“We could always grab a tent and take up with the occupiers in McPhereson Square.”
This is what I tell James when we get really discouraged about finding an apartment, THE apartment, our first apartment together. It doesn’t need to be fancy or big, as we don’t really have high expectations or lots of stuff. But it does need to not be too far from a metro, have at least one window, and not smell like rotting socks and smoke. Oh, and it needs to be cheap enough for a Hill staffer and a graduate student.
It turns out that this is asking a lot, and the past couple weeks have been consumed with disappointing leads on Craigslist that turn out to be scams, gorgeous apartments that ended up being thousands more than they were listed online, or super grungy row houses effectively slaughtering my dreams of a cozy newlywed bungalo.
One night James and took a long walk through Capital Hill, ending at the deserted steps of the Capital. We sat, bemoaning the housing situation, and talked about how we could always move out to the suburbs. This plan quickly died. Partially for practical logistic reasons, but mostly because of how much we are both coming to love the city. It was a tough road to this point, especially for me, who instinctively rejects any big city that isn’t Paris.
But little by little, despite its illogical interstate system, perpetual constriction, and obscene taxes, the city has crept into my heart. I love jogging around Lincoln Park, grabbing burgers with James throughout the city, and spending quiet nights in front of the Capital like this one. I love walking through the matrices of row houses, browsing bookstores in Eastern Market, and being reminded of the many things that Americans can be proud of at every turn. In talking about the many reasons why we wouldn’t want to move out of the city yet, I was surprised by how much I am coming to appreciate it.
Pictures on this post are by Rachel.