April in Paris, the clarity of hindsight, and moving through space with a stranger
This month in Hit Pause, Then Play, I talk about the unseen and the seen, listeners shaping speakers, and "home"
🤔 3 things I’m thinking and feeling
1. Coming “home” and looking back (Pause and Purpose)
I am in Paris this week, working from a quiet couch in central Paris (quiet couches in central Paris exist!), listening over and over to Brad Mehldau, going on long walks in the Luxembourg Gardens alone and with dear friends, meeting other dear friends for lunch and dinner, and even spending time with a stranger, conducting research.
I am reminded of my life here 35 years ago—and of the life I lived here for decades. The excitement and stress of finding my way in a beautiful and yet somehow forbidding place. The learning that came from living simply, with few things to call my own. The growth borne of solo parenting, stepping toward the person I would become and nurturing the growth of another beautiful human, now a mother herself.
I find myself in transition once more, and it feels fitting, somehow, to return to this place I once called "home" (if home is where the essence of self takes shape). So much of who I am emerged here—was moulded and honed throughout those formative 20s and 30s. At the time, I couldn't fathom how the people, experiences, neural connections and habits would conspire to determine decades hence.
Hindsight affords startling clarity; we revel in making sense of the paths that seemed so senseless as we trod them. Little felt palpable back then—it was simply life unfolding. Yet now, I'm awash with gratitude for that era, those learnings, those striving uncertainties, each conscious choice.
And I know in a future moment, I will be grateful, looking back on this time, for what is happening now.
2. The unseen (Play and Pause)
Between lunch and my return to the “quiet thinking couch”, last Tuesday unfolded an unexpected detour. A friend's recommendation led me to the final day of Albert Dupont's exhibition at the local town hall. Dupont, a luminary of the mid-20th century "Lettrisme" movement pioneered by Isidore Isou, transforms letters into symbolic artworks. As a writer, his creations resonated beautifully, an absolute delight to discover.
Yet delight proved a mere prelude to a far more powerful emotion as I slowly navigated the show.
Prior to the exhibition, I had learned that one of the artist's daughters, Justine, perished in the 2015 Paris terrorist attacks.
When Dupont approached, warmly greeting me with a generous spirit as I admired his work, nothing in his demeanor hinted at the unfathomable loss a parent endures.
But then, a few unassuming pieces emerged, their quiet presence unleashing a torrent within me. Tears welled, spilled over, as I faced creations undoubtedly imbued with a father's lament for his 34-year-old daughter Justine, gunned down at La Belle Equipe that November 13th night.
By all accounts, she was a caring, generous soul dedicated to social causes. You can read briefly about her life in French here - and let Google Translate render her story in your native tongue.
Even now, the stillness of my heart cannot stem these tears that continue to leak forth.
3. Seen (Pause)
I hurried along at a brisk pace, fashionably tardy as usual. Yet I was utterly absorbed in my friend's tales, his voice a comforting presence nestled in my ear as our conversation magically bridged the distance between Paris and Lisbon.
“Excusez-moi ...”
I glanced up, my steps halting as I met the gaze of a young man shrouded in dark glasses, a white cane extended before him like a beacon.
“Oui ... comment puis-je vous aider, monsieur?” I responded.
He inquired about a particular street nearby, surrounded as we were by a labyrinth of roundabouts and bicycle lanes. Unable to pinpoint the location immediately, I apologised to my friend, promising to call him back.
With patient understanding, the young man awaited my guidance. After ascertaining the direction, I realised the complex intersection would prove too daunting for him to navigate alone. I offered to escort him to his desired destination, and thus we embarked, his hand lightly upon my arm, my eyes now serving as his.
For nearly 20 minutes, we strolled together, the cadence of our footsteps in sync. He shared how long it had been since he'd last traversed this path, the familiarity lost to the passage of time. We spoke of the age when blindness had claimed his sight, of the journey to acceptance.
“Humans adapt,” he mused. “I did. We all do. I live normally now.”
At last, we reached our destination. Exchanging farewell handshakes, our smiles invisible yet palpable.
Reconnecting with my friend, his voice rang out in disbelief. “What are you doing helping random Parisians? Don't you know to just keep walking?”
“He was blind.”
“Oh! That would terrify me - helping a blind person!” he exclaimed.
“Of course not,” I replied, conviction in my tone. “You simply help them.”
It was my first experience truly walking in another's sightless shoes. Profound, this bond between strangers united in the movement and connection of shared space. For those 20 minutes, I became his eyes, he my trust, our respective visions aligning in that stretch of contented silence, seen and seeing.
💡 2 things that are inspiring me
🎙️Esther Perel on New AI - Artificial Intimacy - Esther Perel and Brené Brown discuss how we manage the paradox of exploring the world of social media and emerging technologies while staying tethered to our humanness. How do we create IRL relationships where we see and value others and feel seen and valued in the context of constant scrolling and using digital technology as armour? Give this a listen, and let me know your favourite part. Here was one of mine:
… the listening is not just what happens to the person who listens. The listening is what shapes what the person will tell. The listener creates the speaker, the openness, what you divulge, how you connect, how vulnerable you are.
- Esther Perel
2. 📚 Spring Training (for the Rest of Your Life) - Imagine that you leave your class or office, and you cross the street without looking both ways. The bus drivers on this street are easily distracted, and all of a sudden, bam—you're stretched out on the pavement, and life will soon come to an end. You don't get to graduate, you don't get to be promoted, you don't get to make enough money to buy that house or finally be happy. You only have five minutes to live.
🔥1 spark for you
What is “home”?
Anything else?
💌You might like one of my recent posts
Conscious Relationship Design: How It Works - The first in a series on how Conscious Relationship Design works in practice
The Cerebral Spark: Exploring Sapiosexuality and Conscious Relationship Design - Unlock the allure of the brilliant mind — an exploration of sapiosexuality and Conscious Relationship Design
Reimagining Bonds: Ethically Navigating a 20-Year Marriage Redesign - Navigating the ethical tensions of ending a 20-year marriage contract through the lens of Conscious Relationship Design — making space for autonomy and honouring the humanity of a former partner
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2 things that are inspiring me
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