A Perfect Moment

(Sunday, March 23, 2025)

I was singing on my way home from the movie theater. I had just seen Blanche Neige (Snow White) with a couple of friends from school.

Yes—I have friends in Lyon now.

Having drinks at a cozy, dimly lit bar with people who, like you, are new to a city is always a solid way to build quick friendships. Over a few beers, you get to know each other beyond class and see if you’re on the same emotional wavelength. Over days or weeks, you hope some of these fleeting connections might grow into something lasting—and others, you hope, quietly fade.

We’ve all had this kind of experience while traveling, and last night, I had my first official “friendship drink test.”

I must say—I liked everyone who was there.

Each person had their own story, and each story could easily be its own book. One is determined to start a new life in a new country. One is a free-spirited world traveler. Another is an aspiring diplomat, her impressive academic and professional experiences leading her steadily toward that path.

I love hearing people’s stories. They remind me of how wide and rich life can be.

Last night, they probably heard more of mine. My stories are strange, complicated, sometimes funny and heavy at the same time. One story can take forever to explain. But I shared a part of myself with them. Whether they enjoyed it or not—that’s not really my business.

This morning, after a run, I went to Carrefour to get some groceries—the same Carrefour I visited on my first day in Lyon, where I accidentally annoyed a store clerk. I was secretly hoping she wouldn’t be there. But as I stepped inside, there she was, standing right behind the checkout lane.

I awkwardly smiled at her. And—surprisingly—she smiled back. A small, genuine smile. The kind you give to someone you recognize.

She remembered me. That felt really nice.

This time, I made sure to grab a basket first, and as I walked through the aisles, I noticed her casting an approving gaze from the counter.

Everything was going smoothly. I was feeling proud, maybe even a little excited. I had turned things around! I was going to befriend the lady who had once dismissed me completely.

But then—disaster.

After putting my basket down at the register, I realized: I had no money.

No wallet. No card. Nothing.

Merde.

I immediately said, “Désolée, je n’ai pas de cartes.” (Sorry, I don’t have my cards.) I didn’t know the word for wallet. I looked at her for a second and then quickly started pulling my basket back.

From that one-second glance, I think she understood.

I put everything back quickly. The cookies I had spent 10 minutes choosing. The high-protein yogurt I was excited to eat after running for two hours. And my smiles.

When I returned later with my wallet, she didn’t smile at me again. But somehow—I still found her kind. Maybe she was in a good mood. Or maybe I was.

Coming back from the movie tonight, the streets were quiet on a Sunday night. I was singing along with Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love, dancing between pools of streetlight and patches of shadow, past blooming pink magnolia trees.

And I remembered the first time I came to France. I was on summer vacation with friends, but I had arranged to meet a French guy I’d met in the Copenhagen airport the Christmas before. We had met in the security line and talked until we boarded separate flights. Months later, we reunited in Avignon—a dreamy, artsy town in the south.

After dinner with my friends, he and I went for a walk.

The streets were dim and quiet, the streetlights soft and golden, flowers lining the road. He sang for me, and then held my hand to slow dance.

I knew it might be the last time I’d ever see him. Some things don’t need a future to be beautiful. His voice, our simple dance, the flickering streetlights—they were enough.

In that moment, I felt like I was dancing on a cloud.

I didn’t want anything beyond a kiss. I walked back to the Airbnb and rejoined my friends. They were surprised to see me return so early.

But I knew—I had already had the perfect moment.

Now, thinking about it again, I smiled.

The power of a perfect moment lifted me once more.

And for a second, I felt like I was walking on that same cloud again.