Your Second Life Begins When You Realize You Only Have One Page 3

  She asked me to follow her down a long corridor. I had the impression she was shooting curious, amused glances at me. As we passed a mirror, I couldn’t help checking to make sure my lipstick wasn’t smudged and that there was nothing odd about what I was wearing. I couldn’t see anything wrong.

  She left me in a waiting room filled with soft, deep chairs, telling me that Mr. Dupontel would see me in a moment. I became absorbed in the modern art decorating the walls, enjoying the intertwined shapes and subtle play of colors. The assistant reappeared a few minutes later, with another client. A young woman who I guessed could be no more than thirty sat in an armchair on my left. A stylish brunette. I envied her svelte figure and chic appearance. Catching me looking at her, she smiled.

  “Do you have an appointment with Claude?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is this your first time?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll see, he’s extraordinary. He’s worked miracles with me. Of course, his method is a little surprising at first, but then . . .”

  She leaned over toward me, obviously intending to go on, but at that moment the door opened and Claude Dupontel appeared.

  “Ah, Sophie, there you are. Good evening, Camille. We’ll only be a second. We just have to deal with something briefly and then I’ll be with you.”

  The young woman called Sophie jumped up as though Claude were someone she would follow to the ends of the earth. I heard her laughter tinkle along the corridor: they seemed to get on like a house on fire. The door to his office closed behind them. It opened again shortly afterward, and once again I heard her tinkling laugh. Now it was my turn.

  I stealthily wiped my hand on my coat, hoping to get rid of the telltale traces of moisture. How stupid to get nervous because I was visiting him like this—I was only curious.

  “Camille? Come with me, it’s along here . . .”

  I followed him into his office, which was again surprisingly elegant.

  “Please, take a seat. I’m delighted to see you,” he said with a smile that matched his words. “If you’re here, it must be because you want to change certain things in your life. Is that right?”

  “Yes. At least, I think so . . . What you told me the other day really intrigued me, and I’d like to know more.”

  “Briefly, I need to warn you that it’s not a conventional counseling method, in the sense that it takes more of a practical approach than a theoretical one. We start from the principle that it’s not within these walls that anyone who wishes to change will discover the truth or understand the meaning of her life. No, it’s only through action, through actual experience. Apart from that, the method draws on the teachings of several schools of philosophical, spiritual, and even scientific thought. It adopts the most tried-and-tested personal-development techniques from all round the world. It’s a summary of what mankind has found most useful in order to evolve positively.”

  “OK, I get it. ‘Understanding the meaning of life.’ That resonates with me, of course, but isn’t that what we all want? It’s like the Holy Grail. But it’s incredibly hard to find, and I’ve no idea where to start looking.”

  “Don’t worry. ‘Giving your life meaning’ is the common thread of all change. In practice, you advance stage by stage.”

  “Stage by stage?”

  “Yes. It’s obvious that you don’t become a black belt of change overnight. That’s why I apply the ‘theory of small steps’ to help my clients progress gradually. When we talk of change, lots of people imagine something huge and radical, but decisive life changes start with small, apparently insignificant transformations. It may be that sometimes my advice sounds self-evident, almost too obvious. But make no mistake: it’s not managing to do things once that’s complicated; it’s doing them every day. ‘We are what we repeat over and over,’ according to Aristotle. That’s so true. To become a better, happier, more balanced person calls for regular work and effort. You’ll find that the difficulty isn’t knowing what you ought to be doing to feel better, but to commit yourself completely and to move from theory to practice.”

  “And what makes you believe I’m capable of it at all?”

  “I’m not the one who has to believe it—you do. But rather than asking yourself if you’re capable of being happier, start by asking yourself if you really want it. Do you, Camille?”

  “Er, yes . . . Yes, I think so.”

  He smiled kindly, then asked me to come and look at the clippings pinned to the wall near his desk. I joined him.

  There were photographs of happy people, apparently enjoying whatever it was they most wanted to do; postcards sent from far-flung, exotic locations; all kinds of thank-you notes.

  “Just like you, all these people had their doubts at the outset. It’s only normal, to begin with. What you need is to really want to take the leap. Do you feel motivated to change, Camille?”

  I tried to delve into my innermost feelings.

  “Yes, yes I do. Even if it scares me a little, I really want things to change. But how? That’s what I’m not clear about.”

  “That’s typical. To help you have a better idea, are you willing to carry out a little exercise that doesn’t commit you to anything and will only take a few minutes?”

  “Yes, why not?”

  “Good. Then I’d like you to write down everything you’d like to change in your life. And I mean everything, from the most trivial to the most essential. Is that OK?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He sat me down at a small writing desk in a corner of the room, where sheets of paper and pens of all kinds were waiting for the candidates-for-a-better-life.

  “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, smiling encouragement.

  I found this a fairly simple exercise. I spooled through the film of my life and began to note down anything that occurred to me. I was pleased to see how easily the ideas flowed but rather less happy to realize how long my list was becoming. As I wrote, I became aware of all the frustrations that had been building up, and it came as a shock.

  When Claude Dupontel reappeared, he had the good grace not to raise his eyebrows at the length of my list. All he said was, “That’s very good.”

  I couldn’t help but feel that little stab of joy that schoolgirls get when they are praised by their teacher.

  But then I thought, That’s nonsense! There’s really no reason to be so happy that you’ve got such a long list of frustrations.

  He must have read my mind, because he said, to reassure me, “You can be proud of yourself. It’s very hard to be brave enough to put down on paper everything that seems wrong with your life. You should congratulate yourself.”

  “I have difficulty being proud of myself in general . . .”

  “That’s something that can soon be changed.”

  “From where I sit, that’s hard to believe.”

  “Yet it’s the very first thing I’m going to ask of you, Camille: to believe that. Are you ready for it?”

  “Oh . . . Yes . . . I think so. Well, I mean, yes, I’m sure!”

  “That’s the spirit! ‘Change is a door that can only be opened from the inside,’ as the saying goes. Which means, Camille, that you are the only one who can decide to change. I can help you. But I need you to be totally committed.”

  “What do you mean by ‘totally committed’?” I asked, vaguely disturbed.

  “Simply that you become completely involved in the process. Don’t worry: nothing I propose will ever be dangerous or more than you can manage. We’ll work together within an ethical framework that respects how you are progressing. The only objective is to help you make those positive breakthroughs that will lead to change.”

  “What if at some point I decide I don’t like the method?”

  “You’re under no obligation to continue. If you want to stop, you
can. But if you decide to continue, I’ll ask you to commit yourself four hundred percent. That’s how the best results are achieved.”

  “How long does this kind of counseling last, as a rule?”

  “However long it takes someone to refashion his or her life project so that it brings happiness.”

  “Hmm. I see . . . One last question. You haven’t said how much all this costs, and I don’t know if I’m going to be able to afford it . . .”

  “As far as money goes, routinology operates in a very special, even unique manner, but one that’s been proved to work. You will only pay me what you think you owe me, and then only when you have succeeded. If my method fails and you’re not satisfied, you won’t have to pay a thing.”

  “What? But that’s completely crazy! How do you make a living like that? And how can you be sure that people will be honest enough to pay you someday?”

  “That’s the way you see the world at the moment, Camille. But I can assure you that because I have faith in things like trust, shared knowledge, and unconditional support, the people I’ve helped have been more than generous once they have achieved their goals. I believe in every person’s potential to succeed, as long as they show respect for their own nature and most cherished values. All you have to do is make your life project properly fit in with who you are. That demands a real commitment and a lot of effort. You will have to be methodical about it—but it’s worth it!”

  “Have you ever failed?”

  “Never . . . Right, we can stop here for today. I’ll let you think all this over at your leisure. One option would be for you to embark on the first stage to see what you think of it. If you get results, you carry on. If not, you stop.”

  “I’ll think about it. Thank you, Claude.”

  He led me back to the door and gave me a firm handshake, that of someone who knows what he wants in life. I envied him.

  “I’ll let you have my decision very soon. Good-bye, Claude.”

  “Take your time. Good-bye, Camille.”

  six

  Outside in the street once more, I felt like a stranger to myself: the interview had turned my world upside down. My hands were trembling a little, but I didn’t know whether it was from fear or excitement. As I walked toward the Métro, thoughts were racing through my brain. With every step I took, I recalled the things that Claude had said, and my determination grew: “Everyone has a duty toward life, don’t you think? To learn to know ourselves, to become aware that time is short, to make choices that matter and that mean something. And above all, not to waste our talents . . . We must fulfill our potential, Camille. Urgently!”

  That evening, I went over what my life was at present. It was all very comfy: a safe job, a safe love life . . . But that was simply window dressing. It was high time that I took a proper look at what was underneath and assumed responsibility for it.

  As a mother, things were tense. Recently, that tension between my son and me had become electric. Everything was a chore. What with his school, his clubs and hobbies and medical appointments, it felt as if I no longer had a minute to myself. As soon as I set foot inside our front door, I felt harassed and my tolerance threshold dropped dramatically. I flew off the handle at next to nothing. Especially over homework, which had tripled that school year thanks to an overzealous teacher. Already tired from school, Adrien saw this workload as punishment. It seemed endless, and I felt I was dragging him along like a dead donkey. I shouted at him; he exploded back at me, either bursting into tears or becoming hysterical.

  I was so exhausted by it all that once he had finally completed his work, I would let him do whatever he wanted—and he would rush off to plonk himself in front of a screen. I knew that this was the easy way out, but I needed a bit of peace, to unwind for five minutes. It’s only human, isn’t it? I would reassure myself.

  Often, he would want me to come and look at the imaginary world he had created on Minecraft, his favorite computer game of the moment, or an unmissable YouTube video.

  “I don’t have the time, sweet pea; I have to get supper ready.”

  That was how it was. Over the past few months, I hadn’t had the energy to take an interest in his world, and without properly realizing it, this had created a gulf between us. He would wander off again, disappointed and vaguely sad.

  “You never do anything with me anymore!” he would say reproachfully.

  I struggled to justify myself. “Adrien, try to understand. You’re a big boy now. The house doesn’t run itself! Besides, with all the games you have . . .”

  “But I have no one to play them with! Why can’t you give me a little brother?”

  There he went, making me feel guilty again. Why, as a modern European woman, should I be obliged to have 2.4 children? What if I wanted only one?

  Social pressure: that got on my nerves as well. All year round, my ears were filled with the same old refrain: “It’s so sad to be an only child. He must get bored . . .”

  Sebastien had been disappointed when I confessed I didn’t want any more children. Had that also contributed to the distance between us? That and the daily routine. The draining effect of monotony, of the ordinary. We no longer feel obliged to make an effort, so in the end we stop making any effort at all. We just grow careless. It’s so obvious, right under our noses, and yet we don’t see it.

  I had reached this stage in my reflections when I glanced over at my husband. He was stretched out on the sofa, half watching TV while he played on his smartphone. He was oblivious to my presence, and above all to my inner turmoil. That did it. Yes, at that instant I knew that I wanted to stop settling for this nice little existence that had become such a rut it no longer had any meaning. I wanted to have the courage to shake up everything that was so well established, so predictable, so settled. Exchange the reassuring for the exhilarating! In other words, to press the reset button and start all over again.

  I tapped out a text message to Claude Dupontel and immediately pressed Send, like someone drawing up a ladder behind her to make sure there is no going back. If I thought any more about all this, there was a risk that I might back out.

  I’ve made my mind up to give your method a try. I’ve nothing to lose, have I?

  Half an hour later, I jumped when I heard my mobile ping.

  Bravo for taking this first step, Camille. It’s always the hardest, but I’m sure you won’t regret it. Keep an eye on your mailbox. You’ll be receiving my first instructions by post. Take care, Claude.

  I was pleased. Excited. Nervous. All three at once.

  I spent a restless night dreaming I was heading down a ski slope at breakneck speed. I was elated until I suddenly realized that however hard I tried, there was no way I could stop . . . I woke up covered in sweat and paralyzed with fear.

  I was so anxious to get home and open my letter box that the workday seemed endless.

  What a disappointment! It was empty.

  Don’t be so impatient! You’re hardly his first priority.

  Next day, the box was empty again. Another disappointment.

  It’s not even been forty-eight hours.

  The day after . . . empty!

  I was champing at the bit. My excitement had turned to frustration. When was I going to start, for heaven’s sake? After eight days of feverish waiting, I gave in and telephoned Claude. His assistant answered with that dreamy voice of hers, seemingly designed to calm all expressions of impatience.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Dupontel is in meetings all day. May I give him a message?”

  “Oh, yes, thanks. I’d like to know when my course is to start.”

  “What did he say the last time you saw him?”

  “To await his instructions, which I’d receive by post.”

  “If that’s what he said, then you only have to wait. Good-bye. Have a good day.”

  This time, her mellifluous voice
really wound me up. I hung up, furious, in such a state that I was ready to tear up the first thing I could lay my hands on.

  seven

  Three days later, I finally received the letter I had been so eagerly awaiting. I’d been patient for eleven days. I felt the slightly lumpy envelope, trying desperately to guess what it contained.

  Inside I found a chain that I immediately recognized as a charm necklace. An adorable little white lotus pendant was attached to it.

  I quickly unfolded the short letter from Claude:

  Hello, Camille,

  I’m so pleased you’ve decided to take this first step toward reconquering your life! I have total confidence in you and wish you the best of luck in reaching your goals. To welcome and encourage you, I’m giving you this first charm: a white lotus. Each time you’ve made decisive progress, reached a “level of change,” you will receive a new lotus charm, in a different color. As in martial arts, the color code depends on the level you have reached: white for a beginner, then yellow, green, purple . . . up to the black lotus, which means you have reached the final stage of change. That will signify you have attained all your objectives.

  Delighted with the idea, I twisted the pendant between my fingers, then read on:

  These past few days, without you realizing it, your initiation has already started and has taught you the first lesson: never simply wait for something to happen. You have spent your time watching out for my instructions, for me to tell you what to do. Yet you could already have begun to act on your own behalf. Just remember, Camille: you’re the one and only person who can change your life. The impetus has to come from you. I’ll be your guide, but I won’t do anything for you. Write this sentence on a Post-it and look at it every day:

  “I am the only one responsible for my life and happiness.”

  Now here is your first task: you are going to carry out a complete spring-clean, inside and out. By this I mean first an inner cleanup. You must identify everything about you that seems toxic, negative, that hampers your relationships and the way you organize your life. I call it “personal ecology”! At the same time, you need to have an external spring-clean of the things in your home. You are to throw away at least ten useless objects and to tidy up, sort out, and refresh your surroundings in every way possible. Bring me photos of this the next time we meet. You have two weeks to do this. Meanwhile you can of course tell me of any difficulties in an e-mail or text message. I will always make time to answer. Good luck and see you soon!