As I’m about to embark on apartment number three in Manhattan, I’m reflecting on my other two moves and how they contrast with this one.
First moving here from Delaware was a struggle in every sense of the word. Amanda and I were taking trains up on the weekend to look at places with various brokers, pounding the pavement all over town. I remember meeting a friend for coffee one Saturday afternoon and bawling in the middle of Dunkin Donuts. Ten minutes later she came with me to see the apartment I ended up moving into. Tears were a common theme, though, as I bawled once signing the lease for the apartment with no job. One week later I was working at Qdoba to pay bills, and a week after that I quit because I’d been offered the job I’m still at today.
Amanda moved to LA with three months left in our lease, so I found a random girl on Craigslist that I’ve lived with for the past two years.
When I called to renew that lease, I was told it wasn’t getting renewed. That day I spent 15 minutes crying at work. In three weeks I packed, found a place, and (easily) convinced Elise to move with me. The weekend I moved was my first kiss with Dave – we just planned a trip to Portland for our two year anniversary.
This move has been the smoothest to date, but that doesn’t mean it’s been without its own issues. I’ve had to find a subletter, pay my first brokers fee, sell the majority of my furniture on Craigalist, call Time Warner Cable 8 times with no success, and so on. With just five days to go (with a trip to Atlantic City jammed in there somehow), I feel ready to go. My boxes are packed, I’ve picked out paint samples, and I’ve read enough design blogs to have an honorary degree in interior design.
Looking back, each move has marked a significant change in my life. What will happen this time? I’m ecstatic to have an apartment to myself and see how my life will be shaped by this transition.