Although the title may be misleading, this is not the story of how I made it home after one too many glasses of chardonnay. That’s a story for another time.
One of the hardest parts about moving is making the new home feel just as much of a home as the last place did. I learned quickly that New York City was not Plainfield, IL, not even close. And it never will be. I traded in my backyard for a doorman and my Ford Escape in for the NYC subway system.
True to character, the day I picked up my keys I didn’t fail to come with a tote full of hand lotions, random cookbooks, and candles. Although slightly obnoxious and most certainly unnecessary it was my small way of making it feel like mine. Living in a city as big as this one makes it easy to feel like a very small fish in an even bigger pond. Attempting to strategically decorate my quaint 7 by 8 in a way that makes it feel more like a living space and less like a shoebox was easier said than done.
The best part about my bedroom is hands down the huge window that overlooks Amsterdam Ave. Anyone who knows me knows I feel about a healthy dose of natural light. With the window comes a decent size windowsill that I have completely covered in glass jars, baskets, my favorite books and way to many lipsticks to count.
Although we try to focus spending money on experience over ownership, sometimes the tangible things are important. They have a way of transforming nothing into something and more importantly make you feel a small sense of comfort. So, if sometimes we need to be a little materialistic then so be it. I’ll cover my room in boxes too small to actually store anything, enough candles to light up the city, and rug that looks like a Pomeranian because I can. And because it makes it home.