This weekend, my boyfriend and I were down in Virginia visiting his parents, chit-chatting about his upcoming move to New York from Connecticut. I’m coming up on my 10-year anniversary as a resident of NYC — which apparently makes me “official” — and occasionally think about the other places I might like to live before I put down serious roots (i.e. have kids). I love New York so much, but I also fantasize about glamourous things I can’t get here (well, without serious money), like a backyard with a grill, a garden, and a hammock. My BF is eventually going to be applying to graduate school and while I’m definitely trying not to get ahead of myself, as far as our relationship is concerned, knowing this has made me consider my own willingness to move out of NYC — with or without him. Keep reading »
Tag Archives: moving
It’s time again for “Dear Wendy Updates,” a feature where people I’ve given advice to in the past let us know whether they followed the advice and how they’re doing today. After the jump, we hear from “Conflicted About Moving,” whose boyfriend dumped her after she quit her job to move with him. Luckily, she was able to get her job back, but her boyfriend reunited with her and asked her to quit her job again to move for her. “He’s suggesting I leave a resignation letter the day of and never return, but that’s just not my style.” she wrote. “Is it fair to quit my job twice within a week’s time? What would you do?” I told her to dump the guy of course, and after the jump, you’ll find out whether she followed my advice and how she’s doing now. Keep reading »
“Do you love her?” I finally asked my ex in the midst of our screaming match last late night. He paused for a minute. I could hear him breathing deeply over the phone line, slow and steady—he could have been at a yoga studio, contorted and wearing orange spandex, or practicing Lamaze breathing for the birth of his first child. Instead, he was verbally (and angrily) tracing the end of our relationship. The truth of his new relationship had been so obscured in various manipulations, that despite approaching a year of us not dating I really had no idea where “they” were.
“Yes,” he said, and my heart grew very still. Somewhere after he listed the third or fourth reason why she was better than me, I interrupted, “Stop. Just. Stop. I can’t do this with you anymore.” I hung up the phone, curled up in bed, and went to sleep. Keep reading »
I was 5 years old the first time I threw on a pair of heels, packed a suitcase and informed my mother that I was moving out. At age 10, I boarded a plane to swim camp and never looked back. My father, worried, followed me on board to make sure I was fine—I was horrified by his intrusion. By the time I reached 12, I’d begun fantasizing about boarding school and begged my parents to send me away soon after. At age 15, I volunteered in Venezuela for the entire summer—I left a few days after the school year ended and returned home a mere week before classes began again.
The summer of 1998 is rarely mentioned. That was the summer my parents parted ways and I flew between Tennessee and California roughly a dozen times in three months. Keep reading »
Recently, I rented a new apartment. But, oops! I got rid of 90 percent of my stuff before I relocated. Now I have three suitcases, five boxes, and various technology devices to my name, and an apartment to fill. Here’s the thing: I don’t want to fill this thankfully small apartment, but there are some things I do need. My list always starts with a can opener, a hammer, and some nails. What are your apartment essentials? Keep reading »
This November, I’m moving in with my boyfriend, and it will be my third time living with a significant other. Needless to say, the first two times didn’t work out. At 22, my first love moved into my already furnished apartment; we split soon after. Later, at 25, my ex and I signed a lease for a one-bedroom in upper Manhattan. We had basically no furniture, so we embarked on an adventure to the Ikea in Paramus, New Jersey. That was the beginning of our demise. Keep reading »
Over the weekend, my husband and I moved from our cramped, rundown, one-bedroom apartment near crowded Times Square in Manhattan, to a spacious, gut-rehabbed, state-of-the-art two-bedroom brownstone on a quiet, tree-lined street in Brooklyn. To say I’m happier in the new place would be an understatement. It’s as if I’d eaten McDonald’s hamburgers — not even cheeseburgers or Big Macs or Quarter Pounders, but regular ol’ tiny, boring, junk-food hamburgers — at every meal for the last several years and now I’m suddenly sitting down to delicious, nutritious, home-cooked meals of the finest cuts of meat and freshest veggies whenever I’m hungry. It wasn’t easy getting from one place to another though, both literally and metaphorically. It was a long time coming, and in the weeks leading up to the move — the very first move Drew and I have ever made together — I wondered if we’d even make it to our first wedding anniversary next month. Few things in life challenge a relationship quite like moving does, but I’m happy to report we survived the hurdle. Keep reading »
Four months ago I moved from Europe to NYC to be with my long distance boyfriend. Before then, we had been going out for about six months, sending lovey emails and Skype-ing for hours every day. About five months into the relationship I told him I loved him and he went all silent and weird and only told me that he loved me back three weeks later when I said I needed to know. Well, a few weeks after I moved he told me he “had to be honest” with me and said he didn’t think he was in love with me after all. He said he was still hurt by his ex — they were together for five years and engaged, but they broke up two years ago! So we split up for two weeks but got back together when he told me he DID love me, and that things had just been moving so fast etc. I still wasn’t sure he was in love with me and I constantly nagged him to tell me he was. He withdrew emotionally and I pulled away, which made him become very sweet and attentive again and for the past month or so has been the perfect boyfriend. My problem is: he never tells me I am the one; he rarely tells me he loves me or compliments me (outside the bedroom); and I don’t feel like he is really in love with me. I am just so incredibly worried that he’s only with me because I’m really good on paper. By now I am not even sure now if I love him. I feel amazing when I’m with him, but when I’m alone I’m just obsessed about this in-love business and I don’t trust my instincts or feelings about anything anymore. I am in a really horrible downward spiral, in a brand new city with a job I love, but very few friends and no family. I feel very lonely and like I’ve totally lost my grip on the situation. I no longer feel like the strong, independent, beautiful woman I know I once was and I am not sure if it’s something in me or something in my relationship. — Losing It
I have been with my boyfriend for five years and we get along fairly well and are happy together. We live together in LA. He moved here from the east coast about four years ago for our relationship, which he reminds of every time we argue (regardless of what we’re arguing about). He’s been telling me for four years that he really wants to go back east and wants me to go with him — even just temporarily. I have very close family here and recently finished graduate school and started my career and would have to pass an exam to be able to practice my work on his coast. He, however, can work from anywhere. I’ve told him I’d go out east with him temporarily — a few months — but that I don’t want to live there permanently. He now says he wants me to commit to living the summers there … and it’s the only way he can move forward with us (I’m in no rush to move forward, but definitely want a future with him). It’s ludicrous to live on two coasts and would be a major sacrifice in terms of my career. I want him to be happy, but I just know I won’t be happy living there permanently and I don’t think living there part-time is realistic. — West Coast or Bust
In exactly 11 days, something very exciting is happening in my life and relationship: My husband and I are finally moving out of his bachelor pad and into a new apartment. When I moved in nearly three years ago, I never expected to stay here this long. In fact, when I initially moved to New York from Chicago, I only meant to stay in Drew’s apartment long enough to find a job and a place of my own. Things changed, though, and Drew and I quickly realized we really enjoyed living together. So I stayed. Even after I finally found work and could afford to get my own place, it seemed dumb for us to live apart when what we wanted was to be together. And for awhile it made sense to stay in Drew’s bachelor pad here in Manhattan. Even though he’d lived here for 13 years already — since he was 24 — the apartment was a great space in a convenient location (especially for someone brand-new to the city), with one of those controlled rents you normally only hear about in urban legends. But now it’s time to go. Keep reading »