and it was over. The kiss under the Eiffel tower gave me a glimpse into my future and forever put a stamp on my identity, but with that wave goodbye I slowly slipped back into my old shoes and was no longer his petite americaine, someone else was emerging.

It took a devastating amount of time for me to go back to being myself, I found it difficult to focus on my schoolwork and difficult to redevelop my relationships with my friends and family back at home. I desperately wanted to be back in France, with him, coddled and comforted by him. In Clermont I did not rely on myself for much of anything, I had him. If I had a bad day or needed to vent, I had him. If I couldn’t create a sentence in French, he was there. Before having left for France, I never once in my life felt like I needed anybody else, I could quite adequately take care of myself. He opened up a window to my existence that made me realize I have the opportunity to be a better and more dynamic person when I can share myself with someone else.

When I said “goodbye” I wasn’t just saying goodbye to him, but to Lindsey in the U.S., and to Lindsey in France. I stepped on the plane as me- fully understanding what it means to honestly let yourself go. I was given the opportunity to recreate myself again.