It was just about a week ago that I was standing in my Sausalito apartment, stripped...literally, having a day of big anxiety. I was trying like hell not to feel anxious about packing my life up into two 44 pound suitcases but it wasn't working - it was a full, solid day of big anxiety. Not about the move, that is sure and happy, but about the choices and about getting light. I dislike packing even though the last year of travel writing has taught me to be better about it.
I stood in my apartment with angst, the overwhelming kind where even the simplest decision feels monstrous. I painstakingly plucked things from my closet and tried them on, things I hadn't worn in months or even years - why do we do this? Fantasize about wearing old things in new places? "Oh this, yes...I will definitely wear this in Paris!"
At the end of the day, with two full suitcases, I had packed a carefully curated collection to take me through Summer, Fall and my first real Winter in a decade - in Paris. In Paris, nonetheless!
Manifesting a move to Paris began nearly a year ago last August when I found myself in the city that my heart loves after a string of traveling, and solo travel hardships. Paris was a welcomed reprieve, I gave myself the license to just be, to catch up on writing, and to take deep breaths.
I was in an Uber on my way back to my flat after visiting Montmartre and I heard a clear message from my heart telling me that I would move there. My very first reaction was pure and delicious happiness that showed in goosebumps instantly, my heart language...spirit talk, and then I took careful note of what happened next: my head began it's usual nay saying and worry warting and pragmatic internal dialogue that is so far from spirit language that it's a wonder that I even listen. How? What about your apartment? You'll miss Liz and Zana. You can't afford to...all of the things we give big power to every single day. As a testament to where I am on my path and in this ongoing internal dialogue, I noticed the head chatter and changed my focus back to the fantasy. This is where I've been since then. Noticing the chatter, and changing my focus back to the fantasy. Noticing the chatter, and then changing my focus back to the fantasy - for almost a year.
I'll write another post about the details of how the fantasy became a reality in seconds and literally out of thin air, but for now I want to share the intention of this new space and blog with you.
I'm here now, in Paris, and making the transition from one dream to another. I want to chronicle my days here as a project for myself to get back to writing about things I love and my new life of feeling whole, healed and happy. As I was getting on the plane with my one-way-ticket to my new reality I asked my muses for a name for this blog or space and I just let it sit there for a bit.
It was over an early morning coffee with my first new friend in Paris that the name (and theme) came. She's a Kiwi and as she was sharing her story with me she taught me about The Tall Poppy Syndrome. The syndrome is a cultural condition of keeping people small, of shaming people to shine softly so as not to make anyone else feel badly or inadequate.
As it turns out my new friend and I are tall poppies, and always have been. And, as it turns out I'm in the tall poppy business as my heart is fixed on lifting poppies as high as I personally can. And, as it turns out, The Tall Poppy Syndrome isn't only a Kiwi thing, it is a pervasive thing and work that I've been committed to personally my whole life.
I set an intention for the year to be fully in my power for the first time in my life; it's no accident that I'm typing this first blog post from my Paris flat in the 6th arrondissement after manifesting it.
This is the Tall Poppy Project, the chronicles of a brave girl following her heart to a dream city, practicing courage to stand tall in her power every step of the way.