On Returning
Reflections after an unexpected hiatus
Bonjour dear readers.
It’s been a while, and I suppose this is an “I’m back from an unplanned hiatus” sort of newsletter. As I sit here and type these words, I’m already feeling a muddy mix of emotions as I watch these first sentences fill up this Microsoft Word document.
I’m relieved that I’m finally back to this little project of mine. I’m angry that I neglected it for months. I’m ashamed that—yet again—I didn’t stick to something. I’m conflicted about the original idea behind this Substack—celebrating Paris and its “pleasures”—because, quite frankly, I wasn’t able to appreciate much pleasure at all these past few months (and if I’m honest, I’m still struggling to see the beauty and pleasure in many things).
When I launched this newsletter a little over a year ago in October 2023, it was partly prompted by one of the most exhausting periods of my adult life—mostly related to a bad professional situation. I wanted an outlet to celebrate and uplift the small pleasures and slower pace I embraced after that challenging time. It turns out that 2024 has been worse.
It’s not my intention to pen a long-winded list of excuses as to why I took an unexpected hiatus. But I will say this: for most of 2024, my nervous system has been assaulted by both housing and related financial stress. I felt paralyzed or panicked most days, and those two sentiments were a death knell to my writing.
Between working seven days a week most weeks and coordinating an emotionally and physically taxing move alone, I didn’t have time for much else. I also didn’t feel inspired. I value being authentic, and I didn’t want to write newsletters about great books, delicious food, and how I’m slowing down when those things were simply not part of my life.
And yet, here I am. Returning is always fraught with complex feelings, but what I’m learning after typing out these few paragraphs is that it’ll always feel awkward and you’ll second-guess yourself, but half of it is just showing up and doing the damn thing. The hardest part of returning is saying to the world, I went away for a while, but here I am again.
So readers, here I am. Writing anew.
This edition will highlight a book I managed to finish over the summer, some food & wine I enjoyed in September, and a practice that’s helping me get out of my head and into my body.
What I’m reading
If you’ve read past editions of this newsletter, you’ll know that technology and our attention spans is a subject that fascinates me. I think about my relationship to my phone all the time—how it makes me feel, how it keeps me small. I’m not perfect. According to my iPhone, this past week I surpassed last week’s screen time by 34%. This was mostly due to succumbing to news articles, Reddit threads, and Instagram. When I take the Paris metro or wait in line to pay at my local Monoprix, I often don’t know how to just “be”—sticking my nose in my phone is a coping mechanism.
To be clear, I’m not anti-smartphone. Like wine and sugar and fat, I believe that everything should be consumed in moderation. There’s a lot of good that my smartphone brings to my life, but there’s a lot of bad, too.
I like to read books that discuss the impact smartphones have on our physical and mental wellbeing, and one of them I thoroughly enjoyed was The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt. This book mainly focuses on what Haidt calls the “great rewiring of childhood” through technology and media. And while I’m not a parent nor a child, his observations do apply to me.
One big takeaway: Haidt advocates for phone-free schools, as his research shows that even having a phone in your vicinity affects concentration. I’ve been turning my phone on airplane mode and sticking it in a box in my closet when I need to focus. And yes—it helps.
*I’m an affiliate of Bookshop.org and will earn a commission if you purchase via the link. Bookshop.org is a business that supports local bookstores—a cause that’s near and dear to my heart.
What I’m eating & drinking
On a warm Friday night in early September, I enjoyed a couple of glasses of wine and a savory tartine at a lovely spot in the 9th arrondissement: Buvette.
I’d been to the original West Village location in New York, and loved the warm atmosphere pulled together by easy-to-share small plates and excellent wines. Buvette is the kind of place where conversations can last for hours and time becomes elastic.
In early September, I washed down a lovely orange wine with one of Buvette’s signature tapas: a tartine topped with minced Basque chorizo and parmesan. From the terrasse, I watched Parisians walk past as the acid of the wine delightfully heightened the chorizo’s piquant bite on my tastebuds. Those flavors reminded me of a solo trip I once took to southwest France near the Spanish border, a place of sun, spice, and sea.
I recently returned to Buvette with a friend visiting from New York. We went for Saturday brunch, and I got the day’s special: a ham and cheese croissant that was perfectly flakey, buttery, and cheesy. That’s what’s great about Buvette—it’s there for any gastronomic or social need. They’re open from 9am–11pm during the week, with extended hours on the weekends (a rarity in Paris).
You should go, and if you can, get a seat at the counter. Order whatever strikes your fancy, whether that’s breakfast or a snack. No matter what, it’ll be good.
Buvette Paris, 28 rue Henry Monnier, 75009
How I’m resting
As I said earlier, resting has been elusive. But here’s one little thing I am doing to hit a “pause” of sorts:
I take my shoes off and I stand on the ground.
This is called “grounding,” and I originally learned about it from some functional medicine video. Bio-hackers and holistic health practitioners preach about its myriad benefits, but I don’t really pay that stuff much attention. I just notice how grounding makes me feel.
In Paris, I go to my local park and find a patch of grass. I take my shoes and socks off, and stand there for a few minutes. It doesn’t need to be long.
Throughout a year when my fight-or-flight response has gone haywire, grounding takes me out of my head (when I say “head,” what I really mean is anxiety) and into my body. Grass is usually a bit cool and wet. The sensation that travels from my feet, up my legs, and eventually into my thoughts is difficult to describe. Maybe it’s similar to touching a newborn animal—still, quiet, glistening with nature’s sly magic. A sense of wonder.
Grounding reminds me of one of the simplest truths of being human:
I’m alive, standing on my own two feet. The earth is holding me.
I’m here.
Merci for reading. I’ll be back next week.
—Victorine
Welcome back! so happy to get this today :)
Welcome back cherie! Check out the new and improved Notre Dame for me!