Your Second Life Begins When You Realize You Only Have One

by Raphaelle Giordano

  The collage of my role models looked fantastic. I decided to give it pride of place next to my desk. Then I continued to research my favorite subject: the fashion world. I read biographies of the great designers, including my all-time favorite: Jean Paul Gaultier.

  I avidly read his Wikipedia entry:

  At the age of fifteen, he designed sketches of a children’s clothes collection. It was after seeing the movie Paris Frills by Jacques Becker, for which Marcel Rochas designed all the costumes, that he decided to make fashion his profession. He sent a portfolio to Yves Saint Laurent but was rejected. Next his sketches went to Pierre Cardin. On the day of his eighteenth birthday, he joined that fashion house, where he spent a little under a year before moving on to the “madcap” Jacques Esterel. In 1971, he joined Jean Patou.

  How could such a talented man be rejected at the start of his career by Yves Saint Laurent? Unbelievable. It reminded me of the story about perseverance that my grandfather often used to tell me:

  “Do you know who this man is? He was born in poverty and had to face defeat throughout his life. He could have given up many times and found a thousand reasons for doing so, and yet he didn’t. He had the mind-set of a champion and in the end became one. And a champion never gives up. As a child, he was driven from his house. He lost his mother. Went bust for the first time. Was defeated in the state legislative elections. Lost his job. Went bust again and took seventeen years to pay off his debts. His fiancée died. He suffered a serious nervous breakdown. Was defeated as chairman of the House of Representatives in Illinois, then elected to Congress, but not reelected. He was never appointed to the post of county surveyor in his native state, although he applied for it many times. He ran for the United States Senate but lost. Was a candidate for the vice presidency at his party’s national convention and won fewer than a hundred votes. He ran for the Senate again and was beaten again . . . That man, Camille, was President Abraham Lincoln!”

  He always smiled as he came to his punch line.

  What about me? Had I persevered throughout my life or had I given up too quickly on my dreams? That thought soured my mood. Disgruntled, I went to the closet at the end of the hallway and took out my portfolio. I silently flicked through the designs I had drawn years earlier as a student. I was astonished to see how freely I drew: I had a real talent back then. Maybe I could have done something with it, if I’d gone to art school rather than taken up business studies. But it was too late now. Alongside academic exercises, I had enjoyed redesigning typical children’s clothes. I’d imagined altering the fabrics, adding accessories, making them look really original.

  “Wow! Are you really going to poke your nose into those dusty old things? What a nostalgia fest,” Sebastien teased me as he went past.

  I shot him a furious look.

  “I’m sorry! I was only joking,” he said, kissing me on the cheek. “Your drawings are really good. Are you coming to bed?”

  “No, not straightaway. I want to look at these a while longer.”

  I caressed the sheets of paper with my fingertips the way you caress a dream. What if I decided to bring my dream back to life? Would Sebastien understand? Would he support me? I couldn’t answer that question . . .

  sixteen

  I confided to Claude my concerns about the way my relationship with Sebastien was evolving. He pointed out how disruptive it could be for my husband to see me calling my life into question in this way. All these changes must be deeply unsettling for him. I had to accept that a transitional period was necessary: after all, I was forcing my little revolution on him; it was not something he had asked for. I had to give him time to get used to it. Besides, any period of change was bound to be accompanied by—for my husband just as much as for me—a whole range of emotions: resistance, the two-steps-forward-three-steps-back feeling . . .

  In fact, my concern was twofold: a fear that Sebastien wouldn’t follow me as I rethought my professional life, plus a fear that our relationship would keep running out of steam.

  “The first thing you need to decide,” Claude told me, “is if you still love him.”

  “Of course I do, even though sometimes I have my doubts.”

  “Often it’s not the other person you no longer love but what the relationship has become. And in a couple you’re both equally responsible for what goes on between you. If you want to rekindle the flame, create sparks! Don’t always expect the other person to take the initiative. We’ve already talked about that.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Well, one thing would be to work on your ‘amorous creativity.’”

  “That sounds good! How do I do that?”

  “To start with, you could send him a loving text message, but a retro one.”

  “Retro? What does that mean?”

  “Well, now that everyone sends abbreviated, emoji-filled messages, you could try the opposite and send him a proper old-fashioned missive by text—a well-written one, without any spelling mistakes. That would be the height of chic!”

  “And besides that?”

  “Let your imagination run wild. But there are a few techniques. Identify what your nearest and dearest is most interested in. Then brainstorm with all the words and expressions that come to mind in relation to it. Link together unlikely words, invent expressions to produce an appealing message. It’ll be clearer if I give you an example. What’s your husband passionate about?”

  “He adores Zen Buddhism. He does yoga. And he dreams of us going to India.”

  “Perfect. Let’s make a list of all the words connected to those topics.”

  With his help, I scribbled on a piece of paper: “Zen. Lotus. Lotus flower. Balance. Breathing, breath. Peace. Beauty. Inner balance. Zen garden. Meditation.”

  “Make sure you write everything down,” Claude insisted. “This is going to be your creative raw material. And remember the CQFM rule. C means no Censorship or Criticism. Q stands for Quantity: you have to come up with a maximum number of ideas. F for Fantasy. Don’t forget that! Jot down even the craziest, most improbable ideas. M for Multiplication. One idea can lead to another, linking together like the gears on a car.”

  “I’ll remember that. Thank you, Claude.”

  “After that, combine the Zen vocabulary with that of love, give it a good shake, and see what comes out, stylewise. You should also think about things like assonance—the repetition of a vowel sound; alliterations—the repetition of a consonant; comparisons; emphasis—heightening the tone; oxymorons—putting two words together that seem to contradict each other, like Shakespeare’s famous ‘feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health’; litotes—which softens a statement, as in ‘he’s not ugly’ to mean he is handsome; and many, many more. But more important than all the lit-crit stuff: follow your heart!”

  “It’s certainly worth a try.”

  So I set to immediately, only to realize it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. I concentrated hard, pen in midair and searching for inspiration as my eyes roamed beyond the windowpanes.

  It took me a good twenty minutes before I felt able to present my “love letter text” to Claude:

  My love,

  Outside, the skies are overcast and heavy. Inside, the sun shines thanks to the happiness I feel at seeing you again in the haven that is our home. A haven of warmth, of sweetness, a Zen garden that with a kiss becomes transformed into a Garden of Eden. Let me be the lotus flower of your days and the burning wind of Rajasthan at night, to sweep us away to the distant shores of Love’s kingdom . . .

  Your Camille, who loves you

  Claude looked up at me in amazement.

  “Heavens, that’s impressive for a first attempt! It’s excellent, really . . . Of course, writing love letters is only one technique. There are lots of other creative things you could do to get out of your everyday rut. Let your imagination and intuition run free. You
’ll see that not only will you have fun, but you’ll improve your love life as well.”

  “Are you saying this because you’ve put it to the test?”

  “Who knows?”

  * * *

  —

  ENCOURAGED BY THIS PROMISING start, over the next few days I decided to launch Operation Big Love. I started gently with nothing more than a daily text message. After that, I became more ambitious. I laid traps all around the apartment in the form of romantic Post-its that Sebastien would find between two pillows or when he opened the cookie cabinet.

  I didn’t exactly achieve the results I was hoping for. In fact, he seemed more surprised than seduced—as if these sudden tokens of affection made him wary. Of course he smiled at me and thanked me with a hug. He even appeared happy, though not overjoyed in the way I had expected. I could tell something was bothering him.

  Thinking it over, I told myself he must just be confused. On the one hand, I was doing all I could to get closer to him and rekindle passion between us; on the other, I was freeing myself from my dependence on him more and more every day. My head was full of fresh projects; I was sure of myself and my talents. No longer so needy, the new Camille was flying high! This emotional autonomy ought to have delighted him. Yet he still hung back. His attitude seemed to be “let’s wait and see.” I was hoping that, sooner rather than later, the change in my attitude toward him—and my amorous advances—would overcome his doubts.

  While I was waiting, I continued with the slow, introspective work aimed at discovering the real Camille, the creative, audacious Camille who would be able to set me back on the trail of my dreams. I began to create a portrait of her, an original photomontage: cutting out images from magazines, I stuck my head onto the outline of a beautiful, fashionable woman. I put a portfolio of drawings under her arm, with sketches of baby clothes spilling out of it. Then I cut out all different sorts of letters and made words from them, which I stuck on the style guide for the life of my dreams: words like “confidence,” “daring,” and “determination”; I drew the words “creativity” and “generosity” on the skirt I was wearing in the image. I added photos of my son and husband on top of cutouts from magazines of people striking hilarious poses. The whole thing was really starting to represent what I wanted to become: lively, creative, ambitious, funny, and, last but not least, generous!

  Satisfied with my work, I took a photo of my creation and sent it to Claude. His reply came back instantly:

  Magnificent! I can see that your dream is taking shape. Little by little, we’ll continue refining it . . . The new Camille is starting to appear. To continue on the path of your transformation, I suggest you join me on Thursday at around 12:30 at number 59 rue Saint-Sulpice in the sixth arrondissement. Good night, and by the way: instead of counting sheep before you fall asleep, tonight try to remember three nice or encouraging things that happened to you today. It’s amazing, you’ll see!

  Claude

  seventeen

  As I left the Métro, I wondered what kind of surprise Claude had in store for me this time. He had a unique way of staging his lessons, of demonstrating his advice or concepts life-sized. I laughed to myself when I thought of the face I must have made when he wanted to take me up in a hot-air balloon. Just so that I could get rid of—both metaphorically and literally—all the things that were contaminating my mind. And how wonderful it had felt when we were so high above the ground! Another symbol for greater well-being in the future, combined with immediate, concrete gratification. And then the house of mirrors! So what was it going to be today? I was surprised to find myself hurrying when I arrived at rue Saint-Sulpice in order to get to number 59 as quickly as possible, like a little girl impatient to open a present.

  I came to a building that was wall-to-wall glass. The front windows were modern and light, the interior a designer’s dream. It took me a few moments to realize what this was, and I pushed open the door with a mixture of curiosity and amusement: Claude had brought me to a . . . smile bar! An idea that . . . made me smile! I knew of course that such places existed, but this was the first time I had been in one.

  Claude was waiting for me, perched on a high stool, chatting to the female owner like an old friend. They both greeted me warmly. I felt as though I were on a TV makeover show. Claude wanted me to have a “Brilliant Smile” teeth-whitening procedure. I wasn’t so sure, but he insisted: he saw this as part of my overall training and progress.

  The owner showed us into a small cubicle, and Claude took advantage of the few minutes we had to wait to talk to me.

  “Camille, I’m sure you realize that I haven’t made you come here simply to have your teeth done.”

  “I guessed as much. I’m beginning to know you a little.”

  This made both of us smile. After all, this was the place for it.

  “As well as it being important to look after your teeth, I wanted to remind you how important your Smile Capital is. Because your smile can make you far richer than any lottery ticket!”

  “Aren’t you exaggerating a little?”

  Ignoring my remark, he went on: “A smile costs nothing and yet has a huge influence on the people around you, as well as on your own state of mind. So you get a double benefit. You must know what Abbé Pierre said: ‘A smile costs less than electricity but gives much light.’ It’s even been shown that a sincere smile offered to another person can produce a chain reaction that creates up to five hundred smiles in just one day—without taking into account the benefits in your own brain and body. Did you know that a recent study in the States has proved it? Researchers asked a group of volunteers to hold a spatula in their mouths. The ones in the first group had to keep it there without showing any emotion. Those in the second group had to do so making themselves smile. And those in a third group were to smile naturally. Then they submitted them to tests with various levels of stress, such as having to plunge their hands into icy water. For each test, they recorded the variations in their heartbeats. In the group who had to remain expressionless, the rhythm increased considerably. In the group with the forced smile, the results showed a much lower heart rate. But it was slowest among those who were smiling naturally. So what does this experiment show? That the mere fact of smiling, whether naturally or not, reduces the effects of stress on the human body. The scientists are adamant about it. And the explanation? The brain interprets the smile, whether natural or not, as a sign of good humor and sends out calming hormones. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “So you see, Camille, smiling not only means others like you more, it lets you be happier and live longer and in better health as well. Not to mention that you’re so much more beautiful when you smile. It lights up your whole face, and you look much younger. The next step for you is to learn to release your ‘inner smile.’”

  “My inner smile?”

  “Yes. It’s a smile directed at yourself, a smile that brings inner peace—that famous holy grail that often seems inaccessible to us poor Westerners, with our lack of spirituality. It has to be said that we don’t really have people anywhere near us who can teach us about it, not even at the university, where they’re far too busy giving lectures on marketing or law. In ancient times, the Tao masters taught the art of the inner smile and explained that it guaranteed health, happiness, and a long life, because that smile is like immersing yourself in a bath of love. Not only does the inner smile boost energy, but it also has considerable healing powers.”

  “Wow! And what do I have to do to develop it?”

  “You can train for a few moments every day. Each time you have a few minutes to yourself, sit down quietly, relax all the tension in your body, loosen your jaw by opening your mouth a little. Become aware of your breathing and how this relaxes you physically. Hold on to that breath and think of it as a kind of internal massage. That’s when you’ll find your inner smile: you’ll feel a profound se
nse of well-being, of release, of calm. Perhaps you could visualize a flower blossoming in your solar plexus.”

  “To tell you the truth, Claude, I don’t know if I’ll ever be sufficiently relaxed for that kind of thing. I rush around too much.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Try it a few times. You might be surprised at the result. At first it’s hard to stay still—that’s completely normal. But as the days go by you’ll get real pleasure from being in that state. It’s a bit like blue sky. You like the beautiful blue skies by the seaside in summer, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. They’re marvelous. But here it’s gray the whole year round.”

  “Well, finding your inner smile is a bit like rediscovering your beautiful patch of blue sky whenever you want to. Even when the sky is overcast, it’s just as blue! And when you’re in a bad mood, there’s this magnificent blue sky waiting inside you. All you have to do is learn how to reconnect to it.”

  “Great sales pitch. Bravo . . . I’ll buy it!”

  At that moment, a young woman came into the cubicle. My treatment was about to start. Claude vanished. I let the assistant get to work, dying to see the result. Soon I was able to admire my new smile in the mirror. Impressive! The treatment really worked. Delighted, I rejoined Claude, who was back sitting on the stool, talking to someone apparently waiting for a cubicle to come free. He said good-bye to him and came over to me.

  “Now you’re equipped to give a flashing smile to the whole world, Camille. But remember: it’s even more beautiful when it comes from inside.”

  eighteen

  That afternoon I experimented with Claude’s suggestions in the street. I decided to channel Audrey Hepburn. I tried out my brand-new smile on the men I passed, at the same time attempting to exude the alluring charm of a woman sure of her own worth. In honor of my role model, I made a great effort to combine confidence and elegance.