Aligned & Awake: I Ordered in French and Became Insufferable for 12 Minutes

The day my French worked, my ego inflated, and a matcha swan sealed the deal

Aligned & Awake
My reflections on life through travel, human design, energy, astrology, and emotional clarity. Not as a guru. Just one person figuring it out in real time.

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I've upgraded neighbourhoods and I think it's changed me as a person.

The Chartrons, in Bordeaux. It’s quieter, the kind of neighbourhood where people walk like they have nowhere urgent to be, which frankly feels like a personal attack on my former life.

I find a café tucked along a side street. It’s small, full of locals and has a calm vibe to it. No laptops, no influencers angling their croissants toward the light. Just people being people, which is its own kind of relief.

I walk in like someone who definitely belongs here and has not rehearsed this moment in her head three times already.

“Bonjour.”

And then something unhinged happens.

I keep going.

A full sentence. In French. Verbs. Structure. A little flourish at the end, like I’ve been doing this since birth.

The server nods. Stays in French. We are flying without a net.

Inside, I’m spiralling. “Who do I think I am? Since when do I speak French? Is this confidence or delusion?” Outwardly, I am calm. Composed. A woman who orders beverages in foreign languages on a casual Tuesday.

We go back and forth. A rhythm forms. I catch maybe 82 percent of what he says. The remaining 18 percent I fill in with vibes and blind faith.

It works.

It actually works.

I order a matcha latte. Yes, in France. I will not be taking questions at this time. I’ve never been one for coffee.

I pay and thank him. In French. Again. And then I walk away like I haven’t just had a full internal breakdown.

I find a seat at a lonesome table in the corner and immediately become a giddy schoolgirl.

I am, in this moment, a local.

Someone hand me a striped shirt and a baguette. I’ve earned it.

I text my friends. “Just had a FULL conversation in French.” Caps. Necessary. I consider adding a French flag emoji for flair. Restraint prevails…barely.

The matcha arrives.

There is a swan in the foam.

Matcha Heaven | Photo: Tanya Fraser

Of course there is. The universe said, let’s really drive this home for her.

I take a sip, like this is my regular order. Like Jean-Pierre and I have a standing arrangement and he’s fully aware of my emotional journey.

Something softer settles in after that.

I don’t feel like the visitor hovering at the edges. I feel included, which sounds like a small thing until you’ve spent enough time moving through places alone and realize how rarely it just arrives on its own.

Maybe my accent was doing a little Irish jig in the middle of every sentence and they simply decided, “ah sure, she’s grand.” Either way, I’m in.

When you travel like this — on your own, moving through places and people and moments that don’t always last — you get used to being slightly outside the circle. Present, welcomed, but hovering just at the edge of belonging. Like a cat who’s wandered into a room full of dogs and is pretending this was always the plan. Confident, slightly suspicious and ready to bolt if needed.

So when a moment like this one lands, you feel it properly.

Ordering a drink. Holding a conversation. Dropping yourself into a new place, a new language, a new version of your life, and finding that you didn’t just survive it, you took up space in it.

Even if that space starts with a matcha latte and a questionable grasp of past tense verbs.

I stay a little longer than necessary.

Let it count.

These are the moments. The ones where something clicks, where confidence sneaks in through the side door and sits down beside you like it’s always been there, like Jean-Pierre always knew you’d figure it out eventually.

And honestly? So did I.

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Tell me…

Tell me your most chaotic confidence boost.

The one that had you thinking, “Well, clearly I’m exceptional now.”

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