Countdown to Christmas Calendar Day 5

December 5, 2025 – 20 Days to Christmas

Relocation to Paris

Today’s Story: Priya’s Paris Relocation

The moment Priya stepped into the “3ème Soirée Annuelle de Networking & Canapés de Noël”—an event title that sounded like a hostile takeover of her free time, now with added French pretension—she knew she’d made a mistake.

The Marais loft glowed with fairy lights strung between exposed wooden beams, and smelled of mulled wine and those expensive beeswax candles that people light when they are trying too hard. Through the tall windows, she could see the December drizzle turning the cobblestones below into dark mirrors. People were already clustering in tight conversational pods, their laughter too loud, their talk bouncing between English and French as they discussed Q4 projections and something called “strategic disruptions pendant les fêtes.”

A man in a blazer, the exact shade of a bruised plum, wearing a tiny Santa hat at a jaunty angle, materialised beside her. He looked like a Christmas ornament that had achieved sentience and a six-figure salary at a consulting firm.

“Champagne, ou peut-être un ‘Mistletini’—it’s 90% gin and 10% potential indigestion!” he chirped in that particular Franco-English accent that suggested international business school and expensive ski holidays.

She took a glass. Bubbles hit her nose, making her sneeze. Velvet Plum Blazer took a quick step back. “Santé,” he said, then vanished faster than he appeared.

Priya wished she could vanish too—maybe dissolve into the mist outside and reform somewhere less aggressively festive.

Don’t overthink it, she told herself. You’re a grown woman. You’ve survived corporate take-overs and layoffs, three terrible bosses, and that time you accidentally replied-all to a company-wide email about your cat’s digestive issues. You can survive two hours of forced merriment in a foreign city where you’re still not entirely sure which bises situations require two cheek-kisses or three. Or four?

She executed a tactical retreat to the groaning food table—her natural habitat at any social event—and formed a strategic alliance with a platter of mini-quiches shaped like tiny wreaths and some suspiciously fancy foie gras on toast points that probably cost more than her monthly rent.

She was chewing thoughtfully (or buying time—hard to say) when she heard it. The question. The social landmine. The six words that could instantly turn a festive gathering into an existential dread-fest.

“So, what do you do?”

Her jaw froze mid-chew. She turned to find a smiling woman wearing a sweater featuring a reindeer in an Eiffel Tower scarf—the kind of knitwear that announced “I’m whimsical but also serious about networking.” She had the festive confidence of someone who owned a separate set of Christmas napkins and knew exactly which arrondissement had the best Christmas markets.

Priya tried to stall, pointing at the quiche in her mouth. The woman waited, her smile unwavering with that particularly French patience that feels both generous and vaguely judgmental.

Arrrgh.

This was where she usually deployed one of her practised evasions: “It’s complicated,” or “I’m between things,” or the magical word “Consulting”—a word that meant absolutely nothing but usually impressed people into silence, especially when said in Paris, where everyone claimed to be consulting about something, at any given time.

But tonight, with the rain softly tapping against the windows and the distant bells of Notre-Dame chiming the hour, she was tired. Tired of pretending, tired of dodging, tired of shaping herself into something acceptable for strangers who probably wouldn’t remember her name by the time the accordion version of “Douce Nuit” ended.

She gulped down the quiche.

“I am currently a professional consumer of artisanal holiday snacks,” Priya deadpanned.

The woman blinked.

Priya considered spontaneously combusting on the spot, or possibly throwing herself into the Seine, whichever would be quicker.

Then the woman laughed—a real, booming, un-corporate laugh that made three people stop discussing their stock options and smoothly move on to the best boulangeries in the 16th.

She lifted her glass. “Welcome to the club. I quit my job as a ‘Chief Optimisation Strategist’ to become a ‘Senior Executive of Existential Dread.’ Relocated to Paris, thinking the wine and cheese would fix me. Jury’s still out.”

Priya exhaled so sharply her bangs fluttered. “You did?”

“Yup,” Reindeer-sweater Woman said. “After fourteen years of pretending I loved optimising regional workflow systems. My soul escaped by faking its own death and mailing me a postcard from Provence. It said ‘Bisous‘ and nothing else.”

Priya snorted. “Félicitations to that.”

They clinked glasses and migrated toward a quieter corner near a potted plant and a window overlooking the rain-slicked street below, where the Christmas lights reflected in puddles like scattered stars. A man in a beret walked past with a baguette under his arm—so stereotypically Parisian that Priya wondered if he was performance art.

“I’m Maya, by the way.”

“Priya.”

“So,” Maya said, sliding into a vintage velvet armchair with the elegance of someone abandoning all pretence, “how’s your quarter-life, mid-life, two-thirds-life crisis going? Mine is currently focused by the terrifying realisation that I don’t know how to do anything but make pivot tables. Turns out that’s not a transferable skill for Parisian dinner parties.”

Priya laughed, startled. “Honestly? I think I’m in the renegotiation period of the ceasefire between Me and My Expectations. I’m demanding better terms. Possibly in French, for dramatic effect.”

Maya raised her glass. “To demanding better terms. À nos projets flous et terrifiants.”

Priya settled beside her. The chair sighed under the weight of her honesty. Outside, the city twinkled—the Eiffel Tower doing its hourly sparkle show in the distance, because even infrastructure here was dramatic. She took a breath. “I thought leaving my job would make things clearer. Like the universe would hand me a neatly labelled folder: ‘Priya’s New Purpose—Action Items Inside.’ Instead, I’m… here. In Paris. At a party. Eating expensive quiche and pretending I understand when people switch mid-sentence to French.”

“I get it,” Maya said. “I spent ten years working toward a corner office. Then I finally got it, sat in the leather chair, looked out over the city and thought, ‘Ah. I think I might have made a horrible, irreversible mistake.’ So I moved to Paris, thinking geographical relocation would solve existential problems. Spoiler: it doesn’t. But the bread is better.”

“Ten years for one uncomfortable chair?”

Maya nodded solemnly. “It was ergonomic, which is corporate code for ‘will slowly destroy your spine in a very expensive way.’ The Paris version has better stuffing but the same soul-crushing vibe.”

Something warm started expanding in Priya’s chest, competing with the mulled wine. “It’s just… everyone else seems so certain. I tell people I left my job, and they congratulate me like I just climbed Everest. But then they ask what’s next, and when I say ‘I don’t know,’ they stare at me like I’ve confessed to burning down the Galeries Lafayette Christmas display.”

Maya tilted her head, her reindeer-Eiffel earrings swaying. “Priya, look around. This entire place is filled with people pretending they have A PLAN. Some do. But a lot of them are one minor inconvenience—like running out of champagne or discovering their Navigo pass expired—away from Googling ‘What’s my real purpose in life?‘ just like the rest of us.”

Priya followed her gaze. The confidently networking people looked a little different now—less intimidating. Slightly panicked, even, beneath the curated glow of ambition and the blinking Santa hats perched atop perfectly styled French haircuts.

“Huh,” Priya said. “Maybe none of us really knows what we’re doing. We’re just doing it in nicer cities.”

They fell into the kind of conversation that feels like slipping on warm, well-worn slippers—cozy, unpretentious, safe. They talked about old dreams, lost passions, the terrifying thrill of blank calendars, and the existential dread of absent LinkedIn notifications. Maya confessed she’d been in Paris for three months and still couldn’t figure out which day her building’s concierge speaks to people. Priya admitted she’d cried in a boulangerie last week because she couldn’t remember the word for croissant(?!) and just pointed desperately while the baker looked confused and slightly concerned.

They shared their fears, too.

“What if I never figure it out?” Priya whispered.

Maya shrugged softly. “Figuring it out might be a tad… overrated. The French have been philosophically unsure about everything for centuries, and they seem fine. Well, fine-ish. They have 300 varieties of cheese to help them cope.”

That landed somewhere deep. Priya swallowed.

“I watch a lot of TED Talks,” Maya said dryly. “Two and a half, and suddenly I’m Yoda. Un Yoda parisien avec un béret rouge.”

They sat in companionable silence, two strangers who’d become something more—companions in the strange, brave wilderness between endings and beginnings, sitting in a Marais loft while the city glittered outside and accordion music drifted up from somewhere below.

Later, as Priya stepped out into the cold December night, her breath made soft clouds in the air. The street glimmered with rain and reflected Christmas lights. A couple hurried past sharing an umbrella, laughing. The smell of roasting chestnuts drifted from a corner stand. Somewhere, church bells chimed.

Priya didn’t have all the answers, but she had one honest conversation under her belt and the phone number of someone who understood what it felt like to be spectacularly uncertain in a beautiful city.

For tonight, that felt like enough.

The Make Friends and Maintain Friendships Masterplan

We often under-rate relocation as a life transition. I have had to relocate several times. I know what it takes to survive: friends you can depend on.

Making new friends after a relocation isn’t about replacing the people you left behind—it’s about building the infrastructure you need to survive and thrive in your new reality. Your best friend from your old location knows your history, your inside jokes, the person you were before everything changed, and that connection is irreplaceable—nurture it fiercely through regular calls, visits, and the kind of texts that pick up mid-conversation like no time has passed. They can’t, however, bring you soup when you’re sick at 2 AM, can’t meet you for an impromptu coffee when you’re spiralling, can’t introduce you to their dentist or help you figure out which grocery store has the best bread.

New friends become your on-the-ground support system—the people who help you build a life where you actually live, not just where you used to live. You need both: the deep roots of old friendship that remind you who you are, and the new connections that help you figure out who you’re becoming. One gives you continuity; the other gives you community.

Christmas events, community gatherings, or even online spaces are filled with opportunities to connect. Every friendship starts with a simple introduction. The barista you see every morning, the neighbour you exchange nods with, or someone in your extended social circle could become a meaningful connection if you’re open to the possibility.

New friendships are a reminder that life always offers fresh beginnings, even during times of change. You don’t have to navigate transitions alone—there are people out there ready to walk alongside you. Making friends and maintaining friendships is one of the subjects we’ll address during my 3-6 month mentoring program, the Radical Renaissance Protocol.

Today, say yes to one social event that feels uncomfortable or outside your comfort zone—especially if you’re new somewhere or going through a transition. Show up even when you’d rather stay home. Go to the networking thing, the expat meetup, the random invitation from an acquaintance. Join local and regional Facebook groups. Worst case scenario: You waste a couple of hours. Best case scenario: You meet someone else who also feels out of place, you bond over your mutual discomfort and inability to remember how many bises are appropriate, and six months later they’re the person you text when you need someone to sit with you in your uncertainty—the friend who gets it because they were there too, pretending to have their life together while everything felt impossibly hard and terrifyingly uncertain all at once.

It’s not easy to make friends, especially in a country where you may not speak the language, but it is essential. As Helen Keller said, “I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.” Would you like to figure out what type of friend YOU are and maybe adjust your approach to fit your new circumstances? Are you and a new friend really are compatible? To help my clients make friends, have created a set of light-hearted quizzes, quotes and questions to help you do just that. Just fill in the form below and you’ll get immediate access to them all. I’ll also add you to my newsletter list, though you can unsubscribe from this list effortlessly and at any time.

Included:

– How well do you know your Friends? Quiz

– What is Your Friendship Style? and Are your Friendship Styles compatible? Quiz

– 20 of the Most Inspiring Friends and Friendship Quotes and

– 20 lighthearted Questions you can ask to get to know a new Friend

Last Year’s Christmas Countdown Calendar post