Parles-tu français? Non? Pas de problème. Vie d’amour!

My Try Something New for today: I responded to a mystery text in French.

I received a random text from a man named Francis who was looking for a woman named Yvette.  In that I received his message, it appears that Yvette possibly gave Francis a wrong number.  Or perhaps Francis had a case of Fat Fumble Finger Syndrome when he was entering Yvette’s phone number into his phone.  It’s a tough call.

Francis’ message read: Is this Yvette from ______.  (wanting to keep this private for Francis’ sake)

I responded: ??

Francis: Yes or No if this is Yvette.  

Me: Nope.  

And thinking this sounded harsh, in a follow-up message, I added: Sorry.

Francis: Sorry wrong number.

Me: Pas de problème. (Translation: Not a problem.)

Francis: Huh?

Me: No problem.

Francis: Ohhhh hahahahaha.

I don’t know why I responded to Francis in French or why this was funny, but apparently it eased Francis’ disappointment that Yvette dissed him with my number instead of her own.

Responding to strangers in French  is certainly nothing that I have felt compelled to do in the past . . . not with the person who keeps trying to ask Hot Jazmyn out.  Or the person who keeps trying to tell Ted to pick up his paycheck before Friday — this has happened twice now.  Poor Ted.  And there is the man who keeps trying to schedule dates around his doctor appointments.  I guess I must have a popular number.

I mentioned this Francis-Yvette exchange to a friend of mine — who also speaks French — and she recognized Yvette’s name and the name of the bar.  She said that her boyfriend used to be roommates with Yvette, that Yvette indeed works at the place that Francis mentioned, and . . . drum roll, please . . . Yvette is from France.  Amazing?  No.  Mildly coincidental?  Sorta.

In all cases of mis-received texts, I have tried to break the truth gently.  I am not Yvette; You deserve better than Hot Jazmyn; Ted is going to be broke if you don’t try harder;and I hope that you are feeling much better, but this isn’t Connie.  My words of empathy bridging the gaps in cyber space.  Hey people!  You are all awesome!  Thanks for saying hey!

But then . . . the plot thickens.  Being one of those people who likes to keep an arsenal of Cupid’s arrows in my backpack at all times, I forwarded Francis’ message to my French-speaking friend whose boyfriend used to be a housemate with Yvette.

I do not know what the outcome is at this point time, but perhaps Kismet is serving in Francis’ favor and my friend’s boyfriend will forward the message to Yvette and then Yvette can make a decision as to Francis.  Maybe she believe in Kismet, as I do, and she will give Francis a second chance and give him her real number.  (Enter: Hollywood crescendo music to indicate happy moment)

So, none of this loop would have been set into motion had it not been that I mentioned the French-reply reference to my friend.  Random?  I don’t know . . . at least not yet.  Reste calme, Francis.

I realize that this has generated quite the lively exchange of nothingness at this point in time.  But it does speak to those promptings to do something that makes absolutely zero sense at the time but could have an ooh-la-la impact in someone’s love life.

Hourra! Kismet! Et vie d’amour!  (Love lives!)

 

 

Prompt: What do you like about your Alone Self?

Image

PROMPT: What do you like about your Alone Self?  When was the last time you spent some time with your Alone Self?

These questions lead me to tap on my soul’s door and say: “Is anyone home in there?  Where have you been?”  Wait . . . where have I been?

And then the door opens . . .

Who do I see?  What is she doing?  What does the room look like?  What is the lighting like? Is there candlelight?  Is she listening to music?  If so, who is on her playlist?  What color(s) are the walls?   Are the floors bare or are there rugs?  What pictures are hanging on the wall? Are there muddy running shoes by the door?  Are there musical instruments?  Is it some kind of laboratory with an experiment brewing — test tubes and beakers bubbling over?  Is there a snowboard leaning against the wall?  What does the hearth area look like?  Are there books and papers piled on the table?  Is it bare?  Is it set for one?  Or two?  Or more?

Just writing these questions takes me on an expedition that leads me to better understand that which makes me who I am and that which I continue to create out of my passions and interests and fancies.  My definition of fun lies in this room, and the person who opens the door has been awaiting my knock.

As I answer these questions, I take a journey into what it is I love about being alive.  It is these things that I like about myself.  I like that I light an inordinate number of candles when I am feeling stressed.  I like being able to look at my wall of vintage and unplayable mandolins, knowing that someone once made music in them before the necks became too warped to play any longer.  If you look just so, you can see ethereal notes of music past drifting out of their sound holes.  I like using my stairway leading upstairs as my filing system for my research: a step for every barely-started project.  I like seeing my collection of high heels haphazardly strewn about my closet and bedroom: this means I am wearing them.  I like laughing with my loved ones, sometimes at really inappropriate times.  I like that I keep at least two pairs of dance shoes in my truck at all times, one black pair and one red pair.   Although my kitchen may smell funny, I like making my own kefir and kombucha.

As I think about what lies within and as I enjoy what I see, I now see my soul’s room as being inordinately messy and cluttered and hodge-podgey.  No wonder I feel this way in my real life.  Wait . . . this is my real life.  And this is all good.  It adds to my sense of self and to my sense of connection to others.  It is I who has created all of this . . .  um . . . creativity.  And maybe it is time for some Spring Cleaning, but this looks like a really fun place in which to create and to be today.  To be with my Alone Self.

A few questions for you:

What do you like about your Alone Self?

What do you see when your soul opens the door?  What does it feel like?  What does it look like?

After visiting this room, what do you like even better about your Alone Self?

Blessings to you today as you explore the hidden and unseen passages to your soul’s door.  Perhaps it is along this circuitous journey where I make the biggest connections with my Alone Self.  Boosh and Bwoom!  Momentary flashes of discovery lighting my way.

Liking my Alone Self allows me to extend myself to others and make connections that I might have missed, if I am not mindful of  keeping the soul’s door open.  That is the beauty of spending time with yourself: when you return to your Others Self, you have decided if you are going to keep the door closed or prop it open with a stone.  Today, the door is flung wide open.  Bliss ensues.

open-door