Life Lately

And the lessons I've learned

Well, happy Spring! Sorry for not coming back to this in a couple months. As you can imagine, that was not the plan. My February and March were a bit of a whirlwind, and not necessarily a bad one. I’d been between five cities for a mix of work and play and the past few weeks I’ve been trying to return to some semblance of normalcy and routine. It’s been a slow burn and the weather is not helping. These days are a constant reminder that sun or rain, I still have to show up. 

Let’s get into where I’ve been, what I’ve been up to, what I observed, and what I learned about myself along the way. Valentine’s Day weekend I was part of a bridal party for a friend’s wedding. Participating in bridal parties is something I’ve been pretty anti for a few reasons, but when I was asked, the commitment was minimal. I adore the couple, and the bride shared that we wouldn't really be part of the ceremony—there for moral support, good vibes, and getting ready. That, I could do. The couple is Nigerian, so I was excited to participate and attend my first Nigerian wedding. I’ve been to a Ghanaian wedding but you know they say Naijas do it better (read: different). I’m nowhere near close enough to my cultural identity as a Nigerian to talk shit…yet. I don’t think I look Nigerian, so whenever family or a stranger says that they can “see it,” I stare blankly. I wondered if I saw my reflection, dolled up adorning a gele, if I’d finally see it too. Spoiler alert: I didn’t. I enjoyed both ceremonies—the traditional Nigerian ceremony and the American wedding—for different reasons. There’s something about being around Africans that always feels like a home—a sense of both community and pride bursting at the seams. The traditional ceremony felt like this. I loved that the couple kept their culture at the forefront and it was important to them for their friends to have that experience too. The American ceremony was meaningful and emotional, not a dry eye in the room. I loved how they honored their families while focusing on themselves and their love. We were truly just witnesses, as it should be. Weddings always put me in my feels. You’re met with these unspoken (and unrealistic expectations) of maybe meeting your person during this one moment in time. You wonder if that kind of love will ever find you, and quite frankly, you have to deal with your own mortality when you listen to vows that are about having and holding for life. It put me in a sentimental mood, and I’d take that with me into my birthday week. 

Views from the traditional Nigerian wedding.

The day after the American wedding I flew to Paris for my birthday. I decided in December and actually booked the trip in January. I had been talking to a friend who was thinking about treating herself to a solo Valentine’s Day trip and thought what better place to romanticize her life than Paris. I’ll tell anyone who’ll listen how much I love Paris, so I encouraged her to go. When I looked at the dates I said maybe I’d go for my birthday and we could overlap for a couple days. My birthday felt like the one occasion I hadn’t celebrated there. I took my mom for a milestone birthday. I went on what was supposed to be a group trip that turned into a solo trip (which cemented my love for Paris) and other solo trips followed. I celebrated New Years with friends there, and even saw Beyoncé’s Renaissance World Tour there, but just celebrating myself in the city I love? That hadn’t been checked off of the list yet. Tickets were lower than expected, and one of my go-to hotels was cheaper than an AirBnB. So, I went to Paris. Not without any hiccups, though. I was already having plane anxiety, then while barely able to keep my eyes open, my first flight from LaGuardia was canceled which would cause me to miss my connecting flight. I was rebooked on a direct flight from JFK, but had to wait 2.5 hours to get my bags from baggage claim because almost every flight was canceled and there were tons of bags that needed to be returned. I was close to crashing out but I was frankly too tired to. I made it to JFK in time and the scene there was the opposite of what was happening at LaGuardia. Planes were taking off and travelers didn’t look nearly as stressed or defeated as they did at LaGuardia, myself included. Once I boarded I sighed in relief and fell asleep quickly. I woke up an hour later and we hadn’t moved. I dozed again, and when I woke up we were still there. Over two hours later we were in the air and I tried not to let my nerves take over.

There’s a NY Times article that focuses on the surge of West African fine dining around the world. Since reading that, my mission has been to visit every restaurant included in the article. I’ve been to a few already, so when I was able to snag a lunch reservation at MoSuke a few weeks before the trip I considered it fate. I landed in Paris six hours later than I had originally planned. It was time to be seated as I waited for my bags to come around the carousel. My friend made it on time, and I arrived an hour late. I was tired, embarrassed, and disappointed that this is how my trip was starting off. Luckily, I was greeted by the sun, a very friendly wait staff, my friend, and one of her friends. Things could’ve been worse. After some internal sulking and external “I can’t believe this happened” moments, I let it go. I got to enjoy two courses, drank a great rosé, and blew out my first birthday candle of the season. Our next stop was a rooftop bar with a breathtaking view of the city. I could see it all and that’s when it hit me—I was back in my happy place.

First day in Paris. Mosuke and Bonnie Paris.

In Paris, I felt really in tune with myself. At dinner, my friend asked what I wanted for myself in this next year of life. I spoke about trying to hone in on outward confidence. Internally I know who I am and what I bring to the world, but I know that doesn’t always translate IRL. I talk to who I know, I do NOT approach those I don’t know, and it takes me a while to warm up. I also rarely want to ruffle feathers—if fading to black was an option in spaces that feel foreign to me, I’d choose it every time. I prefer environments of comfort or where I know I have an anchor, whether that be a place, or a person. I had just seen this post where the interviewee says “I realized what I thought was humility was actually shrinking myself from my fullest potential.” It put words to what I was feeling, and what I want to get out of this next year. I’ve been so used to trying to hide when it’s uncomfortable. Even when I travel (and in general) I try to fit in, using my six sentences of French to get me through and moving quietly. My friend was the opposite. She wanted people to know she had arrived and that was surprisingly (to me) welcomed from the people we/she interacted with. All I could think to myself was, “I would never!” But I had to ask myself why? Was it because it’s uncomfortable? Because I thought I’d be rejected? Or was it because I thought being humble or modest in these situations actually did something for me? Was I shrinking? If I didn’t care what people thought or how I may be perceived, would my light shine brighter? It’s something I thought about then, I continue to think about now, and challenge myself to act differently when I realize I’m doing what I’ve always done. 

We had two days of running the streets (I also took those two days off from work even though freelance life kinda never sleeps) so once she left, I was back into what my usual Paris routine was, which was maximizing my mornings and early afternoons before returning to the laptop for work. Some highlights: the best facial of my LIFE (Biologique Recherche is really that girl), flaky croissants, moody dinners, and excellent champagne (I’m canceling Prosecco from my life sans brunch). After said amazing facial, I realized via Google Maps that a cafe I had saved was just across the street. I had a notebook but no pen. I asked the server for one and got to reflecting and thinking:

February 20, 2025

My skin has me feeling like a new bitch. I forgot my pen at home and this is going to sound elitist but this ball point does not feel the same. A facial, gifted to me by a friend, has made me feel radiant, that inner glow seeping through my skin. Thank you. Google Maps is your friend. I saw a cafe/brasserie was literally on the corner—one James Baldwin and Duke Ellington spent their time respectively. It was only right that I found home here too. I’ll have to look up photos to see how much (if any) the facade has changed. I wonder where they sat, where their dreams came to be, what art they created. What words came from Baldwin’s mind and hums from Ellington’s mouth. Miles and miles from home, creating their own cultural art community without the barriers they were used to. 70-80 years later, I find myself in the corner being a dream realized, summoning the spirit of my literary godfathers and mothers. I’m the only Black person here so I must wonder if Cafe Tournon’s popularity has faded among us. As I look around, I noticed a duo reviewing a script. An older French guy went between wine and water as he read a magazine. When did this become his place? Or was it by chance, better yet serendipity, like me? And for the writer across the way…what are you working on? He’s reading a thin book and taking notes in one of his two notebooks. Are we perhaps in search of the same thing? A pull. A call. The right words that would make our forefathers proud. This rain that has come doesn't feel like a cleansing, more like a welcome. An acknowledgement that we are here and covered. Books line the banquets inside. Are Baldwin’s famed works in there? I wonder.

Biologique Recherche and Café Tournon.

If there was a camera following me on my birthday the snapshots would show a day well spent. I hopped around the boutiques near Place Vendôme sipping champagne and espresso at every stop, seeing if anything stood out. At my first stop, I had the nicest sales associate. I have decision paralysis, especially when it comes to shopping, so Andrew and I got to know each other pretty well in the 45 minutes I was with him. He asked where I was from and I told him I was visiting from New York for my birthday. He told me he used to live there. I asked if he transferred from a store in New York and he said no—in New York, he was a corporate finance lawyer. My eyes went wide with wonder, curious about how he went from that to being a sales associate today. No shade. He told me he worked 80-100 hour weeks and hated it. He said the money was great, but he felt he was missing life moments with his wife and child. He reached his breaking point, quit, and moved back to France. He said he was always in love with watches and the mechanics behind them, so he pivoted to a career where he could focus on his passion. We were in a store that was known for leather goods, but he said to become a watch specialist, he had to start on the sales floor with the other items. It was his first week on the job. He asked if he could show me the watches (tbh I didn’t even know they made them), and I said sure if he had time to. He walked me over and I could feel his excitement as he spoke about the timepieces. He even let me try them on and explained their patented rotary and design. I thanked him for not only showing me the watches and being a great (read: patient) sales associate, but sharing his journey with me. Not every day, but some days, I question my own path. That conversation was a reminder (or a God wink as a friend calls it) that I’m on the right one, for now. I told him I wasn’t a big time lawyer but I had a “good job” I felt was ripped from me that I gave my all to. The trips I said no to, the sacrifices I made for big life moments, and in general feeling like I could outwork discrimination or someone simply not liking me. The gift I’m forever thankful for, is that after that “good job,” work found me that fit what I need(ed) at the time and gave me the freedom to get back to myself. I was happy to see he had gotten back to himself too. 

My friend took the train from London to spend the weekend with me, which made it even more special. He met me mid boutique shopping, and we met another great sales associate who was intent on giving us extra champagne for my birthday. We delighted in very fancy cocktails at the Ritz and a fabulous dinner at La Renommée. We took a beat then hit the streets for what we said would be a short night, but went well into the early morning at a dance club that I make it to just about every trip, swaying under the moving lights reflected from the disco ball, sipping something sweet. Paris, I love you so and I want to keep experiencing the magic and bringing friends along with me for the ride. Thanks for the moments of introspection too. I weigh the magic and the moments of solitude all the same. 

My actual birthday in Paris. February 22, 2025.

That was long, and probably not even what you’re here for—you’re here for Violet. If you’re new here, I use Substack to chronicle my book-writing process. Violet is the main character, mirrored after myself, figuring it all out. In each entry, I share an excerpt from the WIP manuscript. As you’ll come to find out pretty soon, she too fell in love with Paris, and this excerpt is from her night out with her new…friend.

Theo asked if she was ready to go. Violet didn’t know what she wanted. She wasn’t ready to go back to her hotel, or leave Theo, but she was ready for a change of scenery. “Hmm, want to take a walk?” Theo liked the idea. He called Will over and wrapped up the check. Will reached out for Violet’s hand, “Madame Violet, enchanté.” “Enchanté, Will. I hope to see you again. I love it here and your martini was chef’s kiss!” Violet motioned a kiss with her hands and lips and laughed. Theo said something else in French, and off they went. 

“Okay, I didn’t think this through. I don’t know where we’re going but after my performance I figured I should switch locations or go home.” 

“I loved your performance.” 

Violet blushed. 

“Let’s go this way. It’s towards your hotel. If it starts to feel too far, I can get you a cab.” 

“Parfait,” Violet responded. 

They walked from one small street to the next. Paris was very unassuming. From the middle of the street the city seemed asleep, but the closer Violet got, she realized it was everything but.

“Ugh, I love it here,” Violet said. 

“What do you love about it?” asked Theo.

“I love this. Walking down a street thinking everything is closed. Then boom. Someone’s having wine here. Someone’s dancing here. This place you think is a store is really a speakeasy. The people are chic. I mean, I love color, but boy do you all love black. The architecture. It reminds me of New Orleans sometimes, depending on where I am. I feel like there are so many hidden gems. So many places to make your own. And don’t get me started on the pastries or the art. But really. I feel like you all know how to live here.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Work doesn’t consume you. Or you all. It isn’t work work work work. Think about how many holidays you all have. You all don’t have laptops in bars. Or even at the cafes. I think the French may be happier than Americans. This isn’t based on anything other than the vibe I’m getting.” 

“Ah. You’re not wrong.”

“At home it’s, work work work work. You look up and wonder where the time and your life has gone. I’m going to Portugal next but I’ll have to work from there. It’s annoying but I have bills to pay. And I’ll still be able to enjoy the city.”

“Here and now, Violet. Here and now,” said Theo.  

—

Whew, you made it to the end. Thank you for reading and being part of this journey with me. I’m not going to over promise but we’re making updates to the book goals and I’ll share those…soon. In the meantime, we are so back. 

I’m always open to feedback or just chatting about the experiences I share so if something resonates please leave a comment or just say hi. Until next time!