No daydreams in Paris

So, Paris was beautiful-and my favorite city so far. Why, you ask?
I shall tell you.
When I was little, as all little girls do, I had visions of Paris. French girls in berets and skirts walking down the streets in heels. Church bells in the distance. Cold air and welcome sunlight. Baguettes, desserts, and dancing  silverware (thank you, Beauty and the Beast). Artists camping on the sidewalks, painting sunrises and sunsets and everything in between. The Eiffel Tower at night. Falling in love.

I did fall in love while I was there, but not with someone. With the city. I don't know what it was about Paris that instantly brought it close to my heart. Maybe it was because the first thing I saw as we emerged from the metro was the sunshine on the Seine River and Notre Dame Cathedral. Or maybe it was because I was wearing a jacket for the first time since living in the Mediterranean and relishing the sting of wind-bitten cheeks. But it was probably because it was quiet at first; hardly anyone besides the locals was out by Notre Dame and the entire atmosphere was French. It was also the first time in my travels that when I arrived somewhere, I sat down before walking. I sat down and breathed deep and realized I was in France. Happiness entered me, once again running a smooth hand over the constant restless self who lives beneath my skin. I have always wanted to travel. It wasn't now, when I actually am traveling, that the itching within me has stopped. For the first time in my life, I don't feel as if I should be doing something. I am doing something.

So perhaps it was not the artists on the streets, the Eiffel tower at night, or the warm baguettes and cheese that made me fall for Paris. I think it was more me, more of the realization that I was there and am here, active and young and so, so restless artistically. When I am in these beautiful places, I am not daydreaming.
I don't need to.