Today, my sister rented her first apartment all by herself, no roommates. And I’m very proud of her. I remember that day for me: when I finally got my own place. It was bare – no furniture at all for a few weeks before I went and opened a line of credit at Furniture Row. I remember every day being so proud to come home to my apartment, even if it was empty, because it was all mine. No one to share the dryer or the cost of rent with, everything was my own responsibility. I loved that.
And I think today I might have been even more excited than she was: immediately suggesting we go look at Furniture Row and talking about how she can get a bike now. I am glad she asked me to go look at apartments with her, and I was happy with the one she picked (the same taste as me). I am a bit envious of her gym and the fact that her apartment has racquetball courts and an indoor basketball court. I had a twinge of nostalgia – just for a second – and even a twinge of envy, despite the fact I own a home.
So here we are: talking about paint colors and how to hang heavy mirrors. Bonding over a new shared love of furniture. Stuck with the same problem of buying something bulky and not being able to transport it in a two-door car. Both wondering why there isn’t a registry for single people who get their own place. This, to me, is the true test of adulthood. If you can live on your own, no roommates, single income, and survive, there isn’t much you can’t do. Well, I guess there are some larger tests in life, but this is one many people never hurdle, or even attempt to.