Je suis Charlie made me homesick

Like millions around the world I was horrified by the massacre at the offices of Charlie Hebdo in Paris, but, as I was watching at home in Manhattan the crowds massed in mourning all over France, I realized that this tragedy, as strange as it may seem, made me miss my home country. I wanted to be over there, shoulder to shoulder with my fellow countrymen. Yes, I have lived in New York for more than 30 years and I am also a citizen of the United States, but I guess something in the blood doesn’t care about passports.

This realization didn’t come unannounced. Over the last few years I have felt my roots, for lack of a better word, gain strength, vitality, and push up to the surface. I then think of the slabs of concrete that crack or are forced out of joint on the sidewalks by the roots of the trees, maples, birches or oaks.

This phenomenon manifests itself in many ways, from my recent insistence on watching the daily French news on TV5 Monde, to my choice of French bistros like Le Cercle Rouge or brasseries evocative of La Coupole, to writing novels connected to French recent history or my increasingly strong accent – “You mean more charming!” is my usual response whenever my American wife teases me about it.

There are deeper and subtle signs, I realize that my views on many subjects from religion, to puritanism – which I call hypocrisy – politics domestic and international, society, political correctness, are increasingly in sync with the culture I grew up with.  Indeed, opinions I refrain from expressing at a New York dinner party need no explanation or justification in Paris. I see the gap between the two cultures as much wider than I did when I first came to this country more than 30 years ago.

I was enthusiastic then, passionate about everything American. Like so many new converts, I was inhabited by a degree of fanaticism. The people here were so much more this and so less that than the French, the way of life was way superior, American football was more fun than soccer which I had played and been a fan of for most of my youth, even the weather was more exciting than in temperate France. America was the land of opportunity, the platform for the exploration of space. Silicon valley was were all the life-changing products or systems were born. The list went on and on.

I see today that my desire to leave France and start anew had much to do with my own story. It is no accident that we call our native country the “mother land”. Writing Victor and the women, a semi autobiographical novel, helped me make peace with the memory of my mother, saving me in the process thousands of dollars and hours on a couch. Meeting the woman who is now my wife was also an important factor in finally finding a modicum of serenity. It was then that the roots felt free to push up.

My view of my two countries, the one where I grew up and the one where I live is now more balanced. Both cultures are rich and flawed. I compare Paris and New York to two women. One is pretty and elegant, the other is excitingly alive, vibrant. I see the strengths and flaws in both cultures. My view of France is romantic, while that of America is pragmatic.

“So where would you like to live?” my friends ask. The answer is that I really enjoy living in New York, in America and that I miss France. Does that make sense?