I’m writing this on my iPhone from Fort Greene park, like some sort of Gen Z notes app poet. There’s such good people watching here and I just saw a woman who looked like Paula Deen but then I figured it’s probably not her. Things are not always as they seem. I find myself here in the non Williamsburg part of Brooklyn because I’m looking for a new apartment.
I’m embarking on the daunting but exciting journey of living alone. I want to curate my own space, turn a page in my life, and kill all my own cockroaches like a farm to table butcher. Apartment hunting in New York is easy and fun. Just like finding love, you must know your want to haves and your need to haves.
I need to have a decent kitchen, natural light, good shower pressure, and be in a fun neighborhood. I want to have a dishwasher and a washer dryer and a small puppy that doesn’t poop or shed and fresh squeezed grapefruit juice on tap. When I imagine living alone, I think of being comfortable alone and also sharing my space with chosen friends and family. I get to decide who comes in and I will have their favorite snacks on hand. I’m going to hang up some art that I’ve collected over the years, and find more when I’m not looking for it. Leaving Williamsburg used to scare me, because it’s the only place I’ve lived in New York. But just because it’s the only home I’ve known doesn’t mean it’s the best one. Are you ready for some stupid revelation?
There’s no such thing as a perfect apartment. Maybe this one has a great kitchen but a shitty location, maybe this one has a perfect kitchen but it’s technically an attic. This happened to me this morning. I saw an apartment in an attic and given the history of women like me who write down their feelings in attics I didn’t want to go down that path. Finding an apartment is all about compromise. You can’t have it all in this city until you reach hedge fund level, and even then, are you happy? We can unpack this later, finance friends, I am rooting for you.
I moved to New York in the pursuit of life outside my comfort zone. I had a job lined up in the food industry in DC after college, and I chose to come here to push myself into an industry that I can’t seem to live with or without. And look at me now, only 2 years in, already the accountant of my dreams. Don’t think of me as brave, I just love a challenge. And I’ve failed so many times in my life that it just doesn’t scare me anymore. That’s why I keep writing, even when I hate it. Whatever amazing or terrible things I go through, I can write them down and then they exist on paper and I feel less alone when I look at them. Please don’t think of me as tough. I still cry when shit happens but now it’s just part of my skincare routine.
My advice is, go out and get shit on. Visit an apartment you love so much and then find out there’s a broker’s fee and shake your fist at the sky. Get fired, get rained on, trap a flying cockroach in your shower and then when you calm down from all that, go buy some za’atar chips and babaganoush from Sahadi’s and sit in the park alone. No matter where you move, you can always sit in the park. There’s no washer or dryer, but people love it there anyway.
❤️