“I know that, Mom. But you worry too much! You don’t trust me enough.”
“That’s possible,” I admitted with a smile. “I’m only trying to be a good enough mother.”
“Whoa! You’re a supermom.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course,” he reassured me, taking my hand in his with an impish smile.
My heart swelled with gratitude. I thought of the positive learning techniques Claude had taught me.
“What do you think about changing the way you do your homework?” I suggested.
“How?”
“Well, we could try to make it more fun, for example.”
“That’d be cool.”
“Gimme five!”
We high-fived and then had a big hug.
“I love you, Mom,” he murmured into the crook of my neck.
I hugged him even tighter.
“And I love you too, sweetheart.”
From then on I started to help him with his work in a way that was less orthodox but oh so much more fun. For example I used the principle of Grandmother’s Footsteps for the answers to his homework: you can take one step toward the table if you get it right, but go back two if you get it wrong. Or learning lessons through singing. It was a huge success! Not only did Adrien learn three times as quickly, but he also enjoyed himself.
I used the same approach to help with cooking. Instead of making myself hoarse yelling for help that never came, I thought of a trick to motivate Adrien: I convinced him to create an imaginary restaurant with him as head chef. His eagerness to join in and play the game surprised me: I hadn’t expected such a positive reaction.
He took the idea so seriously that he even created a completely original recipe for meatballs with seven spices, Indian style. I diced the meat, and he minced it. I cut up garlic, and he made breadcrumbs. Whereas normally it was almost impossible to get him away from his screens, he seemed completely fascinated by this. The final stage of rolling the meatballs in egg and then the breadcrumbs with sesame seeds was a real celebration. I had a flashback to him five years earlier playing with Play-Doh in that magically absorbed way little children have.
During this intense cooking session we didn’t say much but smiled and gestured in complete harmony. As a Michelin-starred chef, Adrien enjoyed giving me orders as if I were his assistant, a role I accepted happily because I was so pleased to see my strategy succeed.
These changes also gave me more time and energy to undertake another hugely important task: launching my new professional project. I had made up my mind: I didn’t want to carry on with my career in sales but to go back to my first dream—to design and make children’s clothes.
As Claude never ceased reminding me, it was time for me to make what I did with my life coincide with who I was and what I believed.
I began by making exploratory inquiries. In my heart of hearts, I didn’t want to take on a franchise; I wanted to create my own brand, my own concept. I quickly had to face facts, however: the market for off-the-rack children’s clothes seemed saturated, and there were very few openings.
Another unavoidable conclusion: with the economic crisis, people would never spend huge sums on baby clothes that would be too small only a month later.
So what could I do?
Inspiration came when I did some “googlestorming,” something Claude had mentioned as a good way to come up with ideas.
I came across a Dutch company that proposed a kind of “fashion leasing”: you rented a pair of jeans for a year, just like a car or an apartment. By paying a five-euro monthly subscription, clients could be sure they always had a brand-name article of clothing that was trendy too, while at the same time promoting sustainable fashion and in the end being able either to buy the article or to return it and rent something else.
My brain kicked into gear: Why not use the same principle for baby clothes? Ethical garments for children from birth to three years old. I could give them added value by making each one unique in design and fabric. I would only need to link up with manufacturers of basic sustainable clothing—rompers, T-shirts, pants—and then customize them. Fashionable ready-made clothes to suit every budget. I felt like I was onto something.
My mind was racing, carried away by my enthusiasm. All parents love to create a “look” for their child. Who hasn’t drooled over adorable, tiny baby clothes? The only snag: the prohibitive price of items that are outgrown so quickly. But with my idea, proud parents would be able to renew the wardrobe of their little darlings by leasing rather than buying it! I did a quick calculation and confirmed that a five-euro monthly subscription could work.
I enthusiastically set to work on the details of my project. I began to create my first basic designs to have something to show my future partners.
On Claude’s advice I approached a business incubator—a company that helped entrepreneurs develop new ideas—and prepared a thorough business plan to present to them. After that, I crossed my fingers in the hope that the company’s accreditation committee would accept my proposal.
Things were looking decidedly rosy. I could feel the good vibes. Two weeks later, when I received a positive response from the start-up people, I almost collapsed in gratitude. And in spite of what were after all reasonable doubts, Sebastien had decided to support me. Now all that remained was to announce the “good news” to my mother. That thought was much less enticing. To her, having a staff position was the only possible way to work. Knowing her as if I had brought her into the world—rather than the reverse—I was very apprehensive about telling her. And I was right to be.
twenty-six
When I rang the doorbell to the little apartment where I was raised, my mother greeted me with a broad smile and a big hug. I was apprehensive about what I was about to tell her. I knew that in a few moments our harmony might be dashed to pieces.
“Sit down, darling, I’ll be with you straightaway. I just have to see how supper’s doing. It’s veal stew . . .”
“Mom! You didn’t need to go to so much trouble. I said we could just have something simple.”
“It’s absolutely no trouble, and I love making it.”
I gave in. As ever.
I sat down on the sofa in the small living room, legs crossed and my anxious heart keeping time with the big art deco clock that dominated the room, brought back from a visit to New York.
My mother came to join me, delighted at the idea of a girly chat.
“There we are! Now I’m all yours.”
When I cleared my throat, she noticed how uneasy I was and a shadow flitted across her face.
“Are you all right, darling? You look—out of sorts?”
“The thing is . . . I’ve got some important news for you.”
“Oh my god. Are you leaving Sebastien?”
“No, Mom . . .”
“So he’s leaving you?”
“Mother,” I hissed, annoyed. “Why do you always have to project your anxieties onto me?”
Her face grew darker still.
“I’m not projecting, darling. I’m just being realistic about life. Just look at what your father did to us.”
“But that’s what happened to you, Mom. It doesn’t mean things have to be the same for me.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. So what is this important news of yours? Oh, I know! You’re pregnant.”
And why did she have to keep going on about that? Couldn’t she accept the fact that I didn’t want another child?
“No? OK, so tell me what it is,” she said, taking hold of my hand.
“I’m going to quit my job.”
She snatched her hand away.
“You’re not, are you?”
“Yes, Mom. You see, some time ago I met an incredible man—”
“You’re cheating on Sebastien!” she said ind
ignantly.
“Mother! Stop interrupting and let me explain. Of course I’m not cheating on Sebastien. The man I met has been counseling me over the past few months to help me take stock of my life and try to recapture the happiness I had lost.”
“What do you mean, lost? I thought you were happy. Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t understand . . . You have a job, a husband who loves you, a wonderful son . . .”
“Yes, Mom, I have all that and I thought I was happy too. But then one morning I woke up feeling completely empty but terribly restless at the same time. Thanks to Claude, I’m finding a meaning to life again.”
“Claude? His name is Claude? And what does he do?”
“He’s a . . . routinologist.”
Silence.
“It’s a new approach to personal development. It’s very effective,” I said, trying to justify myself.
“It sounds like nonsense,” she immediately retorted. “You know you have to be careful . . . there are so many charlatans about these days. They say they’ll make your dreams come true and give you a better life, but once you’re hooked . . .”
I knew she’d say that.
“Mother, it’s not like that at all. When will you stop treating me like a little girl! You don’t have to be frightened for me. I know what I’m doing.”
Another silence, which set my nerves jangling.
“I’m finally going to fulfill my dream, Mom. To start working in children’s fashion.”
“You do realize that it’s a pretty crowded area, don’t you?”
I could tell she was veering between anxiety and anger.
“Yes, but I’ve come up with a unique concept. Do you know what leasing is?”
“Leasing? No . . .”
“It’s a practical, economical, and sustainable system that allows people to rent things, with the possibility of buying them later on. It’s already very common with car dealerships and toy makers. In the current financial crisis, parents don’t want to buy luxury clothes for their babies. It’s too expensive when they only use them for such a short period of time. But I’ll give them a chance to rent them, paying only between five and fifteen euros a month. I’m sure it’ll be a huge success!”
I was getting carried away, but it was obvious that my mother didn’t share my enthusiasm.
“And that’s what you’re giving up a permanent job for? When all your life I’ve tried to make you understand how important financial stability is . . . Do you realize you could destabilize your family if it doesn’t work out? What’ll happen to Adrien if you run out of money?”
“Why must you always imagine the worst? I need you to believe in me, Mom! Not have you shooting down all my ideas. You’re always so pessimistic.”
“What does Sebastien think of this?”
“He’s supporting me. We’ve done the math to make sure we can get by in the early days.”
“But it’s such a risk . . .”
“Yes, but isn’t life itself a risk? You have to understand that to me this project is a huge breath of fresh air. I feel as if I’m living again, as if I’m finally being me.”
No response. It was like pissing in the wind.
“OK, I think I’ll go now. I can see you’re not going to accept this.”
She didn’t try to stop me. It was as though she’d been hit with a sledgehammer.
Out in the street, a wave of conflicting emotions swept over me. I was sad that my mother didn’t understand me. Annoyed that she never trusted my ability to make a go of something, and yet at the same time liberated because I had had the courage of my convictions. I had been true to my dreams and to the real me. And at last I had stopped trying to please her. I was daring to live my own life and not one that my mother had imagined for me. Despite this, I was still a little uncomfortable in this new skin of mine. I was excited about my new project, but what would happen if in the end I failed? What if my mother was right? These thoughts niggled away at my happiness. I had to talk to Claude about it: Surely he would be able to help?
twenty-seven
Claude had arranged to see me for another of his unpredictable but enlightening lessons. This time, though, I knew exactly where we were to meet: the Louvre. I couldn’t figure out why he had dragged me here, and as we made our way through the interminable galleries I wondered what on earth he would pull out of his magician’s hat this time. While waiting to discover this, I told him about my confrontation with my mother. He seemed distant somehow, which wasn’t like him at all. He must have something on his mind. Was he actually listening to me? I was doing my best to explain how I was feeling and how badly my mother’s skepticism had shaken me, but he didn’t react at all, just carried on strolling past the paintings.
“Claude, you’re not listening to me!” I finally protested, annoyed. How could he be so detached when I was in such turmoil? After all, he was the one who had brought me here! If it was just to see him acting as though I wasn’t there, what was the point?
He did not reply but raised a finger to his lips to stop me talking. This made me so furious I almost exploded. However, he sped up, and with an enigmatic smile well suited to this temple to the Mona Lisa, he led me to the room with all the works of the great master Leonardo da Vinci. Still without a word, he made me sit down on one of the benches in front of his last great masterpiece: The Virgin and Child with Saint Anne. We stayed for a long while gazing at the canvas.
“What can you see, Camille?” he eventually asked me.
Perplexed, my eyes surveyed the painting in search of its meaning.
“Well, I can see the Virgin Mary, who seems to want to pick up the baby Jesus, but at the same time the child is trying to get away from her because he’s more interested in grabbing the ears of that lamb. As for Mary’s mother, Saint Anne, she looks to me to be rather detached, but she has a kindly face.”
Claude smiled at my description.
“In fact, Camille, I brought you here to show you this painting and to explain that for me it reflects the mother-child relationship.”
The mother-child relationship. An image of Adrien whispering into the crook of my neck, “I love you, Mom,” flashed through my mind, while at the same time I could almost feel the warmth of his body against mine. Then I saw myself in my mother’s living room again, trying to explain to her my ambitions for a new career while she constantly interrupted me.
“The lamb symbolizes sacrifice,” Claude continued, “and the fact that Jesus takes it in his arms means that he is accepting his own tragic destiny. His mother, Mary, is trying to protect him from the suffering to come. That’s why she is reaching for him. As for Saint Anne, she is watching without getting involved, which shows that symbolically she accepts her grandson’s fate.”
This explanation of what for me only a few moments earlier had been nothing more than a charming pastoral scene took my breath away. Hanging on Claude’s every word, I gazed at the painting with renewed interest, waiting impatiently for what he would say next.
“Every mother is afraid for her child and tries to keep him from suffering, Camille. It’s natural. It’s intrinsic to motherly love. But sometimes that fear can hold the child back. He has to fulfill his destiny and make his own way in life. Until now, you have constantly been trying to win your mother’s approval. You have stifled your own wishes to keep her happy and not let her down. It’s as though all this time you’ve been walking in shoes that pinched. And now that you’re announcing that you want to follow your own path, it terrifies her. That’s only normal. But you have to learn to let her be afraid, not to take it on yourself, and to follow your own destiny. Have faith in yourself. Once she sees you flourishing and happy, she will be happy too, believe me.”
“I hope so, Claude. I really hope so.”
As I said this, I wondered exactly what kind of mother I was to Adrien. Was I doing things the right w
ay? Was I letting him flourish to the best of his ability? He was still young, and his wishes and needs were those of a child . . . but what about when he grew up? When he had to make his own choices, to find his way as a man? Would I be able to let him do so without projecting onto him expectations that were not his, just as my mother had done with me? Would I know how to really listen to him and help him fulfill himself? We think we’re acting for the best, but sometimes our fears and even our love can blind us.
Claude had fallen silent, as if to allow me time to think. I smiled briefly to show that I was all ears once more, and he went on: “Today, Camille, your mother is afraid that this change of direction you’re embarked upon will hurt you. But she is going to have to understand that at some point not doing anything is what would really hurt. The worst thing is not failure. It’s not having tried. And besides, you can never protect yourself against future suffering, because that’s part of life. It’s impossible to escape it. Life is made up of the rough and the smooth. Everyone has to accept that as being an integral part of life’s rich tapestry. Resisting it only reinforces our dissatisfaction. That’s why wise men learn to act on the things they can control, not on those they can’t. You can’t change external events, but you can change the way you react to them.”
His words seemed to me like a trickle of cool water on a hot summer’s day. They strengthened my determination to press on in the new direction I had found for myself and gave me a lot to think about for the future, when I myself would be faced with my son forging his way as an adult.
So when a large group of noisy foreign tourists burst into the gallery and interrupted our absorbing conversation, I could not help tutting disparagingly.
Claude himself remained impassive, a broad smile on his face. Did he never get annoyed? He led me into another room, still giving me advice: “Camille, can you see how you allow external factors to impact you? You’re letting them control your sense of well-being. If that continues, you’ll never really be on top of things, and you run the risk of being forever tossed about like a little cork on the waves. On the surface, a wise person may seem to be navigating a storm, but deep down, everything is calm. The secret is to regain control over your mind-set and decide that you will make the most of even unpleasant things. To see the positive even in the negative. You’ll see: if you approach life like that, it alters everything.”
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