A friend of mine equated looking for an apartment to dating: you don’t want to go with the first one you see. Aside from the metaphor being played out by Sex in the City’s first season, I agree. Just not in the way he meant.
Apartment hunting is like dating: Life would be so much easier if we just settled with the first one we loved but it’s fundamentally flawed. And so we keep looking, ridden with regret and indecision as we see how one apartment has that flashy hardwood floor and big windows but lacks the expansive space of the loft in the dodgy part of town. And then there is the safe flat, already so settled in that you would almost be a visitor in your own space. It is the paradox of perspective. And, in the end, it can almost be like a game of musical chairs. We keep looking, flirting, stroking mantlepieces for dust, possibly even desperately throwing yourself into a fling with a sublet until you are finally so worn out that you settle with whatever you have in front of you (and quite likely just as flawed as the first that came your way).
Only rarely, and how fortunate you are if you came across it, you find THE ONE. Clean. High cealings. Open. Comfortable. With a sense of style. …or maybe that’s just my tastes.
Haven’t found it yet.
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