nine
The Camille-work-in-progress was hard at it.
Claude had asked me for a list of everything I was good at and the successes I felt I had known in my life, so over the following days I spent my free time in a kind of introspective exploration, probing the depths of my soul and my memories to unearth the raw materials he was looking for.
Positive experiences, personal qualities . . . At first, nothing more than a black hole. But then, little by little, they returned to the surface and took shape before my eyes.
To help guide me, I kept referring to the list of qualities that Claude had sent. I wondered which ones best described me:
Adventurous, agreeable, ambitious, astute, audacious, autonomous, calm, combative, conciliatory, confident, creative, dedicated, diplomatic, direct, disciplined, discreet, dynamic, efficient, empathetic, energetic, extroverted, faithful, flexible, generous, gentle, hardworking, honest, imaginative, independent, innovative, intelligent, intuitive, jovial, just, leader, methodical, motivated, multitasking, obliging, observant, obstinate, open-minded, optimist, organized, original, painstaking, patient, persevering, polite, precise, prudent, pugnacious, punctual, reserved, responsible, rigorous, self-controlled, sensitive, serious, sociable, spontaneous, stable, strategist, strong, stubborn, team player, tenacious, tolerant, willful.
Agreeable, yes. Ambitious, not enough! Conciliatory, a little too much. Creative: I used to be. Sensitive, yes, no getting away from it. Serious and hardworking, out of necessity. Generous, empathetic . . . yes, to some extent.
As for the most successful events in my life—apart from the birth of my son, of course, there hadn’t been that many. Maybe the occasion when I had gotten an A+ in art and my teacher had congratulated me so warmly and told me I ought to carry on, that I was talented. It still made me happy to remember that. Yes, then I had felt really appreciated. There was also the day when I had earned my business studies degree and told my mother the good news on the phone. But was that really my pleasure, or my mother’s? I would have to talk about it with Claude.
As for the portrait of the Camille I would like to become, for the moment it was only a rough sketch. I wrote down all the ideas that occurred to me and sensed that even if it was all still unfocused, the process had begun and things were bound to become clearer.
As I continued with this excavation of my identity, nearly every day Claude sent me hints and tips to help me move toward the virtuous circle.
So it came as no surprise when, barely ten minutes after I had woken up, I heard my mobile buzz and found he had sent me another text message.
Good morning, Camille. Today you are to fill your day with humor and cheerfulness. That makes it easier to confront any little obstacles. Try pulling faces in front of the mirror: it’s good for your morale and helps ward off wrinkles. Pull your tongue in all directions and shout, “Whaaa!” Mimic great sadness and great joy like Marcel Marceau, pronounce all your vowels in an exaggerated way, have fun! Spk soon, Claude.
I smiled. His exercise intrigued me, but it seemed a bit odd for me to be clowning about in the bathroom. At first I was very hesitant but gradually managed to relax, until finally I really let rip. My son was watching me from the doorway, unable to believe his eyes.
“What on earth are you doing, Mom?”
“Gymnastics for plastic surgery,” I replied without missing a beat.
My reply astounded him, but children have an amazing ability to take on board the weirdest ideas.
“It looks like fun,” he said seriously, like a judge on a talent show. “Can I try?”
I invited him to join me, and soon we were miming—with our faces—a high-wire double act. Adrien was incredibly good at it, and so I had no hesitation awarding him the clown first prize. He was so pleased at this that he was in a good mood all through breakfast, which for once we ate together, chatting the whole time. It had been ages since we’d done that.
Yes, Claude was right. It did you a lot of good to start your day with a bit of laughter and fun!
On another day, he suggested I try the game of the “imaginary camera,” an exercise he had invented to help me change the way I looked at my reality by changing my “perception filter.”
“When you go out, instead of focusing on sights that are unpleasant, ugly, or irritating, fix your attention on pleasant things. Take imaginary photos of happy coincidences in the street, on public transport, wherever you walk.”
So now I had to train myself to be on the lookout for Beauty. It turned out to be quite a revelation. Rather than inevitably turning my gaze to beggars, grumpy passersby, or howling babies, I found myself staring at the sky, the pretty bird making its nest, a loving couple embracing, a mother caressing her child, a man helping an old lady carry her suitcase down the Métro steps, or listening to the soft rustle of foliage.
This new way of looking enchanted me. Each day I added to my collection of positive images, a photo album that was going to allow me to create a different view of the world.