Lost in Paris

Paris was nothing like I could have ever imagined it. I was and still am deeply inspired by its beauty. I learned not only about the artist but I learned about the artist in me. I learned about what it takes for me to become a writer.

On the first day as I walked from the airport the city entered the my view for the first time. It was more beautiful than I ever imagined it could be. It was also more strange than I ever though that it could be. This first day was simply a sight seeing day for me. familiarize myself with the city, check into my hotel room, and find a nice little cafe to spend the majority of my time while in Paris.

The next day I starting the experiment a little more. I arrived that morning in the little cafe I found for some breakfast as well as to get some writing done. I brought along my notebook as well as a pencil. I'm not really a huge pan guy but I well admit there became much less erasing, pages got messier, and I will admit that there were a couple of pages in pen once I left Paris.

After the first day I started to develop a sort of a schedule. Every morning I would make my way down to my little cafe and get started on my writing. It got a little easier to write more and more everyday. As I got farther and farther into my trip it got easier and easier to fill the pages of my notebook, and not only that but I began to enjoy it more and more as the days went by.

As I wandered the streets of Paris I was nearly overwhelmed I tasted what true artists taste. I heard what true artists hear. I saw what they saw and went to the places that they have been. As I walked towards the Eiffel tower the man walking next to me was holding a book. His old wrinkled hands curled around the scuffed up spine holding it was his most important possession. I began to slow my pace as we neared the tower until I came to a stop. The man continued slowly past me but then he stopped. He turned around and looked at me for just a moment. he slowly walked up to me and placed the book in my hands. he turned and walked away without a word. I watched him as he left confused and filled wit excitement. I opened the book and slowly began to flip through its pages. I was surprised as this book was in English with multiple notes written on each page.

I found a bench and began to read. After a while an older woman came and sat down on the bench next to me. I must have seemed very intent on my new book as I noticed her leaning over o see what I was reading. I learned not only a lot about being an artist but I learned so much about life. I will keep this book with me forever and happily share it with all those who are interested in it.

I was sad as I left Paris but I am thankful for all the lessons I have learned. One day I hope to become at least somewhat like that man who handed me that book on that special day in Paris.