All of my New York City Apartments (Part 1)

After a decade in the city, I'm reflecting on all the places I've called home

I moved to New York City after a long series of coming-of-age plot points. 

Those are stories for another time, but the spark notes version is: I dropped out of college, ran away to the Sierra mountains of California, went backpacking in Europe, worked as a nanny for a billionaire, quit to work on a sustainable farm in Hawaii, and then reluctantly re-enrolled in school. I was 20 and determined to trudge my way through a degree, even if it was just to make my parents happy.

I got a full ride to a tiny college in Manhattan, and moved there September 1st, 2013.

Apartment #1 - The Upper East Side ($650)

My very first apartment was on E 73rd St and York, tucked as far into the East river as humanly possible. It was a two bedroom apartment split between three girls – my friend and I slept on twin beds that faced one another. It was on the first floor of a large building, and our only two windows came face to face with another brick wall.

We learned that the building had previously been used as a hostel, which explained the strange layout – our tiny apartment had two full bathrooms, directly next to each other. It also had loft space in every room, which wasn't quite big enough for a bed, although we certainly used it as one for our (many) drunk houseguests. 

Much like personal space, natural light was non-existent – nonetheless, our parents insisted we install iron gates on the windows. Safety was never our concern – the only thing we were concerned with was which bars would take our fake IDs.

And we found one quickly – to many New Yorkers, The Stumble Inn was a gross, dive-y sports bar with beer-covered floors and friendly bartenders. To us, it was a bridge into adulthood. We spent most of our nights befriending every bouncer who worked there and sipping vodka sodas like we enjoyed the way they tasted.

Manhattan was our playground. We’d buy watery coffee from the bodega on the corner and walk through Central Park, avoiding people we’d met the night before. We’d have parties on the rooftop we weren’t supposed to go on, smoking Black & Milds too close to the edge. We’d make out with questionable boys, and sometimes even make them our boyfriends.

The apartment itself was a reflection of our lifestyle – dirty dishes piled high, random articles of clothing strewn on every piece of furniture, and beds that were never made. It was wild, cramped, and chaotic.

It was a candle burning rapidly at both ends, and after a year, we had melted to the middle. We decided to move out.

Apartment #2 - Astoria ($900)

At the ripe age of 21, my best friend Phoebe and I decided to move from the bustling metropolis of Manhattan to the quieter, tree-lined streets of Astoria, Queens.

We walked into a Greek-owned real estate office one Saturday at the end of August, where an enthusiastic agent agreed to show us a few apartments. We turned down the first one, and put a deposit on the second. It was ours within the day.

The apartment was old and outdated – the previous tenant had been our landlord’s mother who had recently passed away. It was covered in a layer of dust that wouldn’t go away no matter how much we cleaned, and we spent hours screeching about the cockroaches we’d find before submerging them in dish soap and flushing them down the toilet.

But what it lacked in new appliances and cool decor, it made up for in space and sunlight. This apartment was vast – each of us had our own enormous bedroom that could fit all of our furniture with ease. Light poured into every corner, and we’d often leave the chipped window panes open and let the breeze flow from one end of the apartment to the other.

No longer were we concerned about packed sports bars, but rather the elegant wine bar around the corner. We upgraded our bodega coffees for cappuccinos, our Black & Milds for fresh baked banana bread. We’d each take baths after a long day, bringing boiled pots of water from the kitchen because the bathroom faucet ran lukewarm.

We’d spend hours sitting on our stoop, discussing everything and nothing. We’d dissect relationships, break-ups, the people we met that day, and the reasons why we thought our apartment was haunted. We spent two years holding each other up through some of the worst times of our lives, although at the moment it just felt a lot like living.

After two years, we both made other plans – I was going to move in with my boyfriend at the time, and Phoebe was going to move in with her brother and sister-in-law in their new home in Brooklyn. Of course, my plans changed drastically, as they always seem to – that relationship would end up exploding just a few days before our move-in date – but the Astoria lease had come to an end.

When I think of that apartment, the first thing I think of is the sunlight and the sisterhood. Never the pain that came with it.

Apartment #3 - Bushwick/Dekalb ($900)

I was fresh off of a traumatic break-up and suddenly without a home.

I’d only ever lived with friends, but that was no longer an option. I’d graduated college a few months earlier, and my first full-time job paid me a whopping $33,000 – living alone was not possible, so I turned to Craigslist in my darkest hour.

I found an ad for an open room in Bushwick – three girls, one cat. I emailed them and set up a time to come see it. The meeting was brief but good, and I left the visit thinking, man, I would love to live there.

I wasn’t even halfway down the block when they texted me and asked me to move in.

This apartment was set up how most apartments in Bushwick are – 3-4 bedrooms, with one bedroom up a flight of lofted stairs. The ceilings were tall, and the appliances were new but cheap. We often joked that we attended Bushwick University – every building is crawling with young creatives packed into the same cookie cutter space.

The strangers from Craigslist quickly became my closest friends – our first winter together we pooled all of our money to buy a full-sized Christmas tree and decorations from the dollar store. We carried it up three flights of stairs (our hands getting cut the entire time) and decorated our entire living room that night.

We were a family and they took me in when I needed it the most.

That year I was also newly single, newly graduated from college, and ready to make some trouble. Our favorite pastime was closing down bars and then heading to the 24-hour deli to get sandwiches and Gatorades at 4am. I went on a million dates with a million men, and then re-hashed the stories to my roommates in painstaking detail as soon as I got home. Every person we met was a character in our stories.

And then eventually, without warning, I fell in love. After a few beautiful years on Dekalb Avenue, I was moving on to the next apartment.

Stay tuned for Part 2 next week! Love you guys!