I used to love apartment hunting. When I first moved to Madison, few things gave me as much joy as plotting my inevitable release from the one bedroom apartment I shared with two other people. I loved touring apartments. I loved spending hours on different websites comparing layouts and designs. It felt so grown up.
But I have to admit, as I contemplate my 17th move in 8 years, I am thoroughly sick of apartment hunting.
I think it is mostly moving around Madison. For the, like, half a second when I thought I was moving to Texas, the new adventure stirred me with excitement and I probably would have jumped in with enthusiasm. But as I’m fairly committed to Wisconsin for at least the next year, no new adventure exists. I know the housing options in Madison. I’ve studied them carefully. And I know what it will cost to exit student housing into the “real world.” Eek.
I tried passing off the apartment hunt on Bethany, but she demonstrates extreme indifference towards where we live, so there went that plan. (Actually, I take that back. She is quite opinionated if I suggest a place she considers cheap, sketchy, or somehow uninteresting. But don’t expect her to locate a place on her own. It won’t happen. Sorry. That sounds passive aggressive. She truly is a good roommate. I like living with my sister. But did I mention I’m sick of apartment hunting?)
So, I’m back to apartment hunting. If I want to torture myself, I sometimes look at townhouses for sale instead and imagine having a place that is mine. A place where I can paint the walls or tear up the carpet or replace the shelving. A place that means permanence and roots.
It is a weird dichotomy. On the one hand, I crave the adventure that comes with somewhere new. On the other, I’m getting a little tired of new. I’ve done new a lot. I’ve done Tennessee, England, Idaho, Colorado, and Thailand. And Wisconsin. A lot of places in Wisconsin.
It comes down to impatience, mostly. I’m e-mailing with an apartment complex now. I think the person I am talking to checks their e-mail once a day. At least, that’s the response rate. And I’m impatient. I want to just apply and move forward already. But I also have questions.
So goes life. I want to know what I am doing post-August. I want to live in a place I won’t move from in a month, or half a year, or a year. I want a job that says permanence. Because I’m impatient and sometimes forget I’m only 26.
The process of becoming is a challenging one. Whether it means impatience in housing, impatience in education, impatience in social distancing, I just want to move forward. But the becoming is important. Through the angst, I develop the person I am. The person I will become. I learn the lesson I’m supposed to learn. But gosh darn it, sometimes I wish I’d just learn it already.
I named this blog “fernweh,” meaning homesickness for the abroad. Sometimes, though, I feel the opposite. I feel homesickness for the familiar. I wish I’d just settle, plant roots, and be content. But always in that feeling, I feel the itch. The itch for new. The itch for other.
And so I apartment hunt. Because maybe tomorrow someone, somewhere, will list something that somehow combines my desire for ‘new’ with my desire for ‘home.’
And, wow, does that feel like an angsty way to end this post. But I’m feeling angsty today! I promise to calm down once I’ve settled on a new apartment.