Finding your footing in a transitional space is a funny thing. People do it all the time, whether it’s in an apartment or hotel or grandma’s spare bedroom. The methodical way in which one arranges clothing, lays down a hairbrush, and positions oneself in a room says a lot about a person. How comfortable they are in new spaces, the methods they use to get comfortable, and how much time they spend there. When I arrive in a room, be it hotel or Grandma’s, one of the first things I do is open all of the windows. The breeze that carries between them is comforting–it blows out stale air and brings the outdoors inside for a moment. Taking a few deep breaths and hearing trees rustle as I unpack provides a sense of relief, mitigating the anxiety of new space.
We spent the last four days in a whirlwind. At 4 AM on Wednesday morning, we woke up and headed to the airport to catch our flight to Philadelphia. We left California at 6:30 AM and touched down on the east coast at 5:30 PM, a cruel trick of crossing three time zones that left our heads spinning. I peeked out the window as we were descending into Philadelphia, and all I could think to say was “It’s so flat.” This could have (should have) been phrased better. Negative commentary of your first impressions is not the best when you’re moving across the country for your partner’s job. After seeing the deflated look on P’s face, I filtered what I said for the next few days, trying my best to remain enthusiastic despite the terrified knot in my stomach.
This trip was many weeks in the making–planning flights, rental cars, appointments, and showings for a two day apartment hunt in Delaware. The concept of finding a home in a completely foreign place in 48 hours was mind boggling. I was literally sick to my stomach the first night, my brain spinning out of control as I mentally reviewed the rentals we were seeing the next day. What if the neighborhood was awful? What if we realized we couldn’t afford any apartment? What if the commute was too far? What if there’s nowhere for me to go running? And on and on and on…
Fortunately, P is much more even keeled than I am, and kept my neuroses under wraps for the most part. Despite (or thanks to?) my incessant preparation and planning, we ended up finding an apartment on the first day (after seeing many decidedly unpleasant rental units from a particular property management company). It’s going to be our home base, our first non-college living space. A beautiful red brick townhouse with hardwood floors, a backyard and deck, and most importantly: A WASHER AND DRYER! You guys, we hit the jackpot. I literally danced a jig when I realized I wouldn’t have to do coin-op laundry ever again.
We signed a lease. We wrote a check. We shook hands with our new landlord and began thinking about creating a home in this stranger’s space. We hemmed and hawed about the price when we returned to California. Is it too expensive? Will we be able to save any money? How long will we live there? It’s taken a little while to convince myself that there’s no point in worrying about these details. Ultimately, we stayed within budget, we successfully found a home in a completely unfamiliar place, and we nailed all of our primary conditions for an apartment. We have an address in a state we’ve never lived in before, which is still blowing my mind. In a couple months all of our stuff will be deposited in that new place, and we’ll rearrange and reposition and place it just right. And over time, we slowly get comfortable and make it something pleasant, something livable. Isn’t it freaking great how adaptable humans are?
Photo: iPhone | a window from our 200 year old farmhouse air bnb | Hockessin, DE
holly and pine 