I never believed in synchronicity until I visited Paris. It was my birthday, and after walking around The Seine for hours, my friend and I wound up at the English language bookshop, Shakespeare and Company.
I crept upstairs to the cozy reading room, where I saw a girl wearing a University of New Orleans sweatshirt, which is my alma mater. I smiled, remembering funny professors, the way the bus drivers called out names like “Abundance Street” and “Elysian Fields” (which always sounded like “Lesion Feel”) and crazy stories from my internship at WDSU TV station. After purchasing a couple books, we went next door to Le Petit Chatelet restaurant.
Over dinner I told my friend about New Orleans, describing some of the quirky local traditions, the incredible food and above all, the music: in louche French Quarter bars, in the beautiful streets, drifting from open windows. So when we strolled outside I thought my mind was playing tricks on me when I heard a New Orleans-style brass band playing. We followed the music and found a full brass band surrounded by a crowd of people dancing and cheering on the bank of The Seine. The moon and street lamps lit up the river as boats passed by. It was magical. I couldn’t have orchestrated it better if I tried. As you can imagine, I’m a firm believer in synchronicity now.