Tags: moving, dog-friendly apartment
It’s been a long time coming. I’ve been living in my apartment for six and a half years. It was my first home after college. I had spent 2 years home after school as I tried to save enough money to move out on my own. When I did, the pickings for dog-friendly apartments was slim and I went with the only apartment I saw. It was fine back then, and I planned to stay for about two years before moving on. Two years turned into three, and then my then-boyfriend now husband moved in, and here we are six and a half years later, finally ready to move on.
But I had been ready for quite a while. Life just got in the way and I just now got to the point where I couldn’t take it anymore. Walking up to a third floor walk up, dealing with the heat in the summer, the crappy street parking, things constantly breaking and a landlord who has just given up. On top of all that, it’s a one bedroom that was now being occupied by two people and an 80 lbs dog. I just outgrew the place. So the hunt was on, and in true fashion, I had a vision, but life had other plans.
I originally thought I’d move within the city limits so I could save on transit and be close to Manhattan. But in my search I found nothing to fit my requirements. When I expanded by search beyond that location and beyond my price limit, I found a great match in a city setting outside the city on a residential street — to me, the best of both worlds. I can walk to the train, to the malls, to my hair salon, to the bars, and the best part – guaranteed parking, a place that loves dogs, and a landlord who cares about the property. It seems too good to be true, but still I am nervous to leave behind all that I have come to know as home.
And it is change. It will be different. It will be an adjustment. My commute will be a little longer and I won’t be next to the nightlife that I am used to. All change is hard, even if it is good change. It is always scary. But for me, this time, the excitement outweighs the fear of the unknown. Moving to me is a huge step up. It’s the right thing to do and I think I’m going to be really happy in my new home.
Here’s to moving on up!
Tags: arguing, conflict, fighting
Right about now, any of my good friends who are reading this are probably laughing at the subject of this post, and for good reason. I’ve never been one to hide or hold back my emotions, no matter what the setting. The only way I know how to not burst out with emotion when something happens, is to leave the situation. I have gotten crap for both approaches. My friends would likely prefer that I just suck it up, that I just not take it personally, so we could just move on. That’s something I haven’t learned yet. I can take a joke, but the moment I feel I have been disrespected, a switch goes off and it is on.
So clearly I have some growing to do in this area, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t learned anything from my experiences.
I have learned that it’s okay to go to bed angry. I’ve always been told the opposite, but I often find that if I go to bed angry, things are usually better in the morning. Maybe I was arguing because I was tired or drunk. Maybe we’re just talking in circles getting nowhere. Whatever the situation a good night’s sleep helps me find clarity.
I have learned to try to see things from the other person’s perspective, even when I feel I’m not being heard. If I take a step back and see it from their perspective beforehand, it may keep a fight from starting.
I have learned that most arguments are stress related. It’s very easy to take things out on the people closest to you. Relationships alone are hard, and when things in life are not going smoothly or as planned, arguments can happen.
I’ve learned that anger is blinding. When you are angry, you say things you don’t mean. You say things to hurt. You say them because you hurt. Maybe you aren’t even really angry. Maybe you are just hurt, and you want that other person to feel how hurt you are.
So while I’ve learned some things, I haven’t quite mastered the art of arguing effectively, arguing to resolution. But maybe that’s not the point. I’m not a lawyer, but I will continue to have arguments, I know. But if I can take a pause, maybe I can thwart a couple of arguments along the way.
Tags: childhood, home, house
It was the clear nail polish that brought me to my knees. It must have been under that radiator for ten years, back when this was my bedroom, back when this was my home. As I sit there in the empty room knowing that this would be the last time I would ever cry on that floor, the memories come flooding back to me.
Before my parents had moved there, back when I was too young to remember, I didn’t have my own bedroom. My parents had an apartment in the Bronx and they moved for a better life and more space. I would finally have my own room, my own space, but I would have to start my short life over. This new home would become my stability. This home would always keep me safe.
Over the years, this house, my bedroom, survived many of my phases. I remember the nights that my brother and I would knock on the wall we shared together to communicate. I remember decorating my walls with Absolut and Got Milk ads ripped from magazines. I remember painting my nails every night to match my outfit. I remember when I had my parents buy me an art desk. I remember burying my hamsters in the front yard. I remember taping songs off the radio. I remember writing most of my poetry in my room, at my desk. I remember late night phone calls with boys as I lay in bed, listening to The Cardigans and Sophie B Hawkins. I remember the glow-in-the-dark stars I had on my ceiling, that were basically useless since I only saw them at night when my glasses were off and they were all fuzzy. I remember the sound of my dad leaving for work in the morning as that was my signal to get up for school. I remember my witchcraft phase, my candle phase, my incense phase. I remember dancing to Paula Abdul on the lawn. I remember going out on to my roof through my window (sorry Mom and Dad — that was true). I remember friends driving by, honking their horns. I remember sneaking out the back door only to be caught coming in the front door. I remember it all. This was my home from age 4 until now, and even though I haven’t lived there in six years, it was still my home when I had to finally say good bye.
And I try to be strong, because I know it’s just a material thing, but that home holds so many memories. Living there made me who I am in so many ways. My memory isn’t really that good and having that tangible place has helped me to hold on.
But it is time to let go of the tangible and let it live in my memory. It is the end of an era that I have to cope with. No longer do I have that place I can run to when everything is wrong in the world. I have to push forward. If I live a full life, this home will only be the first fraction of my existence and another home will be born at some point. In the grand scheme of life, I will remember this house fondly as my first home. But it no longer exists anymore. Only in my memory.