For the last three years, I lived in a spacious 2-bedroom apartment with my brother. And when I say spacious, I mean we could have put a pool table in our living room and barely had a move our furniture an inch. My bedroom was so big I thought it was a brilliant idea to expand into the space and buy a king size bed, only to still have enough room to work out or have an indoor picnic. Three years in the same cavernous apartment meant you get good at moving, even sliding, around. Everything had its place. Nothing was in the way of something else. You could move freely and effectively. The space did not require much efficiency.
One month ago, I slept in my new apartment for the first time. Ten days of moving in, slowly, worked just fine as more and more of my stuff filled closets, drawers, and cabinets. When the final [big] piece was delivered (couch), the place was pretty much done. Over the next few weeks I only tinkered: hung art, built bar stools, replaced the coffee table, bought a floor lamp, picked up some live plants, etc., but as of April 10th, it was time to get efficient. I was no longer traversing a hallway long enough to be a bowling lane on an hourly basis. My life was condensed from 2,000 square feet to 630, and I reveled in some discoveries.
My new bed is a full frame with built in storage in the headboard and in drawers below. I assumed this killed the rest of my under-the-bed space not taken up by drawers, until, after seeing my bed matressless for a week, I decided to take out the drawers completely and push box after bag of extremely rarely used, back-of-the-closet type containers into the bowels of the bed, maneuvering between the slats to make it all fit like a beautiful, eclectic puzzle of forgotten crap. Crap that, in another move or two, will be the first to go, but crap that as of now, I might need or if nothing else, want.
I found more and more efficiencies throughout the new place. I adjusted shelf heights in the fridge to perfectly accommodate bottles of whatever on two different shelves instead of just one. I also adjusted shelf heights in some of my periphery cabinets, giving me the height to perfectly slide in some excess wall art that would be too big for my aforementioned under-the-bed openings. I also adjusted heights of my closet built-ins to, okay you know what, I mainly just adjusted shelf heights, but clearly the new place was coming together in a way that made my organized and efficient self very happy.
Then I started actually living here. Not just sleeping or building or unpacking or setting up, but really living here. Day after day of three meals, work, and lounging. Of making trips to the bathroom. Showering. Cleaning. Walking.
I understand that it’s a new place and of course I don’t know every turn, every corner, or every inch of every cabinet. Of course I’m not going to find my measuring cup on the first or second or third try. Of course I’m going to stub my toe on the feet of my new couch. Of course I’m going to forget which light switch controls the vanity, the shower, and the overhead lights in the bathroom. But those inefficiencies don’t bother me because they’ll go away. I’ll remember where I put all my shit. I’ll learn the characteristics of my new couch. I’ll spend a few hours creating a job aid for the light switch in the bathroom and in a few months, I’ll be batting 1.000.
But there’s one thing that killed me.
Due to my reckless expansion in what was an absurdly large bedroom for Chicago, my new bedroom is about 87% bed and 13% walk around, 5% on each side and 3% at the foot. I also decided to upgrade my media viewing situation in the living room, so what used to be a massive TV for the times (46” in 2010) is now my bedroom TV. Clearly I don’t need a TV in my bedroom, but I like it and I wanted to make it work. I knew I could make it work.
Do you know how I knew I could make it work?
Once I signed my lease and before I moved in, I took the blueprint of my apartment, scaled it up in PowerPoint, and proceeded to create to-scale shapes of every piece of furniture I planned to move or buy. Exact size. Exact layout. And the wall across from my bed had the exact amount of space required for a 46” television between the swing of the bedroom door and the opening of the bathroom door. Maybe an inch to spare on each side. Like a goddamned glove.
But do you remember what percentage of my room is left at the foot of my bed? Yeah not much. So even though it fit width-wise, I knew it would be a pretty tight squeeze depth-wise. And in the first week here, I challenged the integrity of the bookshelf supporting the TV a bit too frequently for my taste. I can only imagine what the bookshelf was thinking.
I am in the middle of the strangest stretch of my life. Many of you are in the same situation, but since I can’t be sure of your circumstances, I’ll speak from my own point of view.* I’ve been beyond lucky that my job has been barely impacted (actually have slightly more work than usual while my team works from home), my company is doing well to weather the storm (it’s nice not being publicly traded), and apparently I just moved into a new apartment where I actually get to enjoy spending time here instead of getting anxious at the office that my new house plants are going to die in the package room. I miss bowling. And going out to dinner. And I really want to be able to hug my parents. The list is nearly endless of shit I miss or want or wish I could do, but that is our reality, at least for a while.
One thing that I can do is make sure this time isn’t wasted. I love the eagerness and willingness for so many people to jump on video calls to catch up and I really hope we continue to nurture those connections, especially with those we love who we don’t live near. I’m excited to continue discovering new hobbies, from Rubick’s cube solves to crossword puzzles to (in a few weeks) rollerblading (importing from Denmark (baller)). I’m grateful to have time and rededicated focus on editing the previous one hundred and whatever posts in here down to the best and brightest for what I hope to one day be a book someone besides me will read. I’ve cooked more. I’ve ordered from local businesses to show support and solidarity. There are a lot of silver linings that, admittedly, are easy for me to find given how many other parts of my life have not terribly affected.
If you’re wondering how a post starting with efficient showers has turned into this, you’re not alone, but if you’re silently screaming at me to land the plane, here we go.
If there’s one thing I want to take with me once we get to Phase 5 and life feels the closest it can to normal again, it’s to slow, the hell, down. Every time I bumped into my rickety excuse for a TV stand on my way through my bedroom I thought, what’s the hurry? Seriously, WHERE AM I GOING? As Greg Focker once brilliantly asked, “where’s the fire?” Why am I washing dishes like the last gallon of water in Lake Michigan is draining? Why am I going to turn on my evening ambient lights like they emit oxygen and I’m clutching onto my final breath? Why?
Going fast and being efficient are not identical. Actually, efficiency can replace the need to be fast. But that wasn’t how my mind worked. It was ingrained in me to be fast AND efficient. I didn’t always want to be, but that was my natural default setting. So I am trying to change. To slow down. To realize the difference between taking 4 or 6 minutes to do the dishes is not worth the mess in splashed water and flicked suds. I am going to try to take my time, if not for my head, at least for my kneecaps and my poor, exhausted bookshelf.
*To anyone that got this far that is having a tougher time than I have been over the last few months, I was in no way trying to make it worse for you. I can only speak for myself. But if you’re struggling, I am so sorry. I wish I could do more. You are loved. You are constantly thought about. And we’ll get through this.
