Having lived in Paris for almost a decade now, I’m long past the ‘infatuation phase’ experienced by most tourists and many expats when they first arrive in the City of Lights.
I’ve encountered the good, the bad, and the ugly, that concentrated mix that any metropolitan city serves up to its residents on a daily basis. Perhaps what makes Paris so unique in its delivery of these is the elegance of the surroundings and the unpredictability of the natives.
I can point to certain behaviors or choices of Parisians and say, That is so French, or That is so Parisian. Other expats and even some Parisians will know exactly what I mean. But if an outsider asks me to explain the French way of thinking or why Parisians are the way they are, I would be at a loss.
It is like asking a fish about water: it is all around me, but the actual, tangible qualities of it remain elusive. So I am just left to, yes, swim in it and make the best of it.
However, one concrete benefit from my time living here has been this: My patience has increased, and I have learned to manage frustration much more effectively.
Case in point: at a department store or boutique, you will inevitably be required to wait in line or wait to be served. The customer service employee will be in no hurry to get to you. They will spend time in focused conversation with each customer in front of you. They will ask questions, offer options, check in the back for inventory, share their opinion, empathize with the dilemma the customer faces, and finally, conclude the sale or say au revoir to the client.
Only then will they turn their attention to you.
For the impatient and imperious, (namely Byron When He First Arrived In Paris), this delay was excruciating. Little Lord Byron wanted what he wanted and he wanted it now. Why didn’t this place have more staff on duty? Where was the manager? Is this any way to run a retail establishment? I’m going to write a strongly worded email….as soon as I learn French. I huffed and I puffed, but I blew nothing down.
What I eventually learned was this: that same salesperson is going to afford me that same, unhurried, personal attention when it’s my turn to ask about a product or service. They will listen–diplomatically–to my bad French grammar and limited vocabulary. They would present everything the store had to offer and suggest alternatives, even competitors, if they felt I would be better served by shopping elsewhere. They would be happy to gift wrap my purchase and personalize it if necessary. This personable and professional demeanor made my impatience seem childish. My attitude softened. The experience improved. Happiness, for me, was restored.
This, I realized, was the payoff for patience.
Not that I learned this lesson in one go. Oh no. It took years for me to accept that Paris operates in its own sweet time. (Some would say, like, you know, the 1800s.) But things do get done. Most of the time. Furthermore, the frustration I was felt was no different than the frustration that all people living here experience.
Sometimes things don’t work. Sometimes people don’t work, even when they should be working. That’s life here.
My learning curve has been to become more patient. To not jump to conclusions. To not take my American ‘can do/just do it’ attitude and try to screen-print it onto an older culture with centuries more history than my own.
My learning curve has also been to pause, pivot, and appreciate all the great things I experience living here. There are many. Beautiful architecture. Rich culture. Diverse population. Delicious food. Welcoming cafes.
Not that I’m completely easygoing now. Hardly. I’m an American. I want to get things done, and I want things to get done. I just realize now that, if I’m going to be impatient, it’s best to be impatient with myself and then get busy. If I’m going to be impatient with something Parisian or French, outside my control, well, that’s not going to help me…or the situation.
Best to be patient.
- BGT