“Are you happy?”
There is a predictable checklist of questions that I have come to expect when meeting French folks here. They are posed entirely in French, impressively clear English, or a fragmented mix between the two. Lucy, understandably so, is often the main character in these conversations.
“Mâle ou femelle?”
“C’est Lucy! C’est une fille.”“Quel âge?”
“Six ans!”Inaudible French continues, an exchange of smiles, generous headpats.
“Très belle! Merci! Bonne journée!”
I have gotten good with these types of interactions. Talking about my dog with strangers is something I could enjoy in any language. It is the unexpected, ever popular, “are you happy?” that continues to catch my blindside, and there have been dozens and dozens of times this question has been asked of me. Strangers at the park, parents of students, new colleagues, fellow run club goers, people at the climbing gym, French class teachers, the person selling me their TV stand — it never fails to surprise me, yet it is so frequently asked.
“Are you happy?”
The catalog of questions I had been prepared to answer did not include anything that was so bluntly personal. Where am I from? Why am I here? What do I think? How long will we stay? These are reasonable questions. Safe. Predictable. But, am I happy?
Fuck, I don’t know. It’s a beautiful morning and look at where I’m walking my dog, and I am still breathing on this rock, of course I am happy, but am I? Am I happy?
The clarity and precision of this question would surprise me coming from anyone, though it is remarkable that this question has been the most frequent inquisition from locals. I have been asked whether or not I am happy more times in the last three months than in the first thirty-three years of my life.
And, truthfully, it is a reasonable question.
I just find it difficult to answer.
I think I’m happy. People have been so welcoming when I was expecting quite the opposite. The 38 uninterrupted kilometers of running path around the clearest body of water I have ever seen excites me everyday. My dog swims whenever she feels. We breathe clean air. The mountains are beautiful. My husband is chasing a dream. I found a teaching job and managed to make friends. The bread, the cheese, the wine. It’s a big change but I am happy we are here.
No portion of this response is false. I’ve got loads to smile about, I really do. It’s a fact I am cognizant of almost constantly, thereby muting responses I am less keen to admit for fear of sounding ungrateful and obscene.
I’m happy to be in France, but I worry this is the hardest thing I have ever done? I love the concept of air drying clothes, but waiting 3 days for a pair of pants to dry is not something I am accustomed to and I’m embarrassed to admit how off camber that puts me. I’m still a teacher, yes, but my job is so different and I crave the familiarity of US Public Schools, my colleagues, and even the cool intricacies of 13-year-olds. The grocery stores aren’t that different, but they are? There is no such thing as a good apple in France, and who am I if I don’t eat an apple everyday? My inability to speak coherent French embarasses me like shame I have not felt before. It’s not like I was bored in Utah. I felt so settled and ready, and I honestly have no idea how long we will be here. I walk into my apartment and I don’t feel a sense of relief; it doesn’t feel like going home. I grieve everything that I no longer have planned for myself and I feel like something is wrong with me. So, am I happy?
Can I be both? Happy and struggling? My experience tells me that it’s normal to be both, that euphoric happiness is a mythical thing, reserved for only those who turn a blind eye to the ugly truths of humanity. I won’t wax on about this, but I do question if I have been both my whole life. The abnormal thing may be sharing the “bothness” of my emotional state with anyone who cares to read this.
In short, and as you may have gathered from previous posts, this — picking up and moving to France — has not been as romantic as it may sound. Perhaps that is what people are expecting to hear. Maybe the question is an invitation to be human, an acknowledgement of challenge rather than probing inquisition. And frankly, I appreciate the reflective position this simple question has forced me into.
“Are you happy?”
If anything, I’m learning more about the coexistence of happiness and hardship, and I think that has to be enough for now. Though I wouldn’t hate a crisp apple.
