When I was living in Chicago, I lost my job and needed to move apartments. I (mistakenly) assumed I could ask a few of my friends, hire a moving van, and get the job done. I was sorely mistaken. Amidst all the chaos, I promised right there and then that I would never perform a move without hiring movers.

Last night I broke that promise, and I was reminded of that fateful moving day so many years ago. But what an adventure yesterday was. I made it through, thanks to a little faith and endurance.

My friend Jessica needed to move before the 1st of the month. Since I figured the easiest way to get from one apartment to the other was a cab, she packed everything up and hauled it to the curb. By the time everything was ready, we were standing on the street with six bags by 6:00 PM Sunday night. We stood around for a while, still carrying the American notion that a nice cab driver would turn the corner and pick us up.

But I forget I’m in France and it’s Sunday night. After an hour of waiting, we managed to hail three cabs – all of them refused to take us since we had too much luggage. Yes, I agree that we did have six rather large bags, but we didn’t expect the cab driver to lift them all. We’re strong women, so we were prepared to handle that. After the third rejection, we looked at each other in desperation. What were we going to do?  Jessica ran through possible scenarios, all of which were less than ideal.

Then one of us got a bright idea. I say bright because it seemed possible at the time. With all the courage I could muster, I suggested we just suck it up and take everything on the metro. We’re capable, and while it may take us a while, we could certainly do it. Right?

Jessica, the smarter of the two of us, looked at me like I had just asked her to kiss a frog to see if it was a prince. “Are you crazy,” she asked? “How are we supposed to lug six bags on the metro?”

“Faith and endurance,” I replied.

Let’s focus on the luggage for a bit, shall we? I’m not the best guesser of weights, but between the six bags, I’d say we had about 300 pounds. I didn’t really think about that when I said, “faith and endurance.” I also didn’t think about the fact that we’d have to take three trains just to get to her new house. Nor the six flights of stairs with no elevator. I just – naively I realize now – thought that we could.

So off we go for the metro a block away. The short trip down the street should have clued me in right away. I had to stop twice to rest with a huge backpack strapped to my shoulders, a shopping bag in one hand and dragging a very large duffle bag in the other. Surprising, we both had people on the street offer to help – something that Parisians are quite well-known for but never appreciated. Although we refused the first couple offers, we gladly agreed to help down the metro stairs and through the turn styles from a very kind gentleman. Along the way, we get several more offers for assistance. I think people are feeling sorry for us as sweat drips down our faces. Thank goodness we’re still laughing.

By the time we come up for air from the metro, the laughter has faded. Neither of us expected this short journey to be so difficult. As Jessica trudges ahead with dogged persistence, I stop to rest for a few minutes. I make the mistake of sitting down on the duffle bag. When I try to get up, the weight of the pack on my back holds me down. The only way to get up is to take it off. If I take it off, I won’t be able to get it back on without help. I’m stuck. Thank goodness Jessica has the sense to come back for me.

But the hardest part is yet to come – six flights of stairs with no elevator. I’m so exhausted by this point, I can barely stand let alone lug a 75 pound bag up several sets of stairs. As I’m resting between the 3rd and 4th floors and really want to quit, two words pop into my head. Faith and endurance. I know without a doubt one of my hardest challenges is yet to come – my internship at Guy Savoy. When it gets this tough in the kitchen, am I going to quit? No. I am practicing faith and endurance. Somehow this helps me find just a tiny bit if strength to help Jessica get the last bag up the stairs.

I tell myself I didn’t know what I was getting into when I said let’s take the metro. But that’s not entirely true. I knew it would be hard. When I accepted this internship, I knew what I’d be up against. I’d be working 12 to 16 hours a day, 5 to 6 days a week in a steaming hot kitchen with a room full of hot shot 20 year old chefs. I’m an American, a woman, and a culinary school graduate – three things against me in their minds. And I know it’s going to be tough. But I know in the back of my head, if I have faith and endurance, I’m going to make it through.

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