Addison Walker – Contributor

I started noticing little things at first.

The way French people stand at a café counter like they have nowhere else to be. The way they sip espresso slowly, even on a weekday, even when it’s cold out. The way they don’t rush through meals, even if it’s something simple. The way they dress like they’re going somewhere important, even if they’re just walking to the tram. The way people sit on benches and just… sit. No phone, no pretending they’re not alone.

Slowly, without me even realizing it, these little habits started changing the way I moved through my own days. Being abroad forces you into presence in a way that’s almost impossible to recreate at home. Everything is unfamiliar at first, the streets, the language, the rhythm of daily life. Because of that, you can’t run on autopilot. You have to pay attention. You have to look up. You have to be in the moment, even when you’re tired or lost, even when you’re overstimulated.

Image courtesy of Addison Walker

I felt that most intensely one night in Paris. I ended up in a jazz club. It was the kind of night I knew was going to be a core memory while it was happening.  It was loud and packed, the kind of place where the air feels thick with energy. The music sounded like Paris itself, dramatic, effortless, and a little wild. It rose and fell in waves, like it was flirting with the crowd. One moment it was slow and smoky, the next it was fast and bright, pulling people to their feet without asking permission. It didn’t feel like a performance. It felt like the room had been given a pulse and everyone there had shown up ready to be part of something.

And then there was the swing dancing. People weren’t just watching, they were moving. Couples were spinning, strangers were grabbing each other’s hands, laughing, missing steps and getting back into rhythm. It was so cool seeing people from completely different places, different languages, different lives, all packed into one room, united by the same music. No one looked self-conscious. No one looked like they were trying to be cool. Everyone just looked alive.

What hit me most wasn’t even the fact that I was in Paris at a famous jazz bar. It was how fully I was there. I wasn’t thinking about my phone. I wasn’t planning what I had to do the next day. Just me, in a city I once only knew through movies, completely absorbed in the sound, the movement, the energy of the room and the feeling of being surrounded by people who didn’t know each other but were connected anyway having the time of their lives.

That’s what being abroad has given me: not just memories, but presence. It’s taught me that the biggest impact doesn’t come from seeing the Eiffel Tower or a perfectly planned itinerary. Sometimes it comes from the random night that hit you in the chest and makes you realize how much life is happening right now. You don’t need a perfect day to feel alive, you just need to be somewhere that makes you pay attention. And once you experience that kind of presence even for one night you start realizing how much of life you’ve been rushing past. And now I’ll be chasing that feeling everywhere.