last week i read an article about the history of the apartment in new york and it's had me thinking about what it means to live here.
as it is anywhere, making a home here has been very much a ritual. the unpacking of the boxes, the hanging of the pictures, the scouting of the neighborhood coffeehouse. but it's more than that. my sense of space has been redefined since moving into a studio and i don't need near as much as i thought.
choosing an apartment was to choose a neighborhood and a particular corner of the city to experience each day. and there are the neighbors: the woman just below me hardly ever shuts her door and sometimes offers my friends cookies when they come to visit, the little boy downstairs is on broadway, and the lady on the first floor sings "row, row, row your boat" to her baby in the mornings.
the tiny space, the people i share it with...it's all part of the story.