Your Second Life Begins When You Realize You Only Have One

by Raphaelle Giordano

  “Definitely, but at the moment it just seems very hard to organize.”

  “Just one question: Do you enjoy being so stressed, so tense all the time?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But it must do something for you if you’re so determined to hang on to a way of life that leaves no room at all for calm and introspection.”

  I could see he was going to leave me without a leg to stand on.

  “OK, fine,” I said, giving in. “I promise to try.”

  “I’m sure you can do it,” he said with a broad smile. “You’ll see, there’s no great magic to it. All you have to do is train yourself to find a little calm and silence and to learn to look at what’s happening inside you. Make a start, two or three times a day, with a session of deep breathing: six breaths a minute for five minutes. That’s the rhythm that slows down your system. You can do it anywhere, even in the Métro.”

  “I’ll believe you . . .”

  “Another very interesting exercise is the one I call the ‘harmonizer’: it combines the principles of controlling your heart rate with positive visualization.”

  “Isn’t that getting a bit complicated?”

  “Not at all: the basic principle is the same. At some point in your day you need to create a bubble of tranquility by shutting yourself in a room where you won’t be disturbed. Sit down comfortably, with your back straight, and try to breathe calmly. Then place your hand on your heart and breathe, while at the same time visualizing your heart swelling up each time you inhale, and returning to normal size whenever you exhale. Once you are perfectly calm, add a positive visualization: a memory that ‘warms your heart.’ Then try to relive those emotions and sensations as intensely as possible. Simple, isn’t it?”

  “What if no image comes to me?”

  “I admit that at first it might seem rather difficult. But you should build up an ‘inner catalog of positive images and memories.’ A mental photo album . . . The more you work at it, the more complete it will become, and you’ll be able to access it easily.”

  “Yes, that’s not a bad idea.”

  “But I think that at this point, what would be most useful would be for you to meet a real master in the art.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Master Wu. I’ll take you to him. After your visit everything will be much clearer, you’ll see.”

  We drove for three-quarters of an hour before we reached Master Wu’s home. I could hardly wait to meet him. While we sped past a landscape of open fields, I discreetly began to control my breathing and to try some positive visualization.

  “Caught you, Camille!” Claude suddenly shouted.

  “What?”

  Again, that sly little smile of his.

  “I’ve been watching you out of the corner of my eye for a few minutes now, and I can see you’ve started the training already.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “So nothing! That’s great. Carry on . . . don’t worry about me.”

  We finally arrived at our destination. The tires crunched on the gravel of the drive up to the house. Several dogs came out to greet us, muzzles flecked with foam, barking gruffly. The owner of the house called them to heel, and the dogs obeyed her instantly. Doubtless she could have made them take a bite out of our ankles or lick our hands simply by raising her voice or clicking her tongue. I was impressed by her natural self-assurance. Claude had told her we were coming, and her smile was like a pair of open arms.

  “Good afternoon, Claude. How are you?”

  “Very well, Jacqueline. How about you? It’s really good of you to see us. May I introduce Camille? I’ve talked to you about her.”

  Jacqueline was a matronly woman, generously built, with a baby face that made her look cheerful. Frankly, this was not what I had been expecting. I was imagining someone more . . . Asian.

  “I’m so pleased to meet you, Camille. So you’d like to meet Master Wu?” she asked, a glint in her eye.

  “Er, yes, I would.”

  “I understand! Lots of people would like to get to know him. Follow me.”

  We went through a spacious living room with an ancient hearth and exposed beams. The gentle winter sun filtered in through wide bay windows.

  “What a lovely room.”

  “Thank you,” said our hostess, apparently delighted at my compliment. “Now, Master Wu is in the courtyard. I’ll let you go and find him. I’ll be in the kitchen. See you soon . . .”

  Claude allowed me to go out first. I was already smiling a warm welcome as my eyes scanned the courtyard. My smile gradually faded: I couldn’t see anyone. I was terribly disappointed. Had Master Wu already left?

  Seeing how crestfallen I was, Claude insisted, “He’s over there.”

  I still couldn’t see anyone.

  “There, Camille!” he said, pointing.

  I followed the direction of his finger. Comfortably installed on an embroidered cushion, a magnificent Persian cat was stretched out, dozing peacefully. He transmitted a combination of majesty and utter peacefulness. I stopped short, in shock. Then, pulling myself together, I turned toward the practical joker. We drove for three-quarters of an hour for this?

  “What on earth are you playing at?” I snapped.

  Claude’s face showed a mixture of satisfaction and contrition.

  “Forgive my little game, Camille. But I couldn’t think of a better example than Master Wu to show you what complete relaxation can be. If you think you won’t be able to meditate, start by learning to ‘be a cat’ for a few minutes each day. There’s no one like him for being peaceful and calm, completely anchored in the here and now.”

  I shot him a furious look, which led him to seek refuge in the kitchen alongside Jacqueline.

  Left on my own with Master Wu, I watched him simply being for a few moments and was surprised to feel a pleasant sensation of peace slowly invade me. As his tail moved to and fro, he seemed to be composing an invisible treatise on the virtues of slowness. His very own hymn to carpe diem. He didn’t even move when I plunged my hand into his warm fur to stroke him.

  I realized then that I really shouldn’t be angry with Claude for having brought me here. Feeling much more relaxed, I rejoined him and Jacqueline in the kitchen. They were chatting away, enjoying a cup of fresh mint tea, “picked from the garden,” as my hostess pointed out. I could tell that Claude was searching my face to see how I was going to react. When he spotted my unspoken thanks he seemed happy.

  The afternoon ended on a note of culinary delight: a plum tart that more than made up for the long journey.

  twenty-four

  From the day I met Master Wu, I enjoyed playing at being a cat as often as possible, to the great pleasure of my nerve ends.

  Strangely, the more serene I became, the more I felt my vital energy being replenished. And together with that, I must admit, an increasing libido! In all honesty, I was rather thrown by this. Embarrassed by these renewed impulses, at first I tried to ignore them. I didn’t dare mention them to Claude, in case he thought I was going a bit too far . . .

  In the end, however, I couldn’t bear it anymore and forced myself to talk about it.

  “I don’t know how to say this but . . . well, for a few days now I’ve been feeling a kind of renewal of my libido, and I don’t know what to make of it. I’d like to know if it has anything to do with our program of change.”

  Plainly taken aback by my question, Claude cleared his throat but then answered anyway.

  “It doesn’t really surprise me, Camille. Yes, of course it goes hand in hand with the changes you’re going through: the fact of becoming proactive, of taking your life back into your own hands, of working on your body and your mind. All that helps generate positive energy. Which means that you want to live your life as a woman to the full. And that’s good news, isn’t it?”
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br />   “Yes, but I don’t know why. It makes me uneasy. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it.”

  “Mmm . . . I understand. Perhaps what’s upsetting you is discovering a part of yourself that you haven’t really explored as yet. Another Camille, as it were. A bolder woman, more in touch with her desires and sensuality.”

  I blushed. “The thing is, I’m still not entirely sure I like the image that could reflect of me.”

  “That’s only normal. Even today, what we have been taught for thousands of years still influences us deeply. For all those years our sexuality has been constrained by morality and taboos. Such a heritage is bound to leave its mark. And women are only just beginning to enjoy sexual freedom and acknowledge they have desires that are as strong as those men have. Now we just need everyone to accept this new sexual norm.”

  “You’re right. What I’d like to do is to bring some of this new energy into my relationship. To be the one who suggests things, comes up with new ideas, if you see what I mean. Do you think I should take the initiative?”

  Claude smiled at me, his eyes twinkling. “Of course. Your husband will be delighted . . .”

  I wasn’t so certain.

  Nevertheless, I did take the initiative. Throughout the whole of the following week I plotted my first surprise. Adrien was left with my mother for the evening. The ever-fashionable little black dress, with a décolletage low enough to make even a long-standing partner take notice. The four-inch heels that I kept for special occasions. Champagne ready to serve in chilled glasses to welcome my nearest and dearest.

  A last quick look in the mirror: no doubt about it, I was hot! It had been a long time since I saw myself in such good shape, with sparkling eyes and glowing skin. Sebastien was going to go weak at the knees . . . surely.

  When he arrived home, it took him several seconds to get used to the semidarkness before he got a good look at me. Then I gave him my most alluring smile, which brought him up short. I secretly rejoiced at this moment, when I could see from his expression that I had achieved my effect: surprise, bewilderment, interest.

  At last!

  I decided to go for broke in staging this seduction scene. I played it for all it was worth: a cinematic kiss beneath the spotlights in our living room.

  My arms slid round his shoulders.

  “Hello, big man,” I said.

  I was really enjoying seeing how excited, almost intimidated, he was.

  “Wow! What a welcome,” he murmured. “You’re magnificent . . .”

  I was bubbling over inside.

  “And you haven’t seen anything yet,” I said, playing my femme fatale role to the hilt.

  Our eyelids closed. We kissed again, as if in close-up, gently, passionately.

  I pressed my mouth against his, utterly caught up in my own fantasy. My body arched against him, one hand low on his back, the other slipping inside his shirt. I was already imagining the rest of the film projected onto the screen of a night without sleep. I was sliding my hand down his thigh when all of a sudden Sebastien pulled away.

  What?

  “Are you all right, sweetheart? Is something wrong?” I murmured, my voice thick with the promise of pleasure.

  “No, nothing, it’s just that—”

  At that precise moment my mobile rang. I cursed modern technology. But what could I do? It was my mother.

  I had forgotten to put Adrien’s antihistamine in his bag. I felt a stab of guilt but tried to reassure her: it was no big deal for just one night. Yes, he could do without it. No, there was no need to go and find a late-night pharmacy. While I was half listening to her, I was casting sideways glances at Sebastien to try to assess his mood.

  “Oh ho!” my mother clucked. “From your voice I can tell I’m disturbing you. So the evening’s gotten off to a good start, has it?”

  I hated the thought that she was busy trying to imagine what was going on in our apartment.

  “Mom!” I protested.

  But then I relented. After all, it was thanks to her that I was able to enjoy this quiet evening with my husband. Well, I was hoping it wouldn’t be too quiet! So I thanked her profusely before ending the call.

  Sebastien had gotten up and was standing by the window with his back to me. I sneaked up on him, took him in my arms, and whispered in his ear, “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  In order not to have to reply, he rained little kisses on my neck, cheeks, and mouth.

  “Sebastien, that’s enough,” I said softly. “Tell me . . .”

  He was avoiding meeting my eyes. I gently took his head in my hands and forced him to look at me.

  “I’m sorry, Cam,” he said eventually. “I know it’s absurd. I don’t know what’s come over me. There you are, looking stunning, sexy, taking the lead, and all of a sudden, it makes me . . .”

  “It makes you what?”

  “I don’t know . . . It makes me nervous.”

  I let go of him and took a step back.

  “I get it. You don’t love me, is that it?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  That hurt. And it made me angry. As disappointed as I was upset, I grabbed the empty champagne glasses to take them back to the kitchen, clacking my heels on the parquet in protest. I made as much noise as possible while I put everything away.

  Sebastien had followed me silently and stood behind me. He was as immobile as I was hyperactive, crashing about all over the place. I could sense him gazing at me, a sad, confused expression on his face. After a while I couldn’t bear it any longer and confronted him.

  “What is it? Tell me. Go on: What’s wrong?”

  I could see from the way his lips were moving wordlessly that he was unsure how to get it off his chest.

  Then all of a sudden he exploded: “I’m stupid, so stupid. I’m sorry. You’ve changed so much recently, you’re so much more . . . whereas I . . . I . . .”

  Now he was the one pacing up and down the room, waving his arms around wildly to try to express himself clearly.

  He looked so awkward that I felt myself softening. I went up to him and took his head in my hands.

  “What about you?” I said gently.

  “I . . . I think I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Yes, afraid. All these changes in your life . . . You’re forging ahead, changing the way you behave, daring to be yourself.”

  “So? That’s a positive thing, isn’t it?”

  “Yes . . . it’s good, but . . .”

  He couldn’t spit it out. No doubt he was worried about what I might think.

  “But what, Sebastien?”

  “What if I don’t change quickly enough for you? What if I’m not good enough for the new Camille?”

  So that was it! It was the last thing I was expecting him to say. I was really touched. I looked him straight in the eye and smiled with all the love that I felt.

  “There’s no chance of that. I love you, Sebastien, more than ever. And I’m making all these changes for you too, so that you’ll always want me.”

  Again, he said nothing, but this time brought his lips close to mine and stifled my doubts with a long, voluptuous kiss. And this time, no one and nothing interrupted him.

  twenty-five

  From that night on, the atmosphere at home changed completely. A warm wind blew on our love, reviving embers that seemed only too willing to burst into flame. As for my son, I had decided to adopt the principles Claude had suggested: to stop making such a big deal of parenting and taking things too much to heart. In short, to take my daily chores less seriously. “Come down from your cross, we need the wood,” Claude had told me one day with a laugh, to help me understand I had to give up my role of a martyred mother on the verge of a nervous breakdown and look at things in a different way.

  First and foremost, I took the tim
e to become more interested in Adrien’s world. On the sly, I got myself up-to-date with all the latest news from the world of soccer. I even learned by heart the names of the best players and the main rules of the game. So instead of being a dreary waste of time for me, the next match night was a real joy: the astonishment on the faces of my boys was something to behold! For once, Adrien sought my attention as much as his father’s: “Did you see that, Mom?” he kept shouting, slapping my back like one of his friends. And when his favorite team scored, it was my arms he jumped into to howl “Goooaaal!” There was no doubt I’d scored a goal or two myself.

  I also tried to learn about his musical world by listening to his favorite singers: Bruno Mars, Ariana Grande, Nicki Minaj, Jason Derulo, David Guetta. The first time I joined in singing one of his favorite songs, he was amazed, and I thought I saw something like admiration mingled with respect in his eyes.

  My new approach completely altered the tone of our relationship. At last we were beginning to talk to each other again.

  Taking advantage of this, I tackled the contentious issue of his homework.

  “You know, Adrien, I hate it when I get angry with you. When I have to shout at you about your homework and then we have an argument. It makes me feel dreadful . . . I’d really like things to change, wouldn’t you?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you think you could tell me why you find it so difficult to get down to your work?”

  He took his time to think this over, and I was touched that he was trying so hard to explain.

  “I don’t know. The problems aren’t easy, and there are too many of them. And then you get so angry about it that I get angry too. I’m scared I’ll mess up and you’ll shout. Which means I don’t even want to try anymore.”

  This hit home, and I thought of Claude’s advice to lay my tendency to criticize to rest and instead to talk of my own feelings, to say “I.”

  “When I get upset,” I explained to him, “it’s because I’m worried for you. I think about your future, and I’m scared that you don’t take your studies seriously enough. It’s so important for later on that you work hard at school. What I want is for you to have the best possible life when you grow up.”