A chance encounter with a homeless man on the streets of Paris transformed the life of a young academic

We speak too readily, perhaps, of “life-changing” experiences – for to really change a life is harder than we like to admit. A powerful catalyst is called for. Even with this proviso, I recall a particular incident without which I should not have been the same. It woke me up when I needed waking.

It occurred one evening in December 2001. I was living in Paris, doing post-doctoral research at a prestigious institute. I had a secure job waiting for me in England. I was comfortable. I was engaged in absorbing work, free to direct it as I chose. I was in a city I loved, surrounded by kind and interesting people. Yet I was consumed by emptiness within. Without being able to say why, I felt the life I was living did not correspond to what I was supposed to live. As a result, I had an uncomfortable sense of play-acting, of being a fraud, simply by virtue of getting on with my life as it was.

That December evening, I had been dining with two friends. We had been to the cinema, I think, and had gone to eat afterwards. We were ambling back along a boulevard at midnight, sufficiently fuelled not to feel the chill. There was snow in the air. I can’t remember what we talked about, but we were cheerful, carefree. I returned to my lodgings content.