I bought a Christmas tree yesterday. My Frenchman wasn’t too crazy about it since he believes trees belong in the forest, but I just had to bring some of my traditions and Florida family memories to my new French home. I discovered that as we decorated it, helped by my Frenchman’s lovely 16 year old daughter, that in my mind I had a very specific ‘Christmas tree decorating criteria.’ After all, I’ve been expertly decorating Christmas trees for 45 years. I mean whoever heard of a paint can for a stand, pink and purple garland, and why aren’t those lights twinkling instead of flashing?!? And with the co-mingling of two families’ Christmas decorations, you couldn’t see the tree’s limbs by the time we were done. That poor tree! I tried to make some adjustments this morning so that the limbs don’t break off with all the weight.
That tree, in reality, is symbolic of my new journey living in France. At 50, I have a very specific criteria about what life should look like, just like that tree and its decorations - everything in its place, perfectly positioned, fastened on tightly so as not to risk falling, and surrounded by a touch of bling bling. Moving to another country uproots all of that. The tree leans a bit, you always feel at risk of falling, you definitely don’t feel comfortable in your surroundings, you feel the weight of all the changes and challenges, and the bling bling just doesn’t matter. There are more important things to focus on. Perhaps these are all good things – it encourages me to look at what is most important in life, what the priorities are, what’s worth fighting for, and perhaps more importantly, what’s worth risking so much for. The challenge is to grow again into that stable, strong, deeply-rooted tree.
