All I can say is that life is so funny. I walked into JFK’s Terminal 1 with such a smile on my face, knowing this is the first leg of an incredible journey. The car ride there was one full of traffic, the weather was quickly turning sour, and the line for TSA’s PreCheck was even long (you know it’s bad when PreCheck is long). But, nothing was going to stop the butterflies scurrying around in my stomach. Having been an American Express customer for a while, I always like to take advantage of my Platinum Card lounge access. I glided to the Air France lounge with the silver rectangle in my right hand ready-to-go, only to hear “Lounge is full. No further entry for the rear is the night.” I stopped dead in my tracks. Where was I going to get my pre-flight drinks and libations?!

I scurried to the other Priority Pass lounges in Terminal 1, only to hear the same upsetting sentiments. My first call should have been to myself for a much-needed reality check, but instead it was to the 1-800 number on the back of this (useless!) piece of metal. I’ll show those people at American Express! I’ll show them!

Well, that conversation turned into a nothing-burger, and I ended up sitting by myself with an overpriced bag of Cheez-its on the other side of the somewhat less crowded terminal. Getting back to the title of the article, life is quite hysterical as we all know, and this first-world blip, so to speak, was just the beginning of an incredible encounter.

Sitting next to me in the terminal was a woman dressed in a stylish and edgy black, head to toe, and at her feet lay a mesh carrier for a small animal. When I saw the little black paws stick out of the mesh to grab a Churu, I knew exactly what I was working with. Knowing I was about to meet another cat parent, I said hello to both of these wonderful spirits. The owner of the cat and I ended up having a great conversation about her travels and work situation (she splits her time between the US and Portugal, she was headed to the EU to work on visa things). When it was time for her to board her flight, we said our goodbyes, and we both realized we were most likely never going to encounter again. Nonetheless, I found it to be such an incredible connection, albeit brief, and I was, in that moment, so grateful the lounges were full. Had I had access to the Air France lounge, what would seriously have happened? I would have sat there with a light snack and a glass of red wine with my AirPods in, consumed in my little bubble of I’m-here-because-I-think-I’m-important.

Fast forward to this afternoon, and I’m sitting on la plage at CoCo beach in Nice, France, right outside of the old port. This beach is totally different than what I am used to back in NJ; steep, cream-colored rock platforms that have been eroded out of long, sloping cliffs adorn the coastline of Southern France. With my water shoes in hand (every guide to me that it was extremely easy to spot the tourists; just like a chemistry lab, proper footwear is imperative!) I made my way to an alcove and got comfortable. A spray of sunscreen here and a bite of a baguette there, and I was settled.

To make this whole experience even more cliché than it is, I’m also reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love, because, as an early thirty something, why not?! I’m about a third of the way through, and Gilbert writes about how Americans have such an incredibly hard time learning how to relax, and these words truly spoke to me. Why do we, as Americans, have such an issue with down time? I am a product of my “typical” American upbringing, you get good grades, attend university, get a job, work until you’re 65, and then what happens at 65? A full stop? The carpet gets pulled out from underneath you? And what happens before that? We keep working until we’re totally numb?

I know I am a victim of this “numbness” as are the rest of us aux États-Unis. Last night, I had a nightmare. Maybe it was the almost 24 hour travel day, or the impending jet lag ‘hit,’ but I dreamed that I double booked myself and had scheduled a show to work microphones and lights for during the second half of my stay in France. I can remember scrambling to make phone calls to try to find someone to take my place. I woke up abruptly and actually had the audacity to check my calendar just to make sure I didn’t have myself booked. Guess what. There was no booking to be found.

As I sit here on the beaches of Nice, I try to really enjoy the uncomfortable-ness of the newness of this journey. I am actively trying my best to take in the world around me with each breath I take. The people here are friendly, but my French (or my attempt at French) may be helping me more than I realize. As I sit here on this rocky coast, I can only observe what I can describe as living. People are talking, reading, taking photos. They are drinking, tanning, loving one another’s company. Sunday scaries do so not exist. I can hear the rocking of the crystal blue-green waters crashing against the shoreline, the roar of the jet planes flying over head to their destinations at NCE. I also can hear language being spoken, the familiar, winding cadence of the French I have been diligently studying, along with Italian and German; I have yet to find someone speaking English. It feels foreign yet comfortable, all in one fell swoop.

One of the things I’m working on in my daily life is getting better at being alone. Sure, I live alone, and I have plenty of alone time in my life, but there can always be an outside stimulus or interaction that warrants the situation void of aloneness. On this trip, I’m excited to be alone; truly 4,000 miles away from home. Although my journey has just begun, I know that there are going to be ups and downs; I know that situations are going to arise that I’m going to have to figure out. And that is the beauty of this entire experience.

À la prochaine!