According to a budding psychologist friend, though, 25 is actually, “developmentally, quite exciting.” This is refreshing news. According to her, and having something to do with the frontal lobe, 25 becomes the year that decisions are more clearly made, paths more clearly defined. Things just click. Ambitions are met with the kind of drive and work it takes to achieve. I look forward to this (though I will still participate in the illusion that I am only celebrating my 24th birthday when the time comes).
So I’m starting 6 months early. This blog marks the beginning of my efforts to make it to Paris, city of lights, la ville du mode, and the place I’ve dreamed of returning to since I first spent a blissful weekend exploring its charms the summer before my senior year in college. Previous efforts have, well, been half-hearted. Why is this, one might ask? If it’s my dream, really, why is this? Honestly, I don’t know. There were other things in life to figure out first, perhaps.
But, so, this particular journey must begin with a sacrifice. It would be lovely and charming and all if I could just pick up and move to Paris, find some quiet little flat to live in and eat charming French food and speak charming French words and wear charming French clothes. But, the road since graduation has been a little bumpy. I am 24, a nanny, a freelance writer and marketer, a would-be fashionista, a dreamer, a baker, and, a little broke.
So, first step to Paris: give up shopping. Give up shopping to get to fashion mecca. Can it be done?
|C'est moi, a Paris, at the Palais Garnier for the ballet, my first time in Paris.|