One week in the new apartment. I thought it would be easier and more fun than it has been because part of me thought this would be the panacea for my financial and philosophical woes. Instead, I feel like I've bit off just a bit more than I can chew and have had a challenge fitting everything in. However, I am seeing some of the benefits, such as my rent being dramatically reduced this month, which has helped me warm up to the place.
The mass of boxes has slowly given up its secrets and been broken down to make room for living. The trick to getting the most out of limited storage becomes a nesting-doll approach -- knick-knacks in knapsacks in backpacks in boxes in the closet. Winter clothes in suitcases under the bed. I stacked two of my old nightstands for a make-shift filing cabinet. Thinking vertically is the best way to use studio space. I'll be hitting up Ikea for a few, cheap wall-mounted shelves tomorrow.
I've walked to the grocery store twice this week. I have always wanted to be able to do this -- fresher produce, more menu variety during the week, and saving on gas and time while avoiding traffic. It has been everything I hoped it would be. My reusable canvas shopping bag has finally seen daylight, too, after collecting dust in storage for the past 5 years. Fewer trips to the store meant bigger loads, and more food than one small sack can carry. This also encourages me to cook more, which means less money spent at restaurants, healthier food -- the benefits go on and on.
One corner of my apartment that's seen a bit more action than the others is my "to sell" corner. Among the amassed items are my photo printer, my ironing board (which I will explain in a future post), various low-use kitchen items (toaster, gravy boat, quadruple-shot glasses), and old DVD's and computer games. I'm hoping to have everything posted on eBay or craigslist this weekend, although I've had better luck with eBay over the past month. Unwanted books are getting exchanged for store credit at the book store down the street.
A busy weekend ahead! I promise pictures of the finished place on Monday!
Friday, November 7, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Aftermath
I am sitting on my ottoman, sandwiched between a wall of boxes and my bed. My laptop is charging contentedly on my wide chest of drawers next to my TV. I can see the kitchen and the closet from here, dark with wall-to-wall stuff. As of tonight, I am completely moved to the new apartment. And my back hurts.
On Saturday, seven of my friends showed up to move me. I've never had the help of more than one or two people in a move before and was blown away by their willingness. Moving is painful but the sense of duty that my friends exhibited that hot afternoon made my heart swell. Even my neighbors commented on the spectacular assembly line of shirtless guys ferrying my belongings to the truck. From start to finish, the whole move took an hour and a half. Can't hire that kind of efficiency! Afterwards, I thanked them with a sushi dinner at the shop on the corner. The best moves end with a spicy chicken roll and a large Sapporo.
When it first occurred to me to downsize, I remember being seized by a sense of destiny. This was only another step in a natural progression that has taken place over the past several years, starting when I moved into my first apartment -- a 600 square-foot one bedroom. It was brand new and so conveniently small. Someone had put a lot of thought into the routine of everyday life, with the flow being to the living room or kitchen, and then the bedroom or the bathroom. I've since longed to recapture that sense of tidy efficiency!
Being that everything has worked out so well since then, I assumed downsizing this time would simply be a matter of finding the right place, figuring out what would fit, and selling or donating the rest. All three have turned out to be difficult. Apartments--good apartments with parking spaces--are few and far between. I've resigned myself to the trashy, dorm-like quality of city apartments. I have a sneaking suspicion that my possessions have been breeding like rabbits since I moved here. And for some reason, San Diegans are only interested in buying something from craigslist if it is sports-related or from Ikea.
Despite things not going as smoothly as I'm used to (I know I've been lucky and am spoiled because of it), my friends and the actual move made up for any troubles I've had. I'm here now, and while I'm not completely happy with the new space, like I've said, it's in a great location and has reserved parking. I managed to sell most of my big furniture items, except for my sofa, which as fate would have it fits really nicely after all.
That can't be said for everything else -- my books are yet without a home and several kitchen appliances won't fit into the few, tiny kitchen cabinets that seem to be coated with five or six layers of industrial white. My stack of to-sell items has grown every day, but I don't really have the energy to go through it all and post it to craigslist or ebay. I'm sure that energy will come as I recover from the weekend. My first two nights in the new place were a little rough sleeping, but I'm learning to put up with the new noises, the new atmosphere.
More to come, including pictures!
On Saturday, seven of my friends showed up to move me. I've never had the help of more than one or two people in a move before and was blown away by their willingness. Moving is painful but the sense of duty that my friends exhibited that hot afternoon made my heart swell. Even my neighbors commented on the spectacular assembly line of shirtless guys ferrying my belongings to the truck. From start to finish, the whole move took an hour and a half. Can't hire that kind of efficiency! Afterwards, I thanked them with a sushi dinner at the shop on the corner. The best moves end with a spicy chicken roll and a large Sapporo.
When it first occurred to me to downsize, I remember being seized by a sense of destiny. This was only another step in a natural progression that has taken place over the past several years, starting when I moved into my first apartment -- a 600 square-foot one bedroom. It was brand new and so conveniently small. Someone had put a lot of thought into the routine of everyday life, with the flow being to the living room or kitchen, and then the bedroom or the bathroom. I've since longed to recapture that sense of tidy efficiency!
Being that everything has worked out so well since then, I assumed downsizing this time would simply be a matter of finding the right place, figuring out what would fit, and selling or donating the rest. All three have turned out to be difficult. Apartments--good apartments with parking spaces--are few and far between. I've resigned myself to the trashy, dorm-like quality of city apartments. I have a sneaking suspicion that my possessions have been breeding like rabbits since I moved here. And for some reason, San Diegans are only interested in buying something from craigslist if it is sports-related or from Ikea.
Despite things not going as smoothly as I'm used to (I know I've been lucky and am spoiled because of it), my friends and the actual move made up for any troubles I've had. I'm here now, and while I'm not completely happy with the new space, like I've said, it's in a great location and has reserved parking. I managed to sell most of my big furniture items, except for my sofa, which as fate would have it fits really nicely after all.
That can't be said for everything else -- my books are yet without a home and several kitchen appliances won't fit into the few, tiny kitchen cabinets that seem to be coated with five or six layers of industrial white. My stack of to-sell items has grown every day, but I don't really have the energy to go through it all and post it to craigslist or ebay. I'm sure that energy will come as I recover from the weekend. My first two nights in the new place were a little rough sleeping, but I'm learning to put up with the new noises, the new atmosphere.
More to come, including pictures!
Friday, October 31, 2008
Second Guess
On Wednesday, I threw a few orphaned items into my trunk to deliver to the new apartment. I was due at a dinner with a few friends and figured I would stop by since the two stops were in the neighborhood. Unspoken rule: a trip out the door must involve at least two stops.
Hillcrest is littered with chic, expensive restaurants with names like Bite and Chow. Our destination was Dish, which specializes in traditional, organic fare served up in large porcelain bowls. I ordered the penne with grilled chicken, sun-dried tomatoes, and broccoli. Dinner was tasty and the company even better, but I emerged exhausted. Carb overload would be one excuse, but I've been getting less sleep than usual and was ready to burrow into bed. Instead I prodded myself in the direction of the studio. It was only 5 blocks down the road.
My parking spot was lit with a halo of light. Parking anywhere in the neighborhood is tricky, and an assigned spot is gold. I pulled into the spot that had sold me on the apartment and grabbed the brown ceramic pot and coat hooks in one arm while hoisting the hiking boots and backpack on my other shoulder. Unspoken rule: deliveries from the car must take only one trip (unless pain is involved, and even then, some pain can be overlooked).
The complex is gated and the apartments surround an impressive jungle of well-kept plants. An elephant ear or palm will occasionally brush my arm or leg as I'm walking to my front door. With the amount of attention paid to the garden, it is easy to imagine the gates are meant to protect it, rather than the tenants. The complex feels safe though. My windows had even been open since I first toured the complex last week. The storm gate opened with a loud creak. I stepped inside and stopped.
Something was not right. The apartment was small. Really small. The back wall returned my stare. It was the end to my domain and it was right in front of my face. Could this really be my new home? I let out a heavy breath and carried my delivery to the back closet. My shoes squeaked on the linoleum. I thought about the tile floors in my old apartment--oh, that beautiful new tile! Not this cheap, scuffed, sorry excuse for flooring. I dropped my items on the heavily and immediately held my breath. A noise complaint the day after taking the apartment would not be a good start. The walls were thin enough. I glared at them spitefully.
I tip-toed back to the main room and looked around. I could take in the entire room while standing in the kitchen. I suddenly wondered if my measurements had been wrong, because the it looked as though nothing would fit in it. A feeling of sadness overwhelmed me. What have I done? The question has dwindled on the periphery of my consciousness for the past three weeks. Now it had became a full-fledged consideration, standing in the room before me, demanding an answer. I pursed my lips and ducked out the open front door, locking it behind me. Unspoken rule: when faced with doubt, run.
If this was a mistake, it was be too late. I've sold the majority of my furniture, given up the cash, signed on the dotted line. No backing out now, I would just have to make it work. I knew the exhaustion was playing a big part in my mood, but I couldn't help but feel a little depressed. Driving back, I called my boyfriend, Mike, and expressed my frustrations. He was noticeably distressed in hearing me worry. He has been worried about the move, worried that I'll be unhappy. Hearing his voice immediately resolved a lot of my doubt. After all, he is a large part of why I'm moving in the first place. My natural reaction to his worry was to form an immediate resolve, to reassure him that it was the exhaustion and stress of the week talking and that I'd be fine. This is a good move for me, I told him. I took a few breaths after we'd hung up. My confidence was trickling back.
As I tumbled into bed, I realized it's probably going to take a bit more than just an optimistic attitude to reverse years of conditioning. My new rules: rely on those close to you and have a plan.
Hillcrest is littered with chic, expensive restaurants with names like Bite and Chow. Our destination was Dish, which specializes in traditional, organic fare served up in large porcelain bowls. I ordered the penne with grilled chicken, sun-dried tomatoes, and broccoli. Dinner was tasty and the company even better, but I emerged exhausted. Carb overload would be one excuse, but I've been getting less sleep than usual and was ready to burrow into bed. Instead I prodded myself in the direction of the studio. It was only 5 blocks down the road.
My parking spot was lit with a halo of light. Parking anywhere in the neighborhood is tricky, and an assigned spot is gold. I pulled into the spot that had sold me on the apartment and grabbed the brown ceramic pot and coat hooks in one arm while hoisting the hiking boots and backpack on my other shoulder. Unspoken rule: deliveries from the car must take only one trip (unless pain is involved, and even then, some pain can be overlooked).
The complex is gated and the apartments surround an impressive jungle of well-kept plants. An elephant ear or palm will occasionally brush my arm or leg as I'm walking to my front door. With the amount of attention paid to the garden, it is easy to imagine the gates are meant to protect it, rather than the tenants. The complex feels safe though. My windows had even been open since I first toured the complex last week. The storm gate opened with a loud creak. I stepped inside and stopped.
Something was not right. The apartment was small. Really small. The back wall returned my stare. It was the end to my domain and it was right in front of my face. Could this really be my new home? I let out a heavy breath and carried my delivery to the back closet. My shoes squeaked on the linoleum. I thought about the tile floors in my old apartment--oh, that beautiful new tile! Not this cheap, scuffed, sorry excuse for flooring. I dropped my items on the heavily and immediately held my breath. A noise complaint the day after taking the apartment would not be a good start. The walls were thin enough. I glared at them spitefully.
I tip-toed back to the main room and looked around. I could take in the entire room while standing in the kitchen. I suddenly wondered if my measurements had been wrong, because the it looked as though nothing would fit in it. A feeling of sadness overwhelmed me. What have I done? The question has dwindled on the periphery of my consciousness for the past three weeks. Now it had became a full-fledged consideration, standing in the room before me, demanding an answer. I pursed my lips and ducked out the open front door, locking it behind me. Unspoken rule: when faced with doubt, run.
If this was a mistake, it was be too late. I've sold the majority of my furniture, given up the cash, signed on the dotted line. No backing out now, I would just have to make it work. I knew the exhaustion was playing a big part in my mood, but I couldn't help but feel a little depressed. Driving back, I called my boyfriend, Mike, and expressed my frustrations. He was noticeably distressed in hearing me worry. He has been worried about the move, worried that I'll be unhappy. Hearing his voice immediately resolved a lot of my doubt. After all, he is a large part of why I'm moving in the first place. My natural reaction to his worry was to form an immediate resolve, to reassure him that it was the exhaustion and stress of the week talking and that I'd be fine. This is a good move for me, I told him. I took a few breaths after we'd hung up. My confidence was trickling back.
As I tumbled into bed, I realized it's probably going to take a bit more than just an optimistic attitude to reverse years of conditioning. My new rules: rely on those close to you and have a plan.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Need
On Tuesday, I took the keys to a 400 square-foot studio apartment. I've been packing, piecemeal, every night after work and will move in over the course of the weekend. Why would I choose to downsize from a 1200 square-foot, 2-bedroom apartment? There are several reasons, but the simplest reason is I just don't need that much space. I can do more with less.
Before I continue, I should mention that it's difficult to write about living with less without sounding preachy. It's difficult not to believe that success is measured by having more and bigger is better. To wring the years of corporate marketing that have saturated our brains is a herculean effort. I, myself, become defensive when someone tells me I don't need this or that. I'm sure most can agree that living with less is a good idea in theory, but actually putting that into practice can look, well, holier-than-thou. My goal in documenting this experience is not to assert my decision as the right choice, but rather to document the experience for the sake of record. As Jonathan Dixton writes, "... if you have an experience, one that just by its very nature is going to exert some kind of transformational pull on you, it should be documented."
With the recent economic downturn, the nagging voice in the back of my head has grown louder: waste less, reduce debt, efficiency over extravagance. This may be motherhood and apple pie to many, but I've been repeatedly greeted with cautious looks whenever I explain my plans. There are inevitably questions, most of which revolve around what I will be doing with my belongings and furniture. Again people ask why I would choose to rid myself of these things (nice things, too, I might add), and my answer is always the same: I don't need it.
This has become clear to me gradually. It's taken me some time to realize that I can live without a TV room, multiple sofas, an office, and a formal dining room. And it was more of a realization that I was ignoring something: I only use a third of my living space on a daily basis. Perhaps it's because I'm a man of habit and will always sit in the same spot on the same sofa. Whatever the case, the idea of living in as small a space as possible has gripped me from the beginning.
I've also embarked on a relationship with a fellow who lives in Canada. This had a profound influence on my decision to downsize, primarily because of the costs associated with international travel. There's also the possibility that we may one day cohabitate and I'd like to be ready for that by being as mobile as possible and paying down my debt.
Ultimately, my goal is simply to reduce my cost of living. Since living costs can take up a large portion of one's income, I'm dedicating this blog to the process of reducing my living space requirements. I'm hoping to detail my experiences, my failures, and my successes. I am optimistic.
Before I continue, I should mention that it's difficult to write about living with less without sounding preachy. It's difficult not to believe that success is measured by having more and bigger is better. To wring the years of corporate marketing that have saturated our brains is a herculean effort. I, myself, become defensive when someone tells me I don't need this or that. I'm sure most can agree that living with less is a good idea in theory, but actually putting that into practice can look, well, holier-than-thou. My goal in documenting this experience is not to assert my decision as the right choice, but rather to document the experience for the sake of record. As Jonathan Dixton writes, "... if you have an experience, one that just by its very nature is going to exert some kind of transformational pull on you, it should be documented."
With the recent economic downturn, the nagging voice in the back of my head has grown louder: waste less, reduce debt, efficiency over extravagance. This may be motherhood and apple pie to many, but I've been repeatedly greeted with cautious looks whenever I explain my plans. There are inevitably questions, most of which revolve around what I will be doing with my belongings and furniture. Again people ask why I would choose to rid myself of these things (nice things, too, I might add), and my answer is always the same: I don't need it.
This has become clear to me gradually. It's taken me some time to realize that I can live without a TV room, multiple sofas, an office, and a formal dining room. And it was more of a realization that I was ignoring something: I only use a third of my living space on a daily basis. Perhaps it's because I'm a man of habit and will always sit in the same spot on the same sofa. Whatever the case, the idea of living in as small a space as possible has gripped me from the beginning.
I've also embarked on a relationship with a fellow who lives in Canada. This had a profound influence on my decision to downsize, primarily because of the costs associated with international travel. There's also the possibility that we may one day cohabitate and I'd like to be ready for that by being as mobile as possible and paying down my debt.
Ultimately, my goal is simply to reduce my cost of living. Since living costs can take up a large portion of one's income, I'm dedicating this blog to the process of reducing my living space requirements. I'm hoping to detail my experiences, my failures, and my successes. I am optimistic.
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