why making your dreams a reality is scary - my Paris story

The closest I have ever been to France is a French bakery. A place where I can practice my bonjour and merci beaucoup and pretend I am in France.

I have been enamored with the French language since young age. At the university, I missed the day there were forming foreign language groups, and a friend of mine signed me up for Japanese. "There were not enough people for a French group anyway, and out of Japanese and Korean, I thought Japanese would be a cool language to know." It wasn't until my late thirties when I started taking French lessons. I find this language so sexy and beautiful that I could listen to someone recite the multiplication table and not get bored.

And of course, it has been a dream to visit Paris. The city of lights that every girl dreams of. It didn’t bother me that this dream was not unique to me.

But here is a surprising thing I learned about reaching for my dream and making it a reality.

A few days ago my friend Sasha invited me to celebrate her birthday in Paris. She said the airfare was cheap and we could split accommodations with another girlfriend of hers who would come with us.

(This is Sasha. Look how stylish and cool she is. She is even wearing a French t-shirt. Am I even cool enough to go to Paris?)

Here it is, my dream, within reach. No, wait, it can't be. Let me ask husband first. Husband says, "YES, please go!" Oh wow. Full permission to  take and behold my dream, how... scary is that? 

What I felt was FEAR. I told Sasha I was coming, still not believing that it was happening, still apprehensive, and only when she said she bought the tickets, I felt that  "now it's a done deal, I have no choice but to go, so I better start preparing myself psychologically."

Why was I scared? It's Paris, the city of lights, with its endless cafes, well-dressed people and the French language on every corner. It is the Eiffel Tower and Champs Elysee, and endless museums. It is inspiration in every lamp post, history of centuries ago whispering to me through the buildings. Why be afraid of what you DREAMT about, what you WANTED, what you WISHED for?

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it is the comfort zone that doesn't want to let me go. The comfort zone is soo cozy and our psyche wants to keep us in the familiar and known territory. As much a dream is something desirable, it is UNKNOWN. And if it is unknown, it is scary. And if it is scary, of course you shouldn't do it. 

When a dream is just a dream, it is wrapped up in pretty wrapping paper with a bow on top, neatly tucked away on a shelf. It is somewhere on the top shelf where you can see it, and point at it from time to time to your guests who come to visit. And it sits there, slowly collecting dust, and when you do take it down from there to examine it, you wonder if you ever get to unwrap it and look what's inside. And maybe you even convince yourself that having this pretty wrapped up box IS enough. After all, you can brag about it and everyone can tell how pretty it is. And maybe what's inside is a can of worms, and you might not even like it. Let's put this baby back on the upper shelf again  and admire it from afar.

That's what it felt like for me. 

What I told myself is that I WILL DARE to unwrap it. I DO WANT to see what's INSIDE. Life is not a rehearsal and this is it. I don't know when I will have a chance to go to Paris again. Flying there with our entire family of five is definitely more expensive than me going solo in a company of Ukrainian girls. And maybe if it wasn't up to Sasha, I would wait many years to go visit the city of my dreams, and by then I would be an old wrinkled lady. An old lady with short white hair, smiling at the bustling Parisian life and thinking to myself, "Why the hell didn't I come here sooner? What's the point of all this now?" You know, how people get bitter as they get older in life and teach everyone how to live and say things like "when I was younger..." Who cares about Paris at that age anyway?

Sasha asked me to send her my passport info. There was still hope that this was not meant to be. If my passport is expired, I wouldn't be able to go. 

Upon checking I discovered that the passport expires in seven years from now. I took it as a sign.

Sasha booked our tickets and found a cozy little apartment for us to stay in. I booked the AirBnB and the confirmation read, "Congratulations, you are going to Paris!" 

It is happening. It really IS HAPPENING.

I am proud of myself for acting in spite of my fear. Words mean a lot to me and I decided to switch from saying "it is scary" to IT IS UNKNOWN. Because it is unbeknownst to me, this magical city of Paris that every girl dreams of. 

Why do I dream of going there? Will something be revealed to me there? What will it be like? The mind, or the ego, wants certainty, but it will all be revealed once I get there. 

One thing that I know for sure is that this trip will EXPAND me. When I first thought of going there, with all the uncertainties, I felt that if a trip to Paris is possible for me, then anything is possible. We can plan, save up, research, do and make shit happen. I will be leaving my three children with my husband, so I will need to let go of control and practice surrender, having faith, and growing as a result of this. I am teaching my children self-love - Mommy is going to Paris to do something for herself. Oh, yeah, and we also want to pay a visit to Normandy, while we there!

Now the only thing left to do is go shopping for clothes, pack my suitcase and camera and show up to the airport two hours before our flight. Everything after that is just a giant leap of faith. I am open to experiencing, seeing, learning, being inspired or disappointed, being filled up or emptied, and experiencing a dream come true. A DREAM COME TRUE. How cool is that? 

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I typically use my own images for this website, but since I haven’t been to Paris yet, I have no photos to show and this story seemed so naked without visuals. I expanded my comfort zone by using free images from Pixabay to give you a glimpse of what I will be seeing on my trip. The goal is to update the blog with MY photo essay from Paris upon my return.

I am going to Paris!!!!! What????? Yaaaaaaayyyyyyyy!!!

Thank you for reading ♥

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life lessons from a chicken

My husband promised our daughters (6.5 and 5 years old) baby chicks when we got to Turkey. His father, the Turkish grandpa, got two hens before we came here. The girls named them Raspberry and Chocolate.

One afternoon I noticed a box in the chicken coop. It had holes in it for air.

I told Lila (my five-year-old) there was someone in the box and we should let them out so they don’t suffocate. We opened the box and let out a very fluffed up white rooster and a giant white hen with some rust stained feathers.

The rooster got whiter over time and we named him Snowball. The hen got even rustier, but we still named her Marshmallow.

The new hen, the one that came in the same box with the rooster, was very big. At times, she challenged the rooster. She was the first one to chase away the cat when it came near. “This hen has balls” we thought. My husband and I didn’t even call her Marshmallow anymore, we called her Alpha Female. And I was so proud that this girl was standing up for herself in the animal kingdom.

One late night, when we came back from a two-day road trip, the grandpa, who normally goes to sleep with the chickens, was still up to greet us. He was so excited!

“I have a surprise for you, kids!" he said.

We all go outside to the chicken coop, the headlights of the car lighting it up.

“Two baby chicks have hatched!!!”

They were tiny, fluffy little things, you could fit them in the palm of your hand. Total cuteness overload not just for the kids, but for us, adults.

The next day another one hatched, and one more the next day. We now have four chicks! And if you want a visual definition of "smothering", watch these girls pick up the chicks every two minutes to play with them.

After another four-day road trip to Ankara, the capital, my husband asks, “Did you notice that the rooster’s voice got deeper while we were away?”

But as it turned out later, it wasn’t the rooster whose voice got deeper. It was the Alpha Female who was making that noise! She turned out to be a rooster!

“But her crest is so small, how can she be a rooster?” I asked.

“He is still growing, and his crest IS getting bigger, look." I didn’t know roosters don’t start crowing until they mature.

He pulls his neck down, forward and up and crows like a grandpa, a faint scratchy sound barely escaping his vocal chords. Then his crowing becomes more confident. Now we call her The Hen Who is Actually a Rooster. 

Why am I telling you this story? Well, first of all, it’s funny. Second, it teaches us a powerful lesson about life.

How often do we jump to conclusions that something is not working, that something oughta be a certain way but it’s not and we just give up on it?

I can especially relate to it as an entrepreneur. When at times I put so much into my business but there seems to be no growth, there’s no sound of it getting to the next level. And I can relate to it as an artist. When I am agonizing over wanting to get getter, learning, trying out new techniques, but don't see any improvement.
 

But in reality, growth happens.

Slow, incremental, almost invisible growth, that when compounded, helps you make a quantum leap into a full blown cock-a-doodle-dooing giant rooster.

We just got to be patient, allowing that inner growth to take place, observing it and continuing the work.


With love and gratitude,

Francesca Bliss

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