Independence. Everyone at some point crave independence--and why wouldn’t they? We spend (normally) 16-20 years of our lives depending on our guardians for food and shelter, at the very least. And then suddenly we’re doing it all--Working a job, paying bills, complaining or drooling over pesky/hot neighbors, creating a social life on a tiny budget, and eating food that isn’t our Mom’s.
For some, this moment doesn’t come at all. I know women who got married straight out of school and into a life of codependence. That’s great, but this post will not relate to you in any way. Go on--click on another tab. You’re not allowed to continue.
I don’t know about anyone else, but there aren’t any classes in high school or college that can ever really prepare you for Living on Your Own. It’s part of the Core Curriculum at the School of Hard Knocks, however, and you’d better ace it right away.
I didn’t get my first apartment by myself until last June, just before my 24th birthday. Before that, I lived with friends over a couple of Summers, then my parents, then a fiance, then back with the parents, then my best friend for a year. I was so excited to finally have a place of my own, I assumed that all of the mistakes I made in my past living situations would make this time so much easier. Who would’ve thought that there were more mistakes to be made?
First of all, location was at the top of my list for both the right and wrong reasons. Sure, my place is sinfully close to the El and CTA, there are two grocery stores, a coffee shop, a 24 hour drug store, and numerous cheap eats within two blocks of me. And to top it all off, it’s right by the water. But I chose it because it was also near my then-boyfriend (who i broke up with at the end of July), fit my budget (kinda) and the building accepted me readily. I didn’t look anywhere else; things had become strained living with my best friend, and I wanted out before we started hating each other. So I took it, optimistic that this would be a great decision.
I quickly learned that acceptance isn’t always a good thing, and convenience does not equal safety. About 5 months in, I noticed a pattern of interesting characters milling in and out of the building, and they sure as hell weren’t high on life. I rode the elevator with a woman asking me for money to get her something to eat. I watched a cockroach crawl from my open window into my apartment.
After doing a little research, I also learned that a woman was murdered in my apartment about 5 years ago--strangled to death. Hello, deadbolt lock. I now understand your presence. There’s a blog based out of Edgewater that gives the local news, be it crime, events, local businesses, and the like. I read recent stories of crimes happening a block away from me, or on my street, a mere 3 hours before I arrived home.
Did I mention that I am living on my own? I mean, my cat Gretchen is my darling little huntress in her own right, but that’s usually for predators smaller than a bottle of nail polish.
So what did I do? I had recently started seeing another guy, and found myself staying at his place half of the week. It made my commute to work longer, and I traveled twice as much, just to go home, feed Gretchen, pack clothes and go back to his place.
This is no way to live. It got to the point that when I did stay alone (and now I am single again so that is a lot more often), I was incredibly uncomfortable. I wasn’t happy with my apartment; it didn’t feel like mine, and while I got over the original fear for my safety while at home, I had a lot of trouble sleeping. When you get your own place, you want to make it a refuge that you return to after a long day (or night). You kick back in your undies on your cheap/free sofa/futon, do whatever makes you feel good, and fall asleep knowing that this is all yours. That’s living the dream in your early to mid twenties, isn’t it?
So I did what any broke kid stuck in an 18-month lease could do: I rearranged and reconfigured. Dear readers, this is something that I think people forget about when they find themselves stuck in a rut: To make a change on a smaller level. Here’s what I did:
~~I Mixed it up a Bit: I felt like the current set up in my studio made it seem smaller, so I arranged it to accentuate that I had a long, narrow apartment that really can’t be cut up into sections, and I keep my closet/bathroom doors open. Now the room flows easily.
~~I put more Things on the wall: A fan, posters I snagged from random events, concert tickets, hell--post its and scraps of paper of things I don’t want to forget. My niece sent me a painting of a lion, and as soon as I buy a frame, it’s going up on my wall too.
~~I Added a little Green: I got the cheapest and easiest plants to care for--a bamboo plant, and a Pothos plant (you know the ones; they’re just green mid-size leaves that grow in abundance on long green vines. Cut off a piece and put it in a wine/liquor bottle filled with water; they don’t even need dirt to keep growing.)
~~I Feed the Senses: I Burn a candle or incense as soon as I get home. I put on some music AS SOON AS I GET HOME. This quells the quiet of being alone.
~~I try to have People over: This makes me a little more conscious of my living space. I make sure I can accommodate my guests’ needs (be it as simple as a glass of water and a place to sit, and a comfortable room temp). Also, getting compliments on my place, like, ‘Oh wow, this is So You,’ make me feel like my personality is coming through, and that makes for a home worthy to chill in.
This makes my apartment more bearable. No need to go Martha Stewart on the place, just put some of yourself into it. But make sure you’re getting out, too. Go hang with friends doing what you love to do; just don’t forget about your own lair--because you can’t get used to it and love it without being there to make it yours.
~Pusher. Of. Pens.~
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