Une vraie lyonnaise

Routine.  A word that drudges up feelings of monotony and boredom.  Never a change of pace.  When we have a routine, we're told to get out of the rut, shake things up, do something that scares us at least once a day.  Routine is a bad word to people my age.  This is the time in our lives that we're supposed to do exciting things like quit our jobs and move to France!

So what happens when you've done exactly that, but you find yourself once again in a routine?  This is what happens: you get down on your knees and thank the universe that you're lucky enough to feel safe and secure within this giant risk you've just taken.

Even something as exciting and exotic as moving to a foreign country can become ordinary over time.  But don't fret!  This just means you've been successful in setting up your life.  Anything that's new and different is exciting until it's no longer new and different.  This is the trap we fall in.  This is why routine is a bad word, and this is why humans seek out ever-increasing highs to pull us from the flat plane of the usual.

Good friends are always a good diversion.

As is chocolat chaud!

Routine is an integral component of life.  Without the constant of routine, how does anything else ever feel special?  Without routine, how do we appreciate the splendor of diversion?  If we stared up at the Sistine Chapel every single day, we would get bored of craning our necks to look at the same painted ceiling minute after dreadful minute.  Since most of us don't, in fact, spend every moment in the Sistine Chapel, we can truly appreciate a diversion from the plain white ceilings in our lives.

It's not the Sistine Chapel, but Notre Dame de Fourvière
is sure pretty to look at.

We also tend to forget the beauty within routine.  I wake up, I get ready, I go to class, I come home, I make dinner, I go to bed.  Variations on a theme every day, but it's mostly within the same opus.  It's possible for me to view my life as such, to get dragged down by the tedium of living, the routine of my days, but why?  How do I manage to maintain vivacity within sameness?  I appreciate the security within my routine so that the thrill of diverging fulfills me.  Secondly, I make peace with my routine. I don't allow routine to be a bad word because I've been waiting for four years for precisely this routine.

Waited four years to do things like paint the kitchen table and chairs
with boyfriend.

For four years, I hated weekend couples.  I hated how they held hands and walked lazily down M St. in Georgetown, contentedly shopping for luxury food goods at Dean and DeLuca.  I hated how they wore matching running or cycling gear with matching Starbucks cups and matching secret smiles.  I especially hated how couples would moon over each other while paying for purchases when I was at the register at City Sports.  I hated how alone I felt, that I couldn't share my smile with the person who makes me smile the most.  

Look at those obnoxious weekend smiles

For three of the past four years, I didn't feel as though my routine were my choice.  I did what I thought I was supposed to do after graduating from college.  Get a job, pay rent, be independent.  I suppose I especially appreciated the divergences from this routine, but it was essentially lacking.  But now, finally, I can be one of those obnoxious weekend couples and share my secret smile in person.  This is the routine I've been longing for, and I hold it closely to my heart, reveling in the sacred tedium and extraordinary comfort.

When we lack the things we love most dearly, it only serves as a reminder of just how much we truly love those things when we once again have them.  I already wrote about my changing personal definition of home; I think appreciation for routine could be filed in a sub-folder of the "Home" tab.  I can also add this to my post about stupid clichés, namely: absence makes the heart grow fonder.  I suppose at the core, this could be true, but it's another over-simplified one-liner that could never possibly take into account the complex spectrum of human emotion.  Four years of being fed that one-liner really start to take a toll on the spirit.

Now that I have my long-sought routine, I feel free to fully enjoy the act of living in Lyon.  The past few weeks have been filled with getting to know my new city and nesting in my new home.  Lyon is superbly underrated.  Before I moved here, many people assumed I would be moving to Paris when I said I was moving to France.  Paris is great and everything (touristy...), but Lyon is just so français.  The food, the architecture, the attitude.  The city is sprawling, but it's also quite intimate.  It's easy to walk from neighborhood to neighborhood; the public transportation is surprisingly abundant and
functional.

Place Bellecour 

Le Saône 

Vieux Lyon

During our breaks between classes, Emily and I have started wandering around the city.  11am on a Monday morning is a prime time to walk through the touristy section of Vieux Lyon.  It's deserted.  But that doesn't mean the traditional bouchons aren't in the midst of cooking for the midday meal.  The aroma of cooking is heavenly.  One time, we literally followed our noses up a steep outdoor staircase that lead us to the basilica of Notre Dame de Fourvière.  This cathedral sits at the top of a hill overlooking the entire city; on a clear day, you can see the Alps in the distance.

Twilight atop the hill

Lyon

We're learning how to enjoy a good conversation at a café on a rainy day.  The Lyonnais gods laugh at our plans, and divert us to random brass bands playing near Place Bellecour.  We had a store in mind in Vieux Lyon, but of course we had to stop and enjoy the man playing the didgeridoo.  We climbed to the top of the hill to see Notre Dame de Fourvière, but took a trek down a grassy side-path to see all the abandoned candelabras.

French selfies.

We want to steal one for a Christmas "tree"

This was the second didgeridoo I saw that day. 

Brass band, sans clothes

We're drawn to the beauty and richness of this city, a city that now feels like home.  Walking across a bridge over the Rhȏne at night, with the sparkling spectacle of lights shimmering all around.  Ancient cathedrals dot the old quarter, and the regal, old Haussmann buildings stand like statuesque testaments to a grander age.  From atop the hill at Notre Dame de Fourvière, a sea of red tiled roofs blends indistinctly with the crepuscular atmosphere.  A cotton candy twilight washes through the city, until a twinkling canvas reflects back from the river.  Lyon is beautiful.

Le Saône

Notre Dame de Fourvière

I love my routine here.  I'm still so new to this city, this country, this language, but the security of my routine gives me such hope that I'm becoming une vraie lyonnaise.  The little excursions we take on our breaks, the life with long-missed love, the satisfying crunch of a fresh baguette, the ubiquitous and aesthetically-pleasing Haussmann buildings, the scent of bouchons doing what they do best, the music of la langue française all give more meaning to the quotidien of days.

And of course, nothing is better than make crêpes with friends on a chilly November night.

At the end of a truly delightful day.