All at once

The next day, the day after I saw Paris again, I was certain I would leave the town of Herblay.

The cold, the dirt, the lack of adequate public transportation. I took a step back and thought about why I'd come to France. To live in a basement in the middle of the woods?

I had just gotten in touch with a family friend, someone who is proof angels exist. She has treated me better than people I've known for years. Friday night She picked me up and I stayed with her in the city of Argenteuil, a bigger town closer to Paris, closer to the train. For the first time since I arrived, I slept somewhere clean and somewhere warm.

I hadn't started work yet, so I had a few more days to look for housing. It was stressful to say the least. It seemed at the time like everything took so long, but my life changed drastically within days. Six days living in Herblay, Two days staying with a family friend in Argenteuil.

In the middle of this transition, I got to visit one of the schools I was working at for the first time. It went well. Things were looking up.

I hate to impose, so I was searching like crazy. Housing Facebook groups. All the online housing sites. leboncoin, lacartedescolocs, appartager.

And suddenly — like my least favorite Drake album — nothing was the same.

But in a good way.

The last place I looked at — an apartment in Saint-Ouen L'Aumône, worked out. I moved in on a Sunday, I remember because directly afterward I hopped on a train. Back to Paris. This time, I headed out to a picnic for all of the other language assistants doing my program.

There, the tribes were formed. Young 20 and 30 something expats, all new to Paris, all trying to make friends before it was too late. Winter was coming, which meant you had to form your social circle before it got so cold no one wanted to go outside.

I hopped from one circle of talking adolescents to the other. I say adolescents because none of us seemed mature just yet, almost like we were all back in college, forming cliques. I ended up going off with a group who tried to find a good Mexican restaurant in Paris.

I ordered a drink while a few of them tried to convince themselves the tacos were not too bad for France. As the night went on, the group thinned out. Soon, four of us found ourselves at a random bar somewhere in Paris.

We got drinks and we all just talked. Edith Piaf played over the speakers. My favorite. A tipsy older man approached our table and I started to sing along to the song.

I can't remember what he said now, I think it might have been some variation of, "Oh shit."

It felt good to sing in public.

At the time, I thought that was one of my best nights in Paris, something I'd hardly forget. Now, I can't nearly recall it as well as I used to. It was the first of many moments I would have in that city.

I took the train back home. Just a week earlier, I was in a basement. Now, in the elevator, I ascended to the 12th floor.

It's been more than four months since then. But now, in Saint-Ouen L'Aumône, the 12th floor is starting to feel like the ground floor.

I'm trying to go higher still.