And this is all relevant because visiting Paris was not dissimilar. I saw the city with new eyes, and found myself deeply moved by the company of those who'd supported, mentored, and cared for me there. In one of the rare afternoons I spent alone, I retraced my old steps with a heightened consciousness, attempting to experience my new self in the familiar all over again. Talk about romanticizing saudade.
In all seriousness though, during those hours à moi même, I luxuriated in the specialness that is intimately knowing an imperfect place otherwise so superficially celebrated. It was a completely unique sentiment from that I feel for Los Angeles--a profound affection for an expansive metropolis too often misunderstood and criticized. What a privilege and a mindf*** to feel at home in New York, Paris, L.A. 
Back to Paris for a moment. That evening, after the MAM, I reconvened with Lorelei and Rachael at a new-to-us cave à vins in the 12th arrondissement. We replayed our hours (and months) apart over the pleasure that is wine, beer... and a cheese plate. Quelle horreur ! --because how defiantly American of us to have cheese as an appetizer. I'll admit it was my idea, and I ate most of it, and it was perfect.
Three hours later, I sat at table with four desserts and an empty bottle of red wine. Mes parents françaises had come into Paris to dine with me--thereby bringing my gratitude levels to a dangerous high :). Patrick leaned over to ask how I was really doing in California. "I'm good," I responded, nearly brought to tears by his kindness. It's likely I'd needed all the challenges since I'd last seen him in order to be so.
