home sweet home

we moved into a new apartment a little while ago. did i mention that we moved? i must have. it was a big process (i've written about the hunt before), and we ended up finding something nearly-perfect (it's always nearly)--nicely sized and in great shape in a cute building plus a balcony with just barely-there views of governor's island. there are so many things i love about our new apartment, but the biggest thing is that it makes me feel like i have finally arrived in the new york life i always planned to live. it's funny, isn't it, how little it takes to make us feel like we're living the life we dreamed about? for me, it is our stairs. we have these real, honest-to-goodness brownstone-brooklyn stairs leading up to our double front doors, and every time i walk up them i think "ah yes, i live in new york, in an apartment i picked out and pay for, that i furnished and keep clean and love in the morning when the sunlight comes in perfectly from across the water."

the inside makes me happy, too. from the staircase in our little brownstone, i can hear our neighbors listening to music and washing dishes and laughing at the tv. i love our communal domesticity. one of my most favorite things about new york is getting to live in an apartment building. i much prefer shared spaces, even small ones. as a child, i hated living in a house, it made me too nervous; the unexplained sounds in daylight and dark, too many doors and locks to keep track of safely, the silent little-town nights outside my window, the space between neighbors too far to walk comfortably without shoes. (i used to tell myself i would only live in a big house some day if i got really famous and could hire people to hang out in my house all the time.)

this place we live in, that we picked out--it’s what i always thought new york life would be. i admit to being inspired by a vague pastiche of old tv shows where everyone knew their comic-relief neighbors (tv new york of the 80s and even 90s, before everyone got rich enough to live in fancy lofts by themselves.) i wanted the cramped spaces and the lived in rooms, the real life that says "this city is mine, i made it so." it was never a glossy new york that i craved, but a familiar one. i’m not one for stilettos and taxis and fancy drinks (at least not very often)—i wanted (and i got) bagels and coffee from the same little place every saturday morning, a favorite bar for date night drinks, good friends who will meet me at our spot.

and an apartment, small and charming and surrounded by other people living out their new york dreams.

commuter coincidence

i like to say that new york is the biggest little small town in the country. i feel like people stick to their neighborhoods and social spheres, so that even in this city of however many millions, you tend to run into the same people.

yesterday morning i saw the same girl on my morning commute in to work and on my evening commute home. (a funny coincidence because i was running a little late to work, and had left a little later in the evening.) i noticed her in the morning because i liked her dress (unusual color and draping, looked comfortable but chic), so then when i saw her on the stairs of the court street station as i was coming home, i thought "oh, there's that dress again!"