Courtney Bowlden Photography
With my 40th birthday fast approaching and no wedding bells in sight, I needed something fabulous to look forward to.
Most of my girlfriends were either married with kids or divorced. I'd been reluctantly single for the past 12 years. I remembered a scene in a movie in which the lead character was telling her sister how lucky the sister was to be single because she could jet off to Europe any time she wanted to. "But I don't," the sister said. And I hadn't either, which got me thinking.
While I couldn't seem to do much about my marital status, I could take a trip to Paris. I had another friend turning 40 that same year, who was also single. We started planning a trip together. She'd been to Paris before, so I took her advice about what was the best neighborhood to stay in. We booked our hotel and flights, and I bought myself one of those fancy guidebooks and started planning what to see and where to eat so that I wouldn't miss a thing.
Then, days before our departure was scheduled, my friend called me up and canceled. She wasn't going to be able to make it to Paris after all.
This was frustrating. What was I going to do? I didn't have much time if I was going to switch gears. The trip was less than a week away. Everyone would have plans already, so it was too late to plan a party. But going to Paris alone sounded so dreary, so singleton. I was already painfully aware of my relationship status. The idea of wandering around the most romantic city in the world by myself sounded like torture.
But my fate was sealed when I realized my flight and hotel were nonrefundable. OK, then. Paris, party of one.
I went to the Eiffel Tower on the first night. There were so many tourists that nobody seemed to notice I was by myself. I ate in a brasserie, but I took my pen and journal; I felt every bit like one of my literary heroes, just trying to get a little writing done with a view of the Seine. I booked a day trip to Mont-Saint-Michel and one to Versailles.
I found it was easy to make friends; I wasn't the only one traveling alone. I realized that traveling solo makes you more approachable. Nobody worries they're going to interfere, and so you meet people you may otherwise have never even noticed.
It turns out traveling by yourself is the best. You can wake up when you want to, take a nap if you want to, and eat where you want to. So, the following summer, I spent three months in Prague. The summer after that, I lived in Venice.
During my summers abroad, I kept meeting people who lived in Paris, were on their way to Paris, or had just come from Paris. It felt as if Paris was calling me back. So, the next summer, I returned for a three-month stay at an Airbnb on a cobblestone pedestrian street in the Marais.
I remembered the city, but my sense of direction left something to be desired. One day, I was lost, trying to find an event. I asked a rather handsome Frenchman for directions. Something about him stuck with me. I kept thinking about him for days afterward. He had a deeply emotional face, the kind of face that tells you he has really lived. I wanted to see him again but wasn't sure how. Two weeks later, I went back to that same building at the same time on the same day of the week, and there he was again. This time, he asked me to lunch.
It was the beginning of our long-distance romance. Every three months, I'd go to Paris to see him, and in between my visits, he'd come to see me in Los Angeles.
Three years later, I moved to Paris to be with him. We've been together for 10 years now. What at first seemed like a huge disappointment had turned into the greatest stroke of luck.
I'm so happy that my friend decided not to join me for that first trip to Paris. If I hadn't had that little push I never would have started adventuring on my own, and I never would have met the love of my life.
Like Paris, he was worth the wait.
