how to: move back into your childhood bedroom
Something happened this year that many of us did not expect. Sorry… let me try that again.
A few things happened this year that many of us did not expect. No? Okay. One more time. Pretty much everything that happened this year was something that many of us did not expect. Many of us began the year feeling like they could take on the world, book that dream job, reach their fitness goals… and then of course, the plot twisted. Amidst the whole getting furloughed or laid off entirely thing, many of us also ended up moving back in with our parents. For people of all ages - college students to recent grads to thirty-somethings - it was a shock. Fast forward. It’s been eight months. Many people have since moved back and tried to regain a semblance of their pre-pandemic lives. Good for them.
Others have stayed. I have no idea why. Seems strange right? Wrong. I’m totally kidding. If you read the title of this, you’ve gathered that. (I hope.) Much to my own surprise, I too, have stuck around! I have no idea why! I’m kidding again. My somewhat soul-sucking jobs in the city both closed up shop back in March. The non-toxic suburban air cleared up my remaining acne. Despite pandemic limitations, my social life is somehow more fulfilling than it’s been in years. No rent. Big bathtub. It’s been okay. I realize this has not been the case for many. I’m very lucky.
The fact is a logical one: I don’t actually plan on moving into a new apartment in New York in the dead of winter. That considered, I figured that it was time to maybe, actually… at long last… settle in. Here is my guide on how to do so. I’m moving back into my childhood bedroom. I’ve clearly been putting this off. Let’s see how long it lasts.
First is the most important thing. Above all else, before doing anything - I cannot emphasize this enough - wait six months. At least. I repeat: six months.
If you find yourself having no place to put your clothes because your mother decided to move into your closet, a good place to start is by throwing out old t-shirts. Think travel soccer, middle school plays, homecomings, etc.. BUT! Keep the ones that spark joy, which are approximately 75% of them.
Aesthetically, the walls probably need some updating. Try replacing the cork board of distressing Bat Mitzvah photo booth pictures with the disposables from this summer’s trip to the Poconos which you are glad you have because you barely remember any of it.
Remember when you moved out of your apartment like three months ago? Swap your twin bed for the double sitting in your storage unit. You have a boyfriend. Sure, for a few months it was hilarious to have sex in the bed you got your first period in, but the mattress is just uncomfortable. You’re an adult and you can do better.
Vacuum?
Find the literal remnants of your first drug deal. Think about how far you’ve come since buying dime bags and smoking a homemade water bottle bong out of your bathroom window with a towel shoved under the door, preferably while smoking a real bong out of your bedroom window. No towel necessary.
Eat a snack, or three. I like to go sweet, savory, sweet. It’s really exciting.
Try on an old bathing suit. Regret
Try on a second old bathing suit. Surprise
Spend no less than one hour reading old diaries on the floor.
Mourn your youth
Listen to Taylor Swift while mourning your youth. (Old, not new. Should go without saying.)
Shove a drawer uncomfortably full of papers from college that you hope will one day remind you of what it was like to have a fully functioning brain. Even if you never look at them again - and you won’t - it’s nice to just have them.
Complain about how much shit you have. Remember you are lucky to have so much shit and shut the fuck up.
When you inevitably find an article of clothing belonging to your high school boyfriend, consider how throwing it out is actually throwing out a part of yourself and your past. Just keep that in mind.
Talk to yourself in the mirror
Give up and make this list
Try again tomorrow
I think that’s pretty comprehensive. But I’d love to hear your tips, because obviously I’m still not done. Are we ever done moving? Well, as a wise woman has said every morning for the past eight months: one day at a time. That’s enough.
(It’s me. I said it.)
Love,