The factors that have delayed my writing this blog post are the same ones that got in my way when I was looking for a new apartment, or packing, or even researching a couch. The enormity of it loomed so large that I was paralyzed, seized by doubt ... in short, like Prufrock, I was afraid. And then, despite panic and despair, I got through it, just like we all get through challenges that seem insurmountable; and looking back, we think, what on Earth were we actually afraid of?
It was just a move, but on top of that, at work we were doing (that same week) a major site relaunch; and on top of that, of course, I was moving 16 years' worth of stuff. Which led to the breakdown I mentioned before. But my friend Hannah came over the next day, and, not having any emotional ties to any of my possessions, ruthlessly and efficiently threw things into boxes -- which was sorely needed.
See, one of the things I learned about myself in this process -- and I learned a lot -- was that being a perfectionist is great and admirable on many levels. But it holds you back, too. I would put things in a box and step back, proudly, the box a third full. Then I would think, what else could go in this box? What will match? What will make sense? What will fit to fill the box precisely? And of course nothing would "match" exactly, and I would freeze up, and walk away, and that box would remain a third of the way full. And then the same process would start with another box. That's not good packing.
And that's why I needed Hannah to come over and be the huge help that she was. This did, however, make for amusing situations, since she packed up my entire kitchen yet doesn't really cook. One box was labeled "random kitchen unbreakable things."
"Uh, Hannah, what's in this box?" I asked.
"I don't remember."
"What did the things look like?"
"I don't know?"
We opened the box. "That's my rice cooker! It's not 'random'! I use it every day!"
So it got done, and I never could have done it myself (thanks also to Nomi for coming over the day before I moved, as well as moving day itself), but along the way I picked up some useful packing tips I will pass along to you. They are:
Patricia's Useful Packing Tips
- Get small boxes. As I mentioned before, you need these -- not just for books (although especially for books), but also to help you organize. Big boxes are for big items. You don't have that many big items in your place. Small boxes are easier to pack, seal up, label and be done with.
- Label boxes on the sides. Not the top! Do the sides, and more than one. Or else you'll be doing what I've been doing, which is lifting boxes off of piles every time I need to find out what's in something.
- Don't pack your tools until last. I had to leave several things in the old apartment because I could no longer find my screwdriver, and thus couldn't get anything out of the wall.
- Pack by level of importance, not by size or "type." If I'd packed, say, my shoes with my utensils, that box would have been unpacked within the first day. Instead, I packed important things first, at the bottom of a box, then would end up throwing lots of shit on top of it, rendering the important things difficult to find. It's not that much fun digging through a box of hangers and purses looking for your knee-high boots.
- Ask for help. Some people find it easy to ask for help. I, clearly, don't. I don't like imposing, and I am inclined to think that if people don't offer, they're busy or don't want to help. (Who really wants to help someone move?) But I realized that I had to get over my pride and learn to ask, because this isn't something I could do alone. On the other hand, not everyone does want to help, or even thinks of doing it -- and that makes me eternally grateful to those who offered generously, genuinely and willingly.
I moved on Sunday, Sept. 12, and my movers were these adorable tattooed boys from Brooklyn. (Rabbit Movers. Big thumbs up.) I asked the guy who was in charge how he got into the moving business, and he revealed that he was studying for his graduate degree in art, and he liked getting the exercise for free, but he didn't know how he felt about being at the bottom of the food chain. Um ... OK, just making conversation, but I feel ya, tattooed boy from Bushwick.
When we got to my new place, he looked around and told me he liked it better than my old place, which I appreciated hearing. Then, when they were all done -- it took 3 hours and 15 minutes -- he mentioned that his mom was in town for the first time. "Are you going to a nice dinner?" I asked, and he said yes, and asked for recommendations. "How much are you willing to spend?" I asked. "Oh, not more than $100 for three people, so ... $25 or so a person?" It's funny how various friends' responses to this anecdote have ranged from "McDonald's" to "KFC" to "pizza joint" to "Shake Shack." (For the record, I told him he should try Quartino Bottega Organica.)
After moving, I immediately had to focus on the site relaunch at work. That was fun. There were two days that week that I got less than four hours' sleep (the night before I moved, and then the night before we relaunched, when I was at the office until 4 a.m. and then had to be back again at 7 a.m.); and then, unsurprisingly, I got sick. So I'm really only starting to turn my attention to unpacking now.
Other things: I bought a new mattress but it wasn't delivered for two weeks, so for two weeks I slept on my old mattress on the floor, having left the boxspring and bed frame behind in the old place. I already feel like I'm living in a warehouse, what with all the unpacked boxes; and by sleeping on the floor, I felt like a homeless person. An exhausted homeless person squatting in a warehouse. (Turns out my mattress didn't come with a frame, so though I had bought a boxspring, I'm pretty much still on the floor.)
And I left my old couch behind, as well, so I've been couch-less in the new place. I knew I needed a new one -- watching TV in a folding fabric chair from Urban Outfitters has rapidly lost its power to charm -- but then that same anxiety that seized me in looking for a place overwhelmed me again.
No one gave me the same advice. Some people liked Room and Board, some people thought it was too expensive, some thought they didn't hold up. Some people were just fine with Ikea, others warned me not to go near it. What ... to ... do? I was up until 2:30 a.m. last Monday researching options, and ultimately decided I didn't want to buy a mass-produced couch. I'm a grown-up now, I want this thing to last (I've never bought a couch before, the last one having been a hand-me-down), and from all that I could read, mass-produced couches at places like Crate and Barrel, Pottery Barn, Room and Board and even Restoration Hardware are simply not well made.
So where else to go? There are mom-and-pop places that custom-make furniture, but those places are far more common in California (like this place, Furniture Envy, that I would have visited in a shot ... if I lived in the Bay Area) than they are in New York. Tell this to a Californian, and they express disbelief. Tell it to a New Yorker, and they nod sympathetically. The reason? New York doesn't have the space, real-estate-wise, to support businesses that make, store and sell furniture.
At any rate, what happened was more or less what happened with finding an apartment in the first place. I spent a lot of time dithering about in indecision, then resolved just to start looking, just to DO it -- and immediately found something. I bought my couch at Mitchell Gold, an independent company known for the quality of its furniture, especially its sofas, although some reports I'd read claimed they were a shade too expensive. But they were having a sale, so, why not just look? I walked into that place and felt ... "Hannah," I said (for she was helping me with this, too), "I feel something. What is it? Is this ... am I in love?" "Yes," she said, because she felt it, too. I'm not kidding. We flitted about from piece to piece, hugging pillows. We swooned over ottomans. I got goddamn butterflies. I love every single thing in that store
I splurged, and I took the plunge, and I bought a couch. It's a little more expensive than it would have been chain stores, but it's an investment, and I couldn't be more pleased. In fact, I was so taken with how comfortable it was that I spent extra and got a sleeper sofa. Bring on the house guests! And it's slipcovered, so I can change the color if I get the whim, which I probably will, because I have this secret desire for a red sofa and didn't quite have the guts to buy one.
"I can't believe I spent all that time freaking out, and then I bought a couch the first time I walked into a store," I told Hannah. "So what does that tell you?" she asked, not looking up from the catalog through which she was flipping. "Don't psych myself out?" I said. She nodded. But thinking about it now, I wouldn't change anything. If I hadn't stressed, I wouldn't have done all that research, and I wouldn't have learned about Mitchell Gold, the new love of my life. (He sounds like an accountant, doesn't he?)
I'm starting to realize that my behavior over the apartment, and then the couch, follows a pattern. Fear of commitment, panic-inducing anxiety, mental paralysis and then -- flip! I'm on the other side, and running at top speed. All or nothing. Indifference or love. I suppose this is why I spend months without a new toothbrush yet can spend $100 on a meal without blinking. And it's not the ideal way to do things, to be sure; but in my defense, by the time I get around to acting, at least I know what I want.
So in the last few weeks I have moved, bought a mattress, a couch, and this weekend a kitchen island from Ikea. Don't ask me where this money is coming from. Let's just say I have apparently decided retirement is less important than furniture. (Also on the list: cabinet/armoire for bathroom, floor lamp, bed frame ... it really never ends, does it?)
As for the apartment itself, I'm still not unpacked enough to feel as though it's my home. It's weirdly like I'm staying in someone else's apartment -- that is, someone who's a big slob and living out of boxes.
But despite how attached I was to my old place, and how sorry I was to leave it, there are so many great things about my new place. For one, it's near places, which is something I couldn't quite say about my last place. It's a block and a half from the subway and from TWO 24-hour delis -- I could run out and pick up beer or a bag of chips right now! I almost went and picked up a six-pack the other day at midnight just because I could (but then didn't, because it kind of made me feel like an alcoholic). There are several restaurants and bars within one or two blocks. I step outside my apartment, and there is the world. I am really not used to this. But I'm getting used to it.
And there is light! My last place, being on the ground floor, was a cave; this one gets actual sunshine. And I can leave my windows open without worrying that dirt will come in or that passers-by will peek into my apartment. And the living room has these cool tin ceilings with a fleur de lys pattern on them.
On the other hand, I'm not looking forward to going to a laundromat for the first time. I know, I know. Cry you a river. Also: There seems to be a lot more traffic -- foot and car -- on my block, which I suppose is part and parcel of "being near things." Right now I can hear a homeless person going through all the recyclables up and down the street. It's harmless, but a tad annoying.
Well, that's enough of all of that. All that anxiety over leaving a place that I loved, and poof! I've moved on. Life keeps runnin' in cycles, as they say, and I'm on to the next one. It feels good.
I wasn't prescient enough to take good pictures of the place, and at this point it's in far too embarrassing a state for pictures, but here are some from moving day. Can't wait for some of you to see the new place.
Goodbye old bedroom...
Hello new bedroom!
