My Paramour

I hadn’t seen her in so long, I kept imagining what it would be like to walk and just be in her hold.  She always had my heart.  So much young love and discovery had happened because I had gone to her and each time I visited she would awaken those sweet memories of early mornings wrapped in her clutches.

When people spoke ill of her I always came to her defense. She has often been described as “cold,” and “clipped,” and “unwelcoming”– but not for me. I would melt into her language and the sweet smells of her morning coffee. I felt so energized with her and I liked myself best when I was with her. Somehow my voice sounded softer and more melodic when I spoke her language and my sensuality awoke.

I was thrilled that I would have yet another chance to see her again.

It was my mom’s 80th birthday and her vision was to take her four daughters on a trip. We discussed several ideas and to my surprise she chose Paris. Amazingly, my four sisters, all BA50s, were able to clear family and work obligations and set aside six days to be together. What a feat!  That in and of itself is usually the obstacle to pulling off a reunion of any sort.  But our motivation was to honor our mom and, after all she did offer to “take us to Paris.”

I decided to visit a day early, before the rest of the group. After all, Paris and I had our own special relationship that I wanted to savor alone, without distraction. She was my paramour.

I arrived in the pouring rain and as the taxi pulled up to the front of my hotel, the skies cleared. My welcome mat was laid out.  In less than an hour I was eating baguettes with sweet butter and jam and easing into familiar comforts.

It was my junior year abroad when I fell in love for the first time — not only with Paris, but with a Parisian, his family and his friends.  The rush of images of dinners on Rue Jacob, the cafés on Rue du Bac, incessant political debates and the excitement of a new language falling easily from my lips now channels youth into my veins.

I wake from my reverie of first love to receive a message from new friends – it’s an invitation to their Mom’s apartment for lunch. I am thrilled. Bounding through the backstreets of Saint Germain I find the street number, press the secret code on the outside door and enter a quiet courtyard behind the bustle of the street.

At the top of the winding stairs, three flights up, my friend welcomes me in. The scene is set for a dejeuner typique. The TV is replaying last night’s Obama vs. Romney debate, and we are instantly engaged in a political discussion.  She and her husband have invited a few friends to the lunch: a painter, a yoga instructor, and of course her 94 year-old mother is there smiling sweetly–thrilled with all the activity. I feel my heart racing, as I know I am just where I am supposed to be.

My friend hands me Jon Kabat-Zinn’s book, just translated in French, and the moment is complete. I read the French title,  Ou Tu Va – Tu Es, and the stars align–it is one of my favorites–Wherever You Go, There You Are.


As we eat our harticots verts, the freshest of salads, fromage, crisp-crusted French bread, jambon, and of course melon with dark chocolate for dessert, I feel a smile form from my toes to my tete, knowing I have found my familiar seat at the table.

It is clear to me that Paris is toujours my friend. She never disappoints. This city is where my parents showed up one at a time, after having separated three months prior to my going abroad that junior year. They came to be alone with me, and it was the first time I saw them as separate, vulnerable adults, not just as my parents. It’s strange to think they were younger then than I am now.  Those individual visits launched me into adulthood, confirming the dissolution of my nuclear family. Paris caught me in free fall and held me safely as I let go from my parents’ net and began to weave my own web.

And now, here I sit at this lively table of new friends speaking French — eating, laughing and enjoying. I am exactly where I am supposed to be.  I have made the journey into my 50s with memories blending into new stories as the years melt away.

Grateful, content and still in love with Paris— the journey begins again set on this perfect canvas. I know when my sisters and my mom arrive tomorrow, the next chapter will be written and I will welcome that in with open arms.

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Felice Shapiro

Felice Shapiro Felice Shapiro loves figuring out what's next. Felice writes with honesty and humor about real life events, romance, tragedy, reinvention and family not to mention — fashion, beauty & travel. As a serial entrepreneur in the publishing space, she launched to meet the needs of women entering their next phase at 50. Inspired and armed with her love of publishing, writing, start-ups and women’s issues, Shapiro launched an online magazine for 50-something women to share personal stories, successes and relevant issues. She is proud of BA50 which is in its 4th year and has over 7 million unique visitors. 

  3 comments for “My Paramour

  1. Meg Roberts
    October 23, 2012 at 6:13 pm

    Magnifique! J’adore cette histoire! Merci, merci! xoxxo

  2. Kristin Rone
    October 29, 2012 at 8:15 pm

    I, too, have fond memories of falling in love in france. I have yet to return but I felt a lump in my throat and a welling of tears in my eyes as I read your beautiful description of a youthful transition into the world. Young love is so sweet…
    Love to you,

  3. November 23, 2012 at 7:57 pm

    Felice –

    What a wonderful story. Thank you so much for sharing!
    Our last visit to Paris was transformational for my family, too, and inspired me to leave the corporate arena and create a new line of jewelry containing a genuine piece of the Eiffel Tower! We recently launched and we’re excited to share these incredible talismans with romantics and dreamers all over the world who wish to channel the soul of Paris.
    May you always hold Paris in your heart and in your dreams…
    Paul Michael Bedell / founder of

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