Field Notes from France: Lessons from France

Two weeks ago, I was finishing the last stretch of my France trip.
Now, back home, time has gone fast again.

It always surprises me — how two weeks of travel can feel like four, yet two weeks at home disappear in a blink.

It’s a sign of how we live our lives. Back to the grind, back to the to-do lists. Checking the boxes, days sliding into nights — faster, it seems, with every cycle. When we stop paying attention, we miss so much.

If I could remember to take some lessons on slowing time down from France — what would they be?

Curiosity

Curiosity, and being interested in everything around you.

I’ve always thought of Paris as one big art gallery. In the three times I’ve been, I’ve played a little game I call Spot the Random Art. It makes you pay attention — though sometimes more to sculptures than to where you’re walking (very easy to go the wrong way or nearly bump into someone).

It makes you look up, down, and all around. You never know what you’ll find. Every time I spotted something new, I smiled — Space Invaders, Barbapapas, even tiny Smurf heads. Try to spot them in the image below.

Then, of course, there are the classics: ancient sculptures, carved reliefs, and the exuberant colour of my girl, Niki de Saint Phalle.

We don’t all live in places like Paris. Canada is young — it doesn’t have centuries of art staring back at you from every corner. But there are other things to notice: the changes in colour and light, a sunrise or sunset, flowers blooming, trees turning. All small things that help you pay attention — and make time feel slower.

Balance

It took me a while to understand that a successful trip means finding a balance between doing and not doing.

I can pack a schedule tight, but I’ve learned to leave space for “nothing time.” Not that we’re doing nothing — these are the pauses when we stop for a drink, people-watch, or play a round of our travel game, Othello.

Connection

Café culture is big in France. Seats are close together — easy enough to drop into conversation with the person beside you. Smile first, say bonjour or bonsoir, and you never know who you’ll meet.

I try to live that way at home — make the first smile. I’ve turned neighbours into friends that way.

It’s funny how humans tend to separate ourselves, marking territory and deciding others are the unfriendly ones — without realizing maybe we haven’t even tried. You never know what a simple smile or hello can do. Effort is our only hope. Try it.

At Home

I’d like to slow time down again now that I’m home. Take my own advice.

I’ve been sick and anxious about a lot lately — feeling better, but anxiety isn’t something you can always take a pill for. (Well, you can, but it doesn’t fix the source.)

There will always be stress. The challenge is learning to live with it — to keep it from turning chronic, to avoid taking it out on yourself or others.

How?

When I travel, I get good at postponing those feelings. On vacation! Feel ya later, anxiety. 

I fill my head with the visuals — the sights, the smells and tastes, the morning sounds of a place waking up. All the things that make me feel connected and alive.

Then I come home, and the rhythm changes. The to-do lists return. Guilt creeps in for having enjoyed myself. What the fuck is with that?

I double down, pile on more work. For an artist, that’s a long list — it’s not all easels and paint. I freelance part-time too. A lot of balls to juggle.

Somewhere in that, the connection gets lost. I forget to look, smell, taste, listen. That’s when time starts to speed up — when my senses narrow.

They say Europeans have less stress — and maybe that’s why they have fewer heart attacks. Maybe it’s because they know how to live better: to take the siesta, the long lunch, to rest without guilt.

Try it. See what changes. See if time slows down.

I’ve always hated that saying: “Work hard to play hard.” Why kill yourself just to have two weeks of living a year?

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This story is part of my travel series, Field Notes from France, where I share the places, light, and moments that inspire my paintings. Next up: more notes from France — wherever attention happens to wander.