Nowhere else I’ve been to in my life has offered the constant ego-beating, frustration, incompetence, awkwardness, and failure that Paris has. I guess Boston is too comfortable, where I am surrounded by friends and where I’ve learned how to carve out a little piece of happiness. Oh, yeah—it’s also where I can work and socialize in my native language.
In some ways, this is my version of “slumming it.” Obviously, it’s in a mythical city, where the exchange rate makes me cry a little inside, but I am nonetheless purposefully placing myself in a situation where I am disadvantaged…just for the experience. Or something like that.
What other explanation is there, besides masochism? “Learning.” “Escaping the Harvard bubble.” “Taking exciting risks.” “Thesis research.”
…aka masochism.
At least I’m being honest with myself about it?
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