I was in Paris last week for a party to celebrate the wedding anniversary of old friends. I know that’s a polarizing sentence to read. People hear “Paris,” and they quickly feel as though they need to have an opinion. Sometimes it’s: Paris? In June? With all of those tourists? And sometimes it’s: Lotta snobby, rude waiters, if you ask me. And sometimes you have to brace yourself for a geopolitical rant. Paris, for a lot of people, is not a neutral location.
So let me clarify: my friends live in Paris — they have for decades — and they got married in the American Cathedral there, and this seemed like a great way to get everyone back together for one more party. Which it was. Part of the joy of having old friends is that you get to see them in the process of becoming old — they are old, old friends, at this point. And the other joy is that when you recreate a wedding guest list from decades ago, you get to catch up with a lot of people you don’t see that often. Sometimes, there’s a reason for that.“So, you’re really steering into this religious thing,” a party guest said to me, while we were each bringing the other up to date on the events of the intervening years. He had spent a few minutes telling me about his children and a good many more minutes making sure I knew how incredibly rich he had become. When he was certain that his exact net worth was clear to me, he said, “I hear that you’re becoming an Episcopal priest? What’s that about?” And then, to soften the tone, he added: “I mean, like, good for you, if that’s what you’re into, great.” And then, to harden the tone back, he added: “I just never saw you as very, you know, priest-y.”
