The Odd Magic of Moving into a New Home
The sky went suddenly dark. The wind flung the shower curtain up against the sink, sending shampoos and bodywashes tumbling. Slivers of lightning arched over the ragged surface of the river. I woke up, and the whole world felt strange. As though I was floating in a balloon house. I only got four and a half hours of sleep, but my body wanted to be awake, because of the newness. So much to see.
It’s otherworldly, really, waking up in the place that is, from that day on, home. Life does that– these abrupt about-faces, switches, transformations, evolutions, metamorphoses. You know it’s coming, but nothing can prepare you for something totally new. For the feeling you get from the entire experience of it. Not the practical details, but the huge feeling that defines it. I know I packed a lot of boxes (really badly. Yet another useful skill I don’t possess), but that was just stuff. I couldn’t pack how I’d felt in one place, carefully cushioned, and transport it neatly into the next space.
But here I am anyway. Fifteen stories up, looking out over a different city. The same city, technically, but from different eyes. The same eyes, technically, but– well, that’s the thing. I start to lose track of where the sameness and newness differentiate.
Emily just wrote me an email about magic. She’s in love. And she’s always had this easy capacity for the magical, anyway. I don’t mean Renaissance Faires and Harry Potter and fairies. I mean that ability to pick out beauty everywhere. To find the cracks in the routinized everyday, where the odd wonder of being alive seeps in. I love how that feeling is everywhere. Not just where you expect it, on a mountain top, or in a dim, mysterious temple, or the ruins of some ancient city, but right here, in this bright, crumbling apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, where the roaches are no doubt only keeping out of sight until they learn my ways.
(image source here)I told myself I wouldn’t write today. I’d clean and arrange books and get a toilet brush. And toothpaste. Which I will definitely still do. But that feeling, of the oddness and the thrill and the indescribable preciousness of suddenly being here, is making me write anyway.
It’s sort of like all of the possibilities of what my life will be like in these rooms are present, all at once. Everything that might change about me here. Anything I might do or feel or think. And the feeling makes me think of all of the possibilities of the rest of my life.
I was writing to Emily that it’s funny where we end up, and where we will end up the next time, and the time after that. She and I met when we were two years old, in suburban New Jersey. Our mothers were (and still are) friends. Now she’s in California, somewhere hot and dry and alien to me, only an hour’s drive to misty redwood forests and secret, peopleless places where the perfectly clear river cuts an angled, eager path through worn rock. You go slightly out of your way, and heavy mountains lumber on the line of the horizon. I’m here, in this city where history is caked into the caulk between bricks. Where my great grandmother fled to. Where the story is so familiar it’s almost lost it’s meaning: They desperately wanted a new life. For my people, chased through most of our history by guys with pitchforks and official decrees and systematically murdered up until very, very recently, this city meant survival and freedom. Basic, basic stuff.
Not that I think about that when I’m walking to the Duane Reade for more tampons. But it’s there anyway. And I’m here, anyway. At least for now.
It’s strange to have a room for the kitchen. It’s a narrow, awkward room, but it’s a room, with a window. When I moved to this city, two years ago, I didn’t think I’d one day live in an apartment with a window in the kitchen. And a window in the bedroom that looks out over the water, where a long, low barge sits all day, bored and inexplicably, defiantly still. I didn’t think ahead at all, because my life was too open to imagine what might come next. It wasn’t even worth it.
Now I’m surprised at where I’ve found myself. What a ridiculous adventure.
I put my keyboard in front of the window. So I can watch the barge while I play. And listen to the shower curtain, whipping like a sail in the wind.
* * * * * *
What do you like about moving? Any new apartment/house stories?
Un-roast: Today I love the way I look in the old, spotted mirror on the back of the bathroom door. My hair is frizzing in the humidity, and I like that my appearance tells this incredibly complicated, dramatic story that began when humans began. Pretty cool. Somewhere along the line, I guess frizzy hair benefited someone.
P.S. Thank you to my mom, my two really strong brothers, and my ridiculously cool visiting aunt and uncle (who also live in that mysterious land called California), who all spent the whole day moving us in here. It felt like a community activity, and both my fiance and I were pretty touched that people love us enough to do that sort of thing for us without being paid in anything but Greek takeout. Sorry about the heat and my terrible former super (yay!!!! never have to smell his unwashed scent lingering in the elevator again!!), and, you know, all the boxes.
Joyce Mende Wong responded on 19 Jul 2010 at 12:36 pm #
What a joy to have shared a meal in your new home at a table where we have shared many other meals over many years.
elise responded on 19 Jul 2010 at 1:12 pm #
congrats on the new place!!! and how nice of your fam to help out. ick. moves are not remotely fun. except the purging that it induces. i probably ditched 50% of my clothes before shipping our crap off to storage in LA. anyways, im both excited and anxious about the move ahead of me (aug 2nd we will officially be santa monica residents – woohoo). but mostly thrilled. its that whole kitchen thing…ya know? more time to bake cakes
where are you guys now? the fact that you have a kitchen leads to me to believe its def not manhattan, haha.
Natalie responded on 19 Jul 2010 at 3:42 pm #
Kate-this post was beautiful. You DO have the ability to see the magical in the mundane. If you’re whole blog doesn’t prove this point (which it does), then this post ABSOLUTELY does. K?
CONGRATS ON YOUR NEW PLACE! Huzzah!
Kate responded on 19 Jul 2010 at 4:33 pm #
@Elise
Good luck with your move! My fiance wanted to get rid of everything. I had images of myself the next day, like, “Wait…did you throw out all of my shoes?”
Yes, we’re in Manhattan, shockingly enough
Kate responded on 19 Jul 2010 at 4:33 pm #
@Natalie
Thank you!!! You are incredibly nice
BevsPaper responded on 19 Jul 2010 at 7:58 pm #
I’ve only just started to read your blog but can’t help but feel excited for you and your move. You wrote about it beautifully. It is fun, exciting and a little scary to move even if it is just across town. New places to shop, to dine, and kitchen windows to look out of.
DaliSalvadorAde responded on 20 Jul 2010 at 8:18 am #
Oooh! I love moving! I too am moving, but my move is definitely not as drastic as yours. Since I am still of University-age, I’m moving from my dorm to an apartment this semester. I think moving is exciting because when you are introduced to a different living environment, things about you change as well (even if it is for a short time), but the change is still a little exhilarating. I like what you mentioned about having your moving day be a family event as well. I too have really supportive (sometimes they cross the line of intrusion lol) family and I love how excited my mom gets about decorating and making sure I need everything to feel as comfortable as possible. I find those simple deeds reinforce the reciprocal effects of love in action.
Cindy responded on 20 Jul 2010 at 12:15 pm #
I woke up for the first time in a house my husband and I first bought together with the same exact feelings. I could never “pen” them like you; but every fall and cloudy morning I remember that day and looking out my window into the front yard of grass and this new tree that I love (we’ve since moved) and loved that feeling.
my JJ was born when we lived there and even though it was old and in bad shape and too small for us before we added 2 dogs, a cat and another human…it was our first home and it was magical..
xoxox
Gaby responded on 21 Jul 2010 at 3:58 pm #
Congratulations on the new home! It sounds so nice, overlooking the barge, middle of the big city, I’m jealous!
I actually LOVE my place here in Houston. I have a 1 bedroom in one of the few high rise apartment buildings in the city. I get to live alone but still have my family nearby. But I’ve also always dreamed of moving to NY and I do have the possibility of finding some work there, so despite being comfortable here, I think I owe it to myself to at least test the waters for a while in the big apple.
So if you have any advice on finding a place to live that won’t leave me unable to eat or dress myself, or splurge on the occasional coffee, I’d very much appreciate it!
Kate responded on 21 Jul 2010 at 7:57 pm #
@Gaby
I think those places might all be in Astoria and Brooklyn. I got lucky with my first place, because the landlord was really eccentric and out of touch with the current market. So it does happen. There is also affordable stuff up above Harlem. But then, my idea of affordable has been corrupted by living here
What kind of work do you have the option of doing here?
I’m curious about Houston. I’ve heard good things!
Elli Davis responded on 22 Jul 2010 at 8:36 pm #
Great style of writing, really. To answer your question, I think that one of the coolest things about new homes is the fact that they are still kind of untouched and you can transform (if they are not fully furnished) them as you want to. I really like the process of making house a home. Isn’t it the most exciting part?
Rogue responded on 23 Jul 2010 at 2:12 pm #
Congrats on the new place! It sounds fantastic! Can’t wait to visit.