une noisette (hazelnut)

Buried deep in the menu at my usual café is la petite noisette. Less recognizable than the café au lait and fussier than its brother, the espresso, the noisette is highly underrated. For those of you unfamiliar with her, the noisette is an espresso served with a spot of milk about the size of a hazelnut. There's something about the metaphor of the noisette that resonates with me recently. Perhaps it's the particularity of the specification -- it must be a hazelnut-sized drop of milk. It's so French. I think, though, that it's the idea that something so basic and routine (the espresso) takes on an entirely new identity with just the slightest addition, a  literal drop of change.

I've been negligent in the maintenance of this blog and a lot has happened in the last month. Here's a brief summary: My Passover celebrations were the stuff of stories for years to come (have you ever been to a Seder conducted entirely in French that ended at 3am? Yeah, I didn't think so). I checked something major off of my life to-do list with a trip to Amsterdam. Amsterdam was the only city that I was determined to visit this year and I was lucky enough to have been able to experience it with two of my best friends, Charlotte and Rebecca. Highlights included biking through the blooming tulip fields on the outskirts of the city, having a week immersed in beautiful art, eating terrific food, walking through exquisite gardens, and just spending some time with these women whom I miss dearly and live on separate continents from me and from each other. I've entered the final phase of my work here in Strasbourg and am attempting to get as much finished as I can before heading back to the States. While the writing itself is moving slower than I would like, I have been doing a lot of reflecting and reframing, and I am hopeful that you will enjoy the final product. The past two weeks have been full of incredible people. In addition to being in Paris last week to celebrate a friend's birthday and say goodbye to my friends who are based in our capital, I've had a series of incredible conversations with a new friend who has rejuvenated my passion for my work and for that, I am so grateful. As I begin to wrap up my life here in Europe, I couldn't imagine sharing one of my last weekends with anyone other than Hannah and Christine who are friends from Stanford and make life infinitely more joyful and beautiful. So, now you are updated.

In two weeks, I'll be touching down in the Bay Area which astonishes me for many reasons. For the most part I can't contain my excitement (a late-night viewing of the Princess Diaries was almost too much for this SF addict), and I also can't help but wonder how the rest of the people in my life have been living this year. Having kept in touch with many of the people whom I hold most dear, I am not too concerned about fundamental changes, but what are the little things that I've missed while abroad that have altered them and placed them on a slightly different path? What are their noisettes? What are those moments/events/instances in my life? Can I even pinpoint them? A concept upon which I've been reflecting a lot this year is the creation of "points of reference." Commonalities such as shared histories, trajectories, values, friends, etc. make points of reference rather easy: "Hey, remember that one time at the beach when you stepped on a jellyfish?" If you were there, the emotions and sensory details of that moment instantly spring to life and can be overlayed onto new experiences. What happens, though, when there are events that are so nuanced that points of reference are obsolete? In going through my journal from the year, it's interesting to see how many moments were minute and yet profound. I found thoughts and experiences that I never shared with anyone that I dismissed as minor that ended up being recurring themes and points of reference for myself.

Yesterday, I started preparing to pack up my home. I gathered all the letters that I've received this year, and realized how much more vulnerable we are when we write. I am so appreciative of the authenticity and the exposure that it takes to write a letter and fill it with the things that make up one's day, no matter how mundane. It is in these letters that I feel more connected to those moments that we tend to overlook but contribute so greatly to who we are. I am excited to reconnect with you all in person to try and better understand those drops of life that magically turn our days from espresso into noisette. 

With love and the hopes of a coffee date in California, 

Doria