My Very First Apartment When I Was Newly Single

Became an ultra girly safe haven for myself and my friends.

There is breaking up. And then there is moving out. 

They are two very different things. 

You may decide to split long before you have your own place, and regardless of whether "your own place," is a new home or the one you lived in while married, the feelings that come with that transition are often at odds with each other and undoubtedly overwhelming.  

Moving out and moving in can be thrilling and terrifying, sad and joyous, and retrospective, prospective, and introspective, all at once. But no matter what, it's necessary. Necessary to relieve an untenable situation, to move forward vs. stagnate. But with that comes major feelings, highs, and lows that you swing violently between. The first night, you're still in disbelief and running on adrenaline. The second night, you're a puddle on the floor, filled with doubt and insecurity as the magnitude of your reality settles in, and the house feels empty or strange. 

A new place can often feel either sad and sterile (especially if you are going from a loud family house to being solo), or it can be a refuge, a safe haven. In my case, it was the latter. And while I was often alone when my daughter went to her dad's, I never felt fuller. Imperfections and all, this magic house became my home. A safe space that I wanted to return to over and over again. 

The apartment and I were destined to find each other. I had been searching for the perfect place for a month, maybe two. When a broker friend showed me an unlisted space - a Tribeca loft with 16-foot ceilings, an industrial elevator, and (I would soon learn) a cast of characters for neighbors — it was love at first sight, and I told her that I would take it immediately. She warned me that the owner had been here since the 70s and was very particular and wanted the home to go into good hands. I pleaded my case to her and then to him, but for weeks, I heard nothing. So, my search continued. 

I'd all but given up on the Tribeca loft, when the universe stepped in. Standing in line for coffee the following week in Soho, an older woman asked me what I usually order there, and a conversation began. One thing led to the next, and before you knew it, we were walking down the street together toward Tribeca. Off-handedly, I mentioned that I was looking at an apartment nearby, and she asked me where. I pointed toward "my" loft's street and gave her the address. She stopped in her tracks and told me that she had lived on the top floor of that building since the '70s. With only 4 lofts in the building, what are the chances? The next day, I received a call that the apartment was all mine. I like to think she put in a good word for me. 

Almost immediately, I began filling the space with friends. In the early days, I hosted playdates, regularly threw dinner parties, or invited a friend over for a glass of wine. And over the years, it has become a refuge of sorts — an ultra girly safe haven for myself and my friends when feeling sad or just looking for a quick escape — a coffee and good conversation. 

One girlfriend took sanctuary there when she was going through her divorce, and another would bring her entire brood over during her separation when things at home reached an impasse. We'd all hang around on the living room floor, listening to music and eating sushi. These nights were memorable. I often say this apartment saved us. And by us, I mean all of us… all of my girls. 

It took time, but over the years it became home. Mirroring the state of our hearts, minds, and lives, home often has little to do with the externals and everything to do with how we define ourselves in relation to it. Of course this evolves like everything else and these days, I have a complicated relationship with mine as my vision for home has expanded. Plus, it's the first time I have lived anywhere for more than four years (my parents loved a new house project, so we moved a lot when I was a kid), so I’m beginning to feel a little antsy, stagnant even. Which is not surprising considering we live in a world that’s constantly in motion; it's easy to feel like you're stagnating, even when you're not. 

Right now, I am sitting at my dining table, overlooking my living room and windows facing the street, with an orchestra of horns and trucks playing outside. I'm sitting here thinking about getting a new chair. I don't know, maybe I need a new sofa, too. Something to starve off the stagnation. Mostly, though, I have been thinking about this apartment's journey and my relationship with it going forward. Will it continue to be a haven that offers respite for my nearest and dearest? Will I hold onto it forever? Will my daughter want to live here with her friends one day? Will I redecorate to bring back some of its magic? Or, like everything, am I ready for change? I suppose only time will tell.

Going through it? Here’s a few practical takeaways…

If you stay in the house, don't eradicate every photo of your former spouse – for the kids' sake. But do make the house feel like your own. Maybe move some furniture around or paint a wall. Take over all the closets :) 

If you're moving out and can take your time finding a place, do that. Don't rush the process, as you'll want/need it to feel like home more than ever. For example, don't compromise if you need a space with a lot of light to feel happy. The lack of such will only intensify when you're alone. 

Also, don't look at apartments with friends; everyone has an opinion that, frankly, doesn't matter. They're not the ones who will have to live there. Stand in the apartment alone — see what it feels like to be there, just you. But when you do finally move in, make sure to fill it with friends and joy. Host. Play music. Have wine. Celebrate don’t stagnate.

And lastly, if you're walking the neighborhood after looking at a place and happen to meet an older woman at a coffee shop who asks what you like to order… strike up a conversation with her. You never know where it may lead.

Oh, and before I forget…

Starting next week, I'll be adding a paid option (it's a small amount with a big impact — $1.75 a week). While I LOVE writing, it's also a lot of work that takes time. Plus, I want to share and create more content, and by generating some cash from it, I can take the time to do that. That makes sense, right?

So, here's the plan:

I will still send my usual Friday newsletter to subscribers every week. And then I will send a second newsletter mid-week with additional content, including new, spicy stories, recommendations, resources, and links available to paid subscribers.

No pressure either way; just wanted to keep you in the loop. And if you want to access the content and can't afford it, DM me; I've got you.

As always, thank you for reading DOUBLE TAKE. I appreciate your support. This is really fun.

xCC