Free Man In Paris
A Multinational Soul's Journey
"Walk through those doors and wander down the Champs-Élysées
Going café to cabaret"
Unchecked Baggage: My Airport, My Self
When I landed in Paris, things started to take off. I was on a different plane. 7 days made one weak/week. Avi-Navi-gation seems as natural to me as sending an email or going to Starbucks. I fold up my self and carry "me" around as if I were a gym bag.
I Meet Therefore I Am
I shrink therefore I am part of—and apart from—American, European and Asian culture. The countries I visit(ed) and live(d) in are as eclectic and restless as the airports I "inhabit". Along with the displacement, and the associated jet lag, I am simply a fairly glib product of a movable feast, living and working in a world that is itself increasingly small and increasingly hybrid.
The Map is the Territory
The menu is the meal.
The statue is the saint.
These aren't just travel observations—they're philosophical insights about how representation becomes reality, how planning becomes experience, how symbols become sacred.
Trusting My Hunches
The journey begins with a simple act of faith—walking through those doors and wandering down the Champs-Élysées, going café to cabaret. Sometimes the most profound discoveries come from following our instincts rather than our itineraries.
Bean and Nothingness
Channeling Jean-Paul Sartre, the biggest post-WWII noise in France, as I passed the Café de Flore on the Left Bank. Once a hangout for Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, JP would meet "The Family" and evolve existentialist philosophies over drinks.
You shall know the truth, but first it will piss you off. For France, the road to freedom led through the abyss of defeat and despair. JP's pontifications were a spiritual disinfectant—or at least deodorant for his peers.
The Red Pill and Blue Pill
Sartre offered the red pill and the blue one: Communism and suicide. Who could forget his definition of man—condemned to be free. This existential burden defines our very existence in a world where choice itself becomes a form of imprisonment.
Math is Hard
FADE IN: I sit down for a coffee and a croissant. I ask for the check. It's 5.50 Euro. I give her 10 Euro and she gives me back 10 Euro 50. I made half a Euro on the deal—of course I leave her the balance as a tip, but WTF?
Even in the land of Cartesian logic, sometimes the numbers don't add up the way we expect. Perhaps this is its own form of Parisian magic.
From the Abyss to Beautiful Days
I start thinking about the anniversary of Woodstock and Joni Mitchell, one of the greatest songwriters. Think "Free Man In Paris" meets "Help Me" versus "From the Abyss" and "No Exit".
Let's put Suite Judy Blue Eyes and JP Sartre in a steel cage to fight it out: Because what is freedom? It's not being alone. It's being in a relationship with someone that lets you do your own thing.
Paris is for Lovers
As much as traveling alone—"The swiftest one is he that goes alone"—is cool, it's not where you go but who you go with. There is no existential "nausée" and romantic "ennui" when connection transcends solitude. Yet, Paris is for lovers.
The Privileged Homeless
The cult of amateur wanderers is growing; global souls who haven't been everywhere but it's on their list; for whom home is a feeling, not a place in the soil but inside yourself. I am one of the privileged homeless.
People come to airports and never leave. We are spending more time in airports for better or worse—they are not just visited by us as tourists, but inhabited by us for a few hours. Is there a new kind of person being created by a new kind of life?
Basho on a Frequent Flyer Pass
If the Zen poet hadn't said that more than 300 years ago, I would have. I am Basho on a frequent flyer pass, with complimentary mojo on takeoff. Technology is not the nameless Other. To embrace technology is to embrace, and face, ourselves.
The Journey Continues
From CDG to Notre-Dame, from the Eiffel Tower to intimate café conversations, this isn't just a travel story—it's the evolution of a multinational soul. Each airport becomes a home, each café a philosophy classroom, each moment of displacement a step toward understanding what it means to be free in an increasingly connected yet fragmented world.
You love this town even if that doesn't ring true
You've been all over and it's been all over you
It's a beautiful day