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