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After three months in Manhattan and two years in Brooklyn, it’s time to move on to the next borough. My life as a nomad — “18 trash bag moves since high school,” would read my slogan — continues on to Queens.
John and I are going to take our living-in-sin operation to Astoria, where our brand-new building is still being finished. Our place will have a washer and dryer, a balcony and a dishwasher, which, if you’re a certain type of city dweller, is the revised Holy Grail/American Dream. Our building has a roof deck on top and a beer garden nearby. And, crucially, we won’t go broke to live in relative comfort. I don’t think I’ve been this excited about schlepping all of my stuff to (yet another) part of the city in a long time.
I made a job switch earlier this year, and I haven’t looked back. I feel the same way about the move from BK to Queens. Yes, Brooklyn has a beautiful, gritty charm, and some parts of that I’ll miss. I enjoy how leafy certain blocks are (including the one around the corner from my Sunset Park apartment, leading up to the park, where I like to lie in the sun). I love Saturdays and Sundays spent brunching with friends in sunny areas of Clinton Hill or Crown Heights. I like the rooftops and the quiet and the $4 iced coffee (no, really, I do). If John had been down with living in Sunset Park another year — he wasn’t, since our commutes to Midtown are an hour — I would’ve been fine with it.
But … we’re moving! To a neighborhood with a great mix of cultures, amenities and things for us to explore. John is really excited, and that makes me so happy. I want him to love NYC as much as I do. And if a washer and dryer doesn’t work, nothing will. (Just kidding … not really.)