JMalrix

Evenin’ goofies,

Yeah… I’m in Paris.
I know. I know. Very on-brand for someone who disappears for a month and then casually respawns in a different country like it’s a side quest.
But let me clear something up early. This is not Montreal. Montreal was… escape. That was me trying to get away from America. Reset. Breathe. Pretend I was a different version of myself for a few days.
Paris? Paris is not an escape. Paris is confrontation. The moment I saw that Metro sign, I realized something. You can’t hide in a city like this. Everything here has been here longer than your problems. Longer than your ambitions.

Longer than your little internal monologues where you think you’re figuring something out. Paris doesn’t care. It just… exists.
I found myself sitting at a street café, watching people who looked like they had nowhere urgent to be. Which is insane. Because everyone has somewhere to be. But here? Nobody’s rushing. Nobody’s pretending to be productive. Nobody’s optimizing their life into a spreadsheet. They’re just… sitting.
Talking. Smoking. Eating. Existing. Meanwhile I’m over here like: “Am I being present correctly?”
I ordered steak frites. Because apparently that’s what you do when you’re trying to look like you belong.

It worked for about 12 seconds. Then I remembered I was still me. Just… me in Paris.
I went to see the Arc de Triomphe.
And I’m not gonna lie to you—it’s massive. Like, aggressively massive. The kind of structure that makes you feel like your biggest accomplishment this year was replying to emails on time.
There’s something humbling about standing in front of something built by people who were not thinking about your timeline, your goals, or your content schedule. They just built. And it lasted.

Then I went to Notre-Dame. And yeah… this is where it shifts. Because outside, it’s impressive.
Inside? Inside it’s quiet in a way that makes you aware of yourself. Not your thoughts. Not your plans. Just… you.
Standing there, looking up at stained glass that was never meant to impress you specifically—but somehow still does.
There’s a word in French—flâneur. It’s supposed to mean someone who walks the city slowly, observing, taking it in. Romantic. Intentional. Almost poetic. But I think there’s another version of that. The one they don’t advertise. The one where you’re not wandering because you’re inspired… You’re wandering because you don’t quite know where you fit.

Because you’re between things.
Because you’re building something that doesn’t fully exist yet.
Because you chose a path that doesn’t come with clear markers.

Montreal was me running.
Paris is me… sitting with it.
And honestly?
I think I needed both.
I’m still writing.

Secret Chords is still moving—steady, intentional. We’re on track for a mid-summer wrap, and I can actually see it now. Which is equal parts exciting and terrifying.
Conquistar is still on pause. Not abandoned—just… respected. That story deserves more than rushed chapters and half-formed ideas. It’s coming back sharper.
And yeah.
There are other things brewing.
I’m not ready to talk about them yet.
But just know—I’m not wandering for nothing.
If you’re reading this, whether you’ve been here since the beginning or you just found your way in… I appreciate you.
For real.
Even if you’re just passing through.
Stay curious.
Stay building.
And if you ever find yourself in a city that doesn’t let you hide—Don’t.

— JMalrix