The other side of town…
If you had asked me, two months ago, when I thought I’d leave the apartment complex I lived in, I would have answered: “When I leave Lynchburg.” I am blogging this from an apartment on the other side of town.
The ad was pretty specific, after nearly 12 years of roommates and being in a doctoral program, I knew I needed a quiet, studious, clean roommate who was responsible and fairly laid back. I had a tiny Yorkie, and I was working on my singer/songwriter gig, plus I had endless papers and a GA position that required me to be in at 8am on week days. My listing went so far as to require a graduate student. I’ve learned undergraduate roommates abound, but there truly is a massive difference between 21 and 31 (in most cases).
A VTech grad answered my request and interviewing learned that she was going into a PhD program and she verbally indicated she met all the requirements listed above. Then she moved in. Only days after living there, and a number of “discussions” about living arrangements, I was informed by my new roomie that she probably isn’t quite as compatible as she had originally indicated. I was stuck. So was she.
It took one final blow, mid-month, and I was done. It was either me or her, and I hit the pavement. Most of the people in my life were encouraging me to live on my own but from what I had researched in years gone by, living on my own was not economically feasible, or even wise. I was raised to be a “saver,” and while I sometimes do splurge (and later suffer buyers remorse), I usually pinch my pennies as often as I can; and that has always applied to living. Until now.
It took 21 days for my new roommate to move in and me to move out. I traded my new-construction, W/D included, fourth story, loft apartment for a historic, window-unit A/C, laundry mat rat, cob-web filled apartment that I now call home. I loved my old apartment, and was so at home there (lived there four years) and swore to only leave when my travels were taking me from Lynchvegas to something new but instead, I packed up all my 31 years of worldly possession (with the help of MANY good friends) and moved clear across town.
Do I have renters-remorse? Not at all.
I am actually living for a fraction more a month, and on my own!!
Everyone who advised me was absolutely correct – it was time for me to live on my own. Now its nine days into July and I can say that I’m finally settled but still working on the adjustment to the routine.
Sometimes life comes out of left-field and you have to roll with the punches. Sometimes it’s better to jump and pray the net appears than weather out a storm. I jumped. The net appeared. Now I have both feet firmly planted on the ground of my new (to me) apartment!