Don't Forget That Thing

It's Monday. I'm Here for You.

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As you read this newsletter, I'm moving out of an apartment where I lived more of my life than anywhere else. Not in terms of years - I only lived there for five of those - but in terms of life experiences. There are years where not much happens, and then there are periods of years where everything does.

Everything happened to me here — in apartment 4B.

But now, everything I own fits in exactly 17 garbage [bags], five boxes, two suitcases, two dressers, and a couple of tote bags.

Plus, there are the bigger things, like a couch, table/chairs, TV, and high chair.

But that's it.

Moving helps you take inventory of everything that surrounds you.

It's hard to let things go, but that's never been my problem. In 2017, I convinced Adam to run away with me. My plan? Ditch our apartment leases (we didn't live together at the time), sell 90% of our belongings (store the rest at his parents' house), and travel around the country for the rest of our lives (we lasted two years).

Tossing out EVERYTHING except for the essentials felt so good. To know that I could leave and go ANYWHERE with just a few suitcases, one or two sentimental items, and a laptop gave my life a purpose it never had before.

I never missed the stuff I gave away. But I always missed the place that I left.

👋 Welcome to the Monday Pick-Me-Up. I’m moving today to an apartment with a little more space, another room, and outdoor space. It’s a beautiful upgrade to this 500-something square foot place we’ve called home for the past five years. Even so, it’s hard to move. Let me explain why.

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I Don’t Want to Forget Anything About This Place

Let me take you back to 2017:

I'd been dating Adam for about a year when he suggested moving in together. I said no. I didn’t believe in living life in such a straight line like that. Meet, move in, marry, have a kid, and so on.

I squiggly lines that nobody could follow.

Instead, I said: why not sell everything we own and live in new cities every month?

Yeah, sure, it seems like a crazy thing to suggest to a person you've only known for a year, but we both worked remotely. At that time, Adam was probably so googly-eyed in love that he mistook my wackiness for adventure. He said yes.

Plus, my personal life was unhinged and I didn’t want anyone to know that, so it felt like it made more sense to run away from New York City and go to places where nobody knew my name or story.

So we did that for two years. Until it made sense to take a break and sublease an apartment in Brooklyn for just 6-months.

The apartment was small, but perfect. We didn’t have a lot of things to fill it with. We became plant people?? We filled it with plants.

And even though we said just 6-months, we stayed for much longer. We took over the lease. We made this place our home. And then, a few months later, the pandemic happened, and a few days into the pandemic, we met Goofy (the dog) and brought her home, and a few months into the pandemic, we met a group of new friends nearby who also had little puppies, and we’d meet up with them (in our masks) every morning at the park.

And we kept thinking we were going to leave again and live all over the place. In 2021, we planned on it. But I just couldn’t say goodbye to this home. It gave me a sense of safety, joy, and consistency that I didn’t have at the time in my secretly unhinged personal life. Plus, I loved it here with all of my heart.

And then, the song goes: first comes Brooklyn, then comes a pandemic, then comes Goofy, then comes marriage, and finally — Gemma came.

We’ve transformed this space to fill many different things, people, and purposes.

When I was pregnant, everyone who had ever seen my apartment said: you can’t have a baby in that apartment! She won’t fit!

What they really meant was: there’s just not enough space.

But we did it — for 18 months — and the space was plenty, even though on the tough days, it felt cramped, and we were always tip-toeing around when Gemma was asleep.

There were some moments when I wondered if we could just live like this forever— Gemma sleeping two feet away from me, us all in this tiny one bedroom apartment.

Sure, I’m sure we could.

But a few weeks ago, we got the opportunity to move into a place a little bigger.

And so, we said yes.

It was time to leave this apartment behind — the place that completely changed my life.

Years ago, I went on a date with a guy who started crying. He told me that his parents are selling his childhood home and he’s forced to throw everything out. I couldn't understand his pain until I had to do the same thing a year later when my parents downsized their house. I tossed sooo many things.

I wasn't upset about the things I had to give away. After a while, you forget about the yearbooks, trophies, photographs, and dolls. I was most upset about leaving the space itself.

The spaces we live in become silent custodians of our memories, holding echoes of laughter, whispers of dreams, and shadows of sorrows. When we leave, these memories begin to fade. We can no longer sit and trace the outlines of our experiences on walls that once framed our daily lives.

Our minds aren't always strong or malleable enough to remember all those things, and I think that's what makes me the saddest about leaving this place - the memories I'm going to slowly forget, not the things I'll have to give away.

If you're reading this right now, I'm probably moving out the last of my belongings, sitting there crying about all the things that happened here and the person I became in this small, tiny Brooklyn apartment. It became my entire personality and will always be a place I wish I could go back to.

The problem with places we move out of is that we really can't go back to them. Other people will move into that space, and other things will happen to them - not identical things, hopefully good things, but probably some bad things too.

Maybe one day I'll knock on the door and meet the new renters and tell them all about the things that happened to me when living in their space.

I’m sure they’ll smile at me as they slowly shut the door, and my plan is, right before it slams closed, I’ll whisper:

Enjoy the things that will happen to you here.

I do realize that’s a bizzare thing to whisper to the strangers who now live in your old home, but I want to tell them that because it’s a small space, a beautiful one, but not one that’s great for things. There are only two closets here — you have to use them wisely.

But more than anything, I want them to know that my memories will always live inside of this apartment and a new coat of paint, and knick-knacks, and doll-sized furniture, won’t ever erase that.

In an hour or so, I’ll take one last look at this empty apartment and remind myself just how much the essence of a place lingers long afer the boxes, the people, the things, are gone.

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Instant Pick Me Ups

📖: My neighbor told me to read this. He described it as an emotional journey and of course those are the only types of journey I ever want to go on.

💗 A Few Things I’m Loving from Macys:

I went into a Macy’s store recently and they had such amazing finds — for upcoming weddings or nights out with friends. Everything is also super affordable. Sharing my top picks below:

Dresses:

• A great dress for a fall wedding

• Love this dress option

• Purple dress

• A bright dress option

• Gorgeous dress

Shoes:

• The perfect flats

• The classic pair of heels for a wedding

• Love these glitter sneakers

Purses:

• The only wedding purse you need

• A great weekend bag

• A more funky purse option

🎵: This song always makes me sooooo happy.

📝: Ps. if you (or anyone you know) needs a wedding speech this season (vows, officiant, maid of honor/best man, father/mother of bride/groom, sister/brother of the bride/groom) — I built these really awesome speech writing tools. Also, a eulogy tool (though I hope nobody you know needs to use that).

⏰: Tell more people you love them — if you love them. For no reason. Just because.

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😊 My Real Life:

• I’m too superstitious to tell you where we are moving to until I get the keys, pay the rent, and sleep there for a night. But when I do tell you, you will laugh out loud and maybe call me dramatic. Of course there’s a catch too. I’ll tell you about it next week.