Edition #151: The Love Tax
Plus, a happy home shared by 26 women, bridesmaid burnout, and voice notes to Kim K.
A Note From the Editor
Anyone who knows me knows I am a surprise enthusiast. The surprises can be of any sort—an intricately planned affair requiring much coordination; a petite surprise requiring very little effort. Scale doesn’t matter, I simply love being surprised. I also love to surprise my loved ones. There’s nothing sweeter than the look on someone’s face when you happen to pop out of a broom closet when you’re supposed to be in a different country. Give it a try!
It was my affinity for surprises that lent me the confidence to allow a creative genius to decorate my apartment, sight unseen by me until it was entirely finished. It was the heart of our first pandemic winter, January 2021, and I’d just moved into my very first solo New York apartment. Prior to this spot I’d lived in two different apartments in East Village, both with roommates and quite sparsely decorated. I was dreading being home all day because everything was still closed and work was remote, so I wanted to make this space feel like a place I actually wanted to be.
I had an old creative contact who specialized in decorating Broadway dressing rooms for big stars. In the wake of COVID he transitioned to homes. It felt like a pipe dream, but I reached out to see whether he might do my new space and much to my delight, he agreed. I sent over my budget, filled out a simple questionnaire about my ideal functionality of the space, sent a few photos—not all interiors, but shots of people and landscapes and such—and gave him full reign from there. On the weekend of the install, I hadn’t seen a single item he had purchased. When I left Friday, my apartment was empty save for a bed and a few boxes of books. When I returned Sunday, my apartment was transformed. It was my first time seeing the space that would be my home for the foreseeable future, a very emotional HGTV moment. And it was perfect.
For the first few weeks I felt like a visitor staying in a hotel. It isn’t an exaggeration to say I woke up every morning in utter shock that I actually lived here, that this beautiful space was mine. I was in my dream New York neighborhood thanks to a COVID deal, I was living alone, and after living through the pandemic and a major breakup, I felt like I had finally landed. This apartment was where I gained the courage to jump off the ledge of corporate comfort into the murky waters of freelance life. It is where I began to finally feel like a real writer, not an imposter posing as a writer. It is where I became the host I’d always dreamt of being, where I first welcomed a partner to live with me, where I cried on the floor and napped on the floor and read on the floor and laid on the floor listening to this song over and over again.
It would be impossible to overstate the amount of comfort and security this space has provided me; the way living here has improved my relationship with myself. Coming home to a place that made me feel proud and competent was no small thing. I don’t have a traditional childhood home to return to, no bedroom from yesteryears that makes me feel safe and secure. This apartment was the first place to give me that feeling. On days when I felt like a failure, I’d look around and remind myself that I did this, that I managed to end up here. I’d use the apartment as a physical anchor to bring me back to the present, to remind myself that the stories my mind sometimes told me about my inadequacy were only stories.
Yet life is full of seasons, and the season for this home is nearing its natural end. I don’t know exactly when that will be, but I know it is closer than it’s ever been. When a dear friend picked me up from the airport a few weeks ago after a month of travel, I told her how heavy the apartment decision had been weighing on me. On one hand, a dire fear of giving up this slice of security I’d created for myself, wondering whether I’d ever be able to make it back to New York if I gave up this space. On the other hand, a growing distaste for the nightly chaos of my neighborhood, the perpetual noise, the dirty streets, the poor sleep quality. “This was never meant to be for forever,” she said. “That was always the beauty of it.”
How to give away something you once held so precious? How to walk in faith, to honor your gut instinct despite fear? How to take the first step when the end of the path is obscured from vision? These questions are ones I’m a bit more comfortable navigating after a year and a half defined by constant change. Still, I am not immune to the fears that make my skin breakout during those final weeks when I have just arrived, yet am preparing to leave once more.
This has been one of those weeks, and it is weighted heavier by the knowledge that this might actually be the end. I remembered something my older brother recently said while trying to explain grief to his three daughters; grief is the price you pay to love someone or something. He calls it the love tax; the more you invest in love, the more you will have to pay when the ending inevitably comes. The price is only as hefty as the depth of your love was. A tradeoff.
I’ve said it before and I know I’ll say it again, but I have to constantly remind myself that life is full of seasons. Places, people, and moments are special because they are always just passing through. We all are. I try to remember how lucky I have been, how lucky I am to have lived in this wonderful place. Much like a first healthy romantic relationship, this space has helped me heal. That is why leaving is so hard, but perhaps it has served exactly the purpose it was meant to. As they say, all good things must come to an end.
The other morning, I was leaning into a slow sweetness, reading a few poems on my floor and sipping on a cup of strong coffee when I came across this delight:
What a sweet reminder; these spaces existed long before we arrived, these spaces will persist long after we’ve gone. The young boy in your memory will grow up. Perhaps the best thing we can do is tune in to life’s natural rhythms. To not overstay our welcome, to not hold on too tightly out of fear. To move along when it is our time, making space for the next person to build a little slice of life where we once did the same.
Cheers, my dears, and as always thank you for reading along. This weekend I will be going out in a very typical me fashion; by overcommitting myself and squeezing every drop of time possible before I leave for Los Angeles on Sunday. Tomorrow I'm having some friends over for dinner and Saturday brings a sweet visitor and a birthday party. Have a marvelous weekend. Slather something in good butter and do a bit of bird watching
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
‘We have sons, brothers, lovers—but they can’t live here!’ A Happy Home Shared by 26 Women. This article brought me deep joy for a number of reasons. One, I love the idea of a group of people coming together to create a solution to a common challenge, especially when those people don’t have “expertise” in the area. When real people solve real problems, the solutions are more logical and not solely for profit—beautiful! Also, I love any alternative housing set up and this one sounds like a dream. Not quite a commune, but something of a communal apartment complex for aging women. The residents have each other's back, but they also have privacy and independence. Impeccable stuff.
We Don’t: The Bridesmaid Burnout. I appreciate writing that directly addresses subjects that feel taboo and that has a definitive POV—this piece has both. Any woman with girlfriends in their 20’s and 30’s knows this situaiton all too well; you love your friends, you want to be supportive, but you also have limited time and resources. The wedding industrial complex has become obscene, and bridesmaid obligations have followed suit. It’ll be interesting to see the way these trends change in the coming years, as the wedding BS burnout seems to be spreading rapidly these days.
The Big City Where Housing is Still Affordable. When I read that headline, my initial thought was “not in the US,” and I was right! This one was wildly interesting. When I first began to read about Tokyo’s affordability, a city I fell in love with when visiting back in 2019, I was further disgusted by the rents in New York as of late. The trick to affordable housing is building more housing, which comes with many benefits but also some drawbacks, namely less green space. An interesting thought experiment in what we might be willing to trade off to solve some of our problems. I also suggest reading the comments, always one of my favorite corners of the internet!
Perhaps You Should…Listen to the Pros
This Reddit thread is a treasure trove of good advice and funny one liners. I’d love to hear your one piece of advice from your profession. Shoot me an email or leave a comment! As for my profession, freelance writer: 1. Don’t be afraid to ask for the amount of money you deserve and 2. Read your writing aloud before sending/submitting.
**Bonus Content** (Voice Notes to Kim K)
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I don’t know why this made me laugh so hard, but it did.
Also, shoutout to my fellow maybe girlies, Danielle Steele has the most Danielle Steele desk, this is how I’m pronouncing haute couture from now on , why is this so true?
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“Past and future are the same, and we cannot change either, only know them more fully.”
-Exhalations by Ted Chiang
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.
Thanks to Anna Haines for sending me here. I also just left an apartment & life I loved & have ben living in the chaotic in-between since March.
My professional piece of advice as a travel planner (I guess that is one of my jobs?) is slow down. Do less. Your trip should be restorative not a race.