The next day was New Year?s Eve and another great night in Paris. Rami and Paulo headed out for dinner at a Mexican assistant's house and then for drinks at Tour Eiffel. But Wei Wei and I opted for an "indoor" night, and we went to M's (a friend of my boyfriend, let's call him "M" and call my boyfriend  "Jerry" simply because it sounds so ridiculous). At 10 pm, we arrive with our bottle of wine, fait la bise (kiss on both cheeks) to everyone. There is M's cousin visiting from Poitiers, another friend Yacine (Moroccan, lived in Italy) a couple of Ethiopian girls and a few others. We eat salmon and caviar, smoke cigarettes and shisha, and drink lots of wine and champagne. The clock strikes midnight at M's place; Bonne Annees' are exchanged between flavored shisha smoke and plastic cups filled to the brim with champagne.

About 2 am we head out, the metro is free all night and packed with people. We run to make the train, and everyone is shouting. There is music and bottles everywhere; champagne, wine, rum. Bonne Annee! Bonne Annee!  We reach the Ethiopian restaurant in Montparnasse where there is a little dance party and more drinks. They are doing the beautiful dance I've seen many times in Washington, Eskesta, an Amharic name meaning "shoulder dance." After, we leave with more people from the restaurant and head to Bastille, always a young and trendy area. M's favorite Corsican bar is closed but we end up at another place. I think it was American but they played Latin music the whole time. The guys ordered a bottle of whiskey and we stayed there spinning with drinks and laughter and dancing all night. We all go back to Nation metro station together and fait la bise one more time, I forget three people because at that point I'm tired. They all tease me that I'm American and don't want to kiss. Wei Wei and I arrive home around 7 am.

Since then I can't sleep at all...up all night; tossing and turning; awful dreams. Then I finally drift to sleep and wake up around 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Last night, it?s the worst; I take a look at the clock; 5:20 am...then it hits me. I am having a literal, quarterlife crisis! I am turning 25 on Tuesday. Yes, that's it. I always wondered what that annoying term meant (is it a marketing creation like that even more annoying term "tween"?) but now I know. It means the week you turn 25, you cannot sleep because you don't know if you want a baby, or a husband, or a career; none, one or all three? And if you do want it, how to go about it? Granted, I've been on "vacation" for the last three weeks and have entirely too much time on my hands but I've having scary thoughts. What am I going to do? Really, how am I going to make money?

I have frantic thoughts; should I email the editor of the magazine I used to write for and ask him for advice. Should I go back to DC or move to NY? I miss Jerry; I miss my siblings; where should I live then? I come across a website of a 25 year old who started her own "boutique media agency" in Cairo. Should I do that? I don't even know what that is but it just sounds good. Then the scariest thought of all; I wonder where Jerry will be? Huh! I put the pillow over my head; this month we will have been together for three years and I have never once asked myself where he will be, not because I don't care, but because I've always known where I'll be.

Wei Wei and I are now on the same sleeping schedule; we wake up around 3 pm today. I tell her last night was the worst and my revelation; QUARTERLIFE CRISIS. It makes so much sense. She laughs; No, life will be exactly the same, you just have to make one or two serious decisions, but right now enjoy this-she waves her hands.

Yes, enjoy this moment of jet setting, this country with its perpetual vacations and wine and good, good late nights with an international cast of characters. 

That's what happens at 25; 23 year olds give you the best advice.

Bonne Annee!

Ariana Austin is a freelancer writer currently based in Paris where she writes on arts and culture and foreign affairs. Her work has appeared in Trace magazine,the Foreign Service Journal and the Washington Post. She is happy to bring you a 20-something view of living, loving and learning in Paris. Contact  her   This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it with any comments, questions or ideas.

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