French - Finding me in France

Bobbi French

St. Johns, Newfoundland and Labrador
2012

2012, Bobbi French

We gratefully acknowledge the financial support of the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF), and the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador through the Department of Tourism, Culture and Recreation for our publishing program.

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Cover design and layout by Neil McCulloch
Printed on acid-free paper

Published by
CREATIVE PUBLISHERS
an imprint of CREATIVE BOOK PUBLISHING
a Transcontinental Inc. associated company
P.O. Box 8660, Stn. A
St. Johns, Newfoundland and Labrador A1B 3T7

Printed in Canada by:
TRANSCONTINENTAL INC.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

French, Bobbi, 1968
Finding me in France / Bobbi French.

ISBN 978-1-897174-94-4

1. French, Bobbi, 1968-. 2. Semur-en-Auxois (France)-- Biography. I. Title.

DC801.S4437F74 2012 944'.42 C2012-901094-4

To the Kids

~ CONTENTS ~

GRACE

I was raised by a Newfoundland family who cherish their deeply held traditions of guilt, panic and self-loathing, so becoming a psychiatrist was the path of least resistance. That way I could put an end to my mothers obsessive fear that I would somehow wind up depending on a man for money. I could also begin the futile quest for the approval of my physician father. But the best part was I could prove to myself (and everyone else) that I wasnt a total idiot. It was the perfect plan. Who wouldnt want a life chosen by a high school kid? Never mind that I had dreams of becoming an improvisational comedic performer discovered by Lorne Michaels who happened to drop in to see my senior year play. As my mother wisely reminded me, I would always be poor if I had to rely on my talent, so medical school it was.

Some 20 years later I was standing in the darkness of my state of the art kitchen at four oclock on a cold February morning. Insomnia and I had become old friends. On that particular morning it wasnt the usual myriad of stresses and heartbreaks of my life as a child and adolescent psychiatrist that kept sleep at bay. No, this was something new; some sort of fundamental problem, a restlessness taking root in my being. Maybe I was just tired or old. I certainly had a right to be either. The latter by virtue of my 42 birthdays, the former by way of a career that had bled me dry. So I did what any psychiatrist would do, I reflected on myself until my brain hurt.

I dont recall the moment when I knew for sure that I was completely ordinary. I was surprised to realize it. This insight developed slowly and subtly in my consciousness guided by the steady stream of extraordinary kids in the chair across from me. Theyd slouch and face me, looking for wisdom or answers or pills or for me to absorb their rage and angst. And no matter how unfortunate or ill or disorganized, they were always impressively uncommon; battered, suicidal, hysterical, psychotic, sexual sophisticates navigating their way often without a moment of love in their lives. Yet there they were, self-aware, confident albeit superficially, clear in purpose even if it was to cause as much self-destruction as possible.

I imagined myself at 16, sure, free of razor cuts on my arms and suicidal depression but also free of confidence, independence and courage. They read Thoreau and strutted their stuff on YouTube. Cripes, I was reading Anne of Green Gables and wearing three layers of clothes to pretend that I wasnt six feet tall and 118 pounds (freak not chic). I behaved myself, did well at school, clung to a boyfriend who treated me badly and played the Good Catholic, well, apart from being on the pill. At first I assumed it was generational, that had I grown up texting and blogging and shopping at H & M I would have been their equal, slick as could be, Brazilian wax and all. But in my heart I knew it was a lie. I knew that not once had I ever done anything brave or unexpected.

I love these kids. I love that they prevail despite all odds. I love that they dare to see beyond their despair. They know that no matter what they decide disapproval will ensue and they do it anyway. Not for a moment do I envy their illnesses and suffering or how society hasnt offered them a place at the table for sick kids who deserve compassion and funding. I do, however, respect their predicament and their grace and dignity in tolerating it. They are fundamentally special. I was the one without grace and I needed to find it somewhere.

There were two other things of which I was certain. I love my husband. I look at him and see the only right path I have ever taken. And, something had to give. My career so heavy with serious responsibility didnt fit me anymore. The system had beaten me down. Some days I felt it was killing me, like some sort of disease destroying me body and soul, and thats no way to live. So what was an ordinary gal to do?

Now maybe a four a.m., carbohydrate fuelled, middle-aged malaise wasnt the optimal moment for major life decisions. And it couldve just been the chips and chocolate talking, but as I looked at the beautiful house that wed spent a year renovating, my luxury SUV in the driveway and my action packed calendar that paid for all the things in my gaze, I realized for the first time in my life that I had a choice. I didnt have to wait for the stars and moon to align or until I had a pile of money saved. I didnt have to wait for the elusive perfect job for wayward psychiatrists to miraculously present itself to me. I could simply walk away. My contract at the hospital was up for renewal and I had a decision to make. I could either go ahead and make my deal with the devil like Id done every year for the past fifteen or I could do something different, something completely illogical.

So I made a deal with myself to abandon the path that Id travelled for so long. To hell with ordinary, convention, fear of disappointing others, seeking approval and doing whats expected of me. I decided to follow in the footsteps of the great George Costanza and live in the opposite. To be brave and do things I have only dreamed of doing, to turn my life upside down, shake it well and see what comes out. The only thing left was to wake up my better two-thirds and give him the good news. Somehow I knew hed be in.

And now, three months after that fateful morning, Ive done the unthinkable. I resigned from my stable and successful position at a major Canadian hospital, leaving behind an amazing group of people and an equally amazing paycheque. I sold my beautiful house, my car and almost everything I own except for a few essentials, my husband being a perfect example. I purchased a one-way ticket to France, and rented a cottage in Burgundy for a year. I traded stability for the absolute unknown. I have lost my mind. Im going to look for it in France.