paris

Paris is the city of dreamhunters.

I got of the train at Gare du Nord and looked for a velib. Not one in sight. I started walking and eventually found a well functioning form of transport.

On my way to the other side of the river, I had to pass my old apartment. I biked down the familiar route that used to take me to work and to school day after day. I felt like I was back home.

I have been told it takes three years before London feels like home. Three years is a long time and I can’t honestly say I will be hanging around for that long. The same process in Paris is supposed to be over in three months. Maybe that explains it.

My weekend in the French capital was filled with lunches, coffees, aperos, dinners, drinks and most importantly – epic conversations. Those talks that start from nothing and end elsewhere and last for hours.

Suddenly the answer to a question that had been lingering at the back of my mind struck me as obvious. Dreamhunters. These people were dreamhunters. It is not what they do that matters, but what they are trying to get to. They know where they want to be, they want what they want to do and they are doing all they can to get there. This might mean working in a restaurant to pay for a class in photography or literature, but these means to an end are a meaningless side note to the story. What counts is that you enjoy what you do and you do what you enjoy.
In London, life is all about achieving. It is about doing what you should be doing at that point in your life. It is about career. It is about a house. It is about the car and a membership in a restaurant. It is about longer hours in the office topped with binge drinking at the pub after hours as there is no time for a slow, enjoyable glass of wine. It is like people are going through the motions of life but not really living.

I left Paris when it was time to go, but I do hope that London is just a step in the ladder that is taking me all the way…somewhere.