I’ve just returned from a trip to France with my husband Yancey and our friends Elie, Lisa, and their son Theo. It was such a delicious, memorable time, especially being around a 10-year-old naturalist on a canal. There was so much to see—pike, carp, frogs, kingfishers, oh my! And hours to share meals and stories. It would have taken 3 years and a lot of calendaring (the bane of adulthood) to get this much time together at home.
Yancey and I spent our last few days in Paris, just the two of us. It was our first time there, and it’s true—there’s nothing like it. Bikes, pastries, art, crazily beautiful old buildings, fashion, little pitchers of wine, exquisite food and people from all over the world, somehow pulsing with both hustle AND leisure.
I noticed right away how all the chairs at the ubiquitous bistros faced the street. Here in the states, the chairs would commonly face one another. In France, they are positioned side-by-side, looking out at the world, a small round table between them. There’s a lot to notice and appreciate about this.
The first is that it’s often easier to connect side-by-side than face-to-face. This is the reason you have better conversations in the car, on a walk, or doing a project together. Side-by-side lessens the intensity while still maintaining intimacy. It gives each person their own space but supports a little current between them.
The second is that our relationships and lives are enriched by our engagement with the world. Facing the street, there is so much to comment on! I like to call this “fresh water flowing into the stream.” Without this engagement and vantage point, the stream stagnates. At some point, our little worlds need to be recharged and connected to context. We need inspiration, challenge, and new topics of conversation.
More broadly, the French bistro setup illustrates one of the most poignant polarities of life—the need for both internal and external focus. I see this in organizations all the time. An organization focused just on the internal (anti-oppression dynamics between staff, for instance) will lose sight of its mission and sometimes even crumble. An organization focused just on its mission or product (excellent customer service, for instance) will produce unhappy, disconnected staff.
In our own lives, there are seasons. I remember telling my spiritual director when I was pregnant for the first time that I didn’t want to spend all my energy organizing my baby’s sock drawer. She smiled lovingly and said, “You may find that is just what you want to do.” She was right. But then I grew restless, went back to work, went to grad school, shifted my focus externally again. We may not experience both polarities in one day, month, or year, but unless they dance together over time, we’re likely to be stuck in one mode—either frenetically trying to keep pace or becoming myopic.
This is a lot of what I help clients with, both individuals and groups. Is it time for going inward? For some deferred maintenance? Or is it time to focus on mission, purpose, and risk something new? In his book Life is in the Transitions, Bruce Feiler says we vacillate between the ABC’s at different seasons of life—Agency, Belonging, and Cause—and that change usually means we’re moving from one to the other. For me right now, I’m shifting from an intense focus on Belonging and raising children to a focus on Agency. Traveling a lot more is part of that.
Whatever season you’re in, may you be paying attention, shifting your chair a little bit, not scared to look inward, not scared to look outward. There is always something to see.