There is a type of stillness that can’t be bought.
A type of serenity, tranquility, or however you want to call it that can’t be sold in a bottle, or even online.
A certain kind of happiness that can’t be faked or even attempted without it being genuine.
Many people talk about the famous, and unfortunately cliche-sounding joie de vivre.
Translated as people's excitement for the world around them, or “joy of life”.
Their ability to soak in the seconds, or even let themselves be amused. A cheerful disposition.
It’s been two weeks in France and I am almost certain it is not only engraved in their lifestyle, but probably in their overall system.
It’s in the way they walk, breathe, and even communicate.
I saw it in the Trocadero gardens, with friends laying in the grass. Sometimes reading, other times singing. In the late night music sessions in the loan behind the Paris University main building. Where students would dance with no rhythm, or shame. I saw it in the streets of Montmartre, as couples held hands, and maybe shared a kiss or two.
Seen as kids ran barefoot on the sidewalk with their parents yelling behind them. Seen with every greeting, welcome, and yes, smiles. Seen while finding the right angle to take a picture of the sunset, or raise a toast in a small local bar.
There is definitely a type of stillness that is not found anywhere else.
And whether that is a mere illusion, an honest attempt at optimism, or just a survival mechanism, maybe lusting life has always been the answer.
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