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Wait Listed. That was the summation of the email from the Teaching Assistant Program in France (TAPIF). Honest first thoughts? Well I had tried. Said all I could about my love for the French language, its culture, its people and the cheese! Yet, wait listed. And for about three months I busied myself with trying not to think about that wait listed status; and by busy I mean scouring Facebook groups and devouring blogs all devoted to the TAPIF experience. Somehow, someway, something gave way, because I ended up teaching at a quaint school about a 30 minute RER train from the City of Lights itself. These were where my thoughts drifted to, as I sat along the Seine, with a now dear friend, as we passed a bottle of wine, baguette and of course cheese between the two of us. Notre Dame, in its glory, was our audience. With our passable French and my friend Lily’s accented English, we spoke about everything, and much of nothing. Simple nights like that are what I remember and treasure most of my time in Paris. Sure the cobblestone streets became a familiar feel, as did watching the stout, gold-bronze, geometric tower, pride of France, come into view as I explored the winding city. The lullaby of the language, spoken by varied hues of people, and the wafts of smoke from cigarettes all give me flashes of the city I grew to call home. But give me the Seine, wine, a baguette avec fromage any day over all the attractions. I’m glad I was wait-listed. It made the desire to harbor those memories much stronger. It gave a more potent experience to my time abroad. It allowed me to wait in the moment more.