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No Bed? No Problem

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Growing up watching TV shows such as “That’s So Raven” and “Zoey 101,” my adolescent mind was distracted by the environments that these cool (well, cool for 2004) personas had the chance to inhabit. Everyone can recall the outrageous “dorm” that Zoey and her clique lived in during their years at Pacific Coast Academy. Pink and orange walls with beaded curtains and a window view of the Pacific Ocean – yes, it sounds like a Dunkin Donuts that serves virgin pina coladas and vegetarian sushi, but Teenick curated the dream room of its entire 11-year-old viewership, including me.

However, emerging out of adolescence and into young adulthood, my interior taste has evolved. Watching my brother search for the perfect NYC apartment and living in a New York suite of my own, I’ve been forced to not only mature quickly, but to also discover the necessities that a 20-something girl simply can’t live without in her first solo space – at least, in my industry, that is.
Driving myself down a track for a life in online media and editorial, I can picture myself in my future residence just like I pictured myself decorating my room pink and orange and beaded curtains in fourth grade: running around on the hardwood floors, arguing on the phone with someone of higher authority (maybe my editor, but most likely my mom), emails popping up on my laptop screen, and my microwave alarming to alert that I have a freshly-prepared Lean Cuisine.

Picturing the dream bachelor/ette pad post-grad, most of my peers would put several household goods at the top of their shopping lists – big-screen TV, big fridge, and, yes, a big, cloud-like, full-size bed. And while a big bed may be a 20-something’s field of dreams, my dreams at the moment are just a little bit bigger. That’s why the necessities for my first apartment are much more specific and much, much more important to me.

1. A Big Window. One of my biggest dreams for any home that I get to live in in the future is to have floor-to-ceiling Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired windows. The most luxurious of homes inhibit these attributes. With clear windows and a clear view, I get caught up staring at the sky and daydreaming. It may not be beneficial when in class, but it always helped my mind stay active when thinking of stories and brainstorming things I could write about. The more I get to see, the more creative I can be.

2. A Big Closet. I’d like to call myself a Closet Curator. Any fashion-centric female could agree with me on this, but no matter how big or small the space, I insist on dedicating a lot of it to my apparel display. By the time I reach post-grad status, I may have to pick and choose my favorite pieces, but I want to show off my pro-Parisian style. It may not be Carrie Bradshaw’s walk-in wardrobe, but a rolling rack of clothes I’ve curated will look just as chic standing next to the sunset shining against the window.

3. A Big Desk. In The Catcher In The Rye, Holden was pleasantly surprised to find his younger sister in her bedroom, writing on a desk that took up most of the space. This description in the novel has resonated with me since I read it my sophomore year of high school and has since influenced the way that I refurnished my bedroom in New Jersey and, for absolute certain, will influence the way I decorate my future apartment. I identify myself as a writer. I sprawl material across my desk, from scribbled notebooks to multicolored pens to business cards. I envision my desk to be the defining piece of my apartment and definitely an important symbol of my adulthood, my story, and my career.

My dream desk? Glass, in front of my life-size window, and a sheepskin chair to seat me. I can picture all the other little details, too: a monogrammed mug filled to the rim with a skim latté (I would say it’s green tea, but it’s not nice to lie), my laptop open on one side, my iMac and bluetooth keyboard on the other, and a vanity set filled with pens and business cards I’ve accumulated over the years. And maybe a mini chandelier lamp.

My first apartment may be a few years ahead of me, but I don’t see anything wrong with planning my packing list early. But whether I’m dropped in the West Village, Gramercy, LA, even Paris, I’m not going anywhere without them.

Here And There

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The term “boomerang” doesn’t just refer to a piece of sports equipment or a sister channel of Cartoon Network that plays reruns of “The Flintstones.” Today, “boomerang” is what my fellow Generation Y-ers have to endure after they graduate from college. One minute, they’re far, far away from home in the gated communities we call “college,” and before they can blink, they’re handed a piece of heavy paper delicately decorated in calligraphy, which serves as their ticket back to sleeping on the second floor of their cape-style houses in their hometown.

The house I lived in was the house that built me. Miranda Lambert doesn’t lie. But I’ve been fortunate enough to have the experience of attending college in the greatest city on earth (other than Paris) (which, by the way, I’m working on) and while it increases judgment among many attributes, it would be rude of me to take this opportunity for granted.

I don’t know what any of my situations will be when I graduate, whether it be socially or professionally. But what I may not be able to avoid is this boomerang effect. While many of my high school classmates may be excited to return home after our college graduations, it’s not the most appealing to me. What are my benefits? Mom cooks, does the laundry, and pays for my Starbucks. And I can go to the mall.

On one hand, sure, that’s all great. But from what I’ve experienced from going from living at home last summer to now living in NYC for this summer is that the boomerang may not be positive for my transition into true adulthood. It holds me back from growing – and I’ve grown so much this year. I don’t want to go back.

I’m used to cooking, doing my own laundry, and cleaning my own apartment. It’s almost second nature to me now. Yes, it may just be at the collegiate level as opposed to the “real world” level, like paying rent and electric bills (and credit card bills – *shudder*), but I think that I have a leg up on anyone that isn’t in my shoes and living here at 20 years old.

I love home. Home is great. But this room that I’m sitting in now that looks over a street in Chelsea has also become home to me. And when your apartment feels like home, you know you’re heading in the right direction. No boomeranging here, but maybe archery. I’m getting closer to the bullseye.