Do you remember the first time you bought something for your apartment with your money?
Or the first luxury purchase that you indulged yourself in? It is special, isn't it?
Living on your own for the first time is a very personal journey. If you are in school, it’s about building your resting place, your home away from home. Once you start working, it becomes about building your first home. However small it might be, this is your own nest.
I moved out of my parent's house to pursue grad school in NYC. Even though I was living on my own, it wasn't exactly my first real home. The rent was being paid from student loans, plus I felt no sense of calm when I was there.
I consider my first real home as an adult to be my apartment in Connecticut, where I moved for my first job. That is the place I bought many of my first possessions – including my first car and my first couch (yes it's important)!
Over the years I slowly learned to decorate my small apartment as my abode. As my salary grew, I started "investing" in higher-end products - like a Lacoste bath rug, and a William Sonoma chopping board – things that are clearly a waste of money.
Well, when I left in 2021, I gave most of it away or sold it for 1/10th the price.
I was too consumed by my personal battles to grieve the loss of any of it. Or maybe my mind was protecting me from any further anguish. When I finally got better, I realized that none of it mattered as much as the sense of liberation I felt from not being attached to material possessions.
While living with my parents, I never felt a sense of ownership to anything because, after all, it was their house, not mine. Perhaps again my mind was shielding me from future pain.
Fortunately I had started traveling which very gently taught me that detachment is something to appreciate and not fear.
All of this came full circle last year when I moved into my apartment in Chicago.
I had brought nothing but two suitcases with me.
On day 1, I started with the absolute basics – a table, a chair, and a mattress.
On day 2, I went to Target and bought a few essentials.
I was building my new home slowly. Buying what I deemed essential. When you have no income stream for 18 months, it's not easy to spend your money on things you don't absolutely need.
Slowly my apartment started to look half-decent. I was proud of myself.
Buying only items that gave me joy - cue Marie Kondo - gave me a sense of control. Not being attached to things gave me a sense of freedom.
At times, I miss my old stuff, my old life. After all, it was mine. I wonder who must be using my things now. Can I never attach myself to anything material I own?
Maybe that is the cost of freedom, or an attempt at owning it. As well as the cost of "figuring out" your life again and again.
📍 On day 1 in my apartment in Chicago
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