While we were traipsing around New Jersey over the holidays our friends asked if Austin felt like “home.”
Three and a half months in I had to respond with, “No, not yet.”
“Austin feels like the place I live. All my stuff is there. My life is currently there. I have a routine. But we rent our apartment. We leased our new car. I haven’t yet established my career in Austin. So none of it feels permanent. At the moment, there’s nothing tying me to Austin specifically.”
Before we left New Jersey this fall, several of our friends purchased their suburban homes. Their families had grown and required more space than Hoboken afforded since none of them were in a position to buy a brownstone. As we did our farewell tour in July and August, we had the opportunity to see these “new” homes. Rooms were occupied by boxes. Walls were covered with evidence of previous owners. Bathrooms were pink. Landscaping overgrown.
Despite the outdated wall coverings and haphazard furniture arrangements, it was clear our friends were settling into their houses. As they showed us around they all talked about their short and long-term plans to transform these houses into homes – tearing down walls, remodeling bathrooms, opening up kitchens, adding garages. While I was super excited for them, I was also a bit jealous of the permanence and planning it allowed.
During our holiday reunion tour, our friends’ houses now felt like their homes. Walls had been repainted, bathrooms updated, rooms furnished, pictures hung, landscaping tamed. Our friends had invested their time and energy customizing the interiors and exteriors to fit their styles and needs. They were invested – financially and emotionally.
I was invested in our apartment in Hoboken. Sure the floors squeaked. The windows were old and drafty. The dishwasher moaned when you opened it. But it was our apartment. Indefinitely. Because we owned it. It had a history. When I had moved in almost ten years earlier there was no money leftover to furnish it beyond the bare essentials. There also wasn’t a renovation budget so “updates” were limited to painting and new bathroom vanities. Over time, and with lots of trips to Homegoods, it became an apartment I was proud of, despite its character flaws.
Now we’re in this great apartment in Austin. The building is only two years old. It’s quiet. The window coverings don’t sway when there is a strong wind. There’s a pool, outdoor grills, and a roof deck. We’re located right next to Zilker Park, and within two minutes of the Butler Hike and Bike Trail. Even though I hate the refrigerator (seriously, who thinks side-by-side fridges are a good idea?), I really love everything else about it. That said, I’m not invested in it at all.
We may leave at the end of our lease. Or maybe we’ll stay two years and then try another part of town. Whether we stay one year or ten years is irrelevant. The point is we won’t be staying here, in this apartment, forever. I don’t look around and think, “Someday I would like to…” That’s a giant shift in my mental state. When I lived in Hoboken I used to tell my mother that I could die in my apartment. I wasn’t trying to be dark. I was being realistic. Functionally, it had everything my husband and I needed. Actually, it had more than we needed. So there was no reason to leave other than boredom or ego…and after almost a decade it was boredom that inspired us to relocate.
So while I’m planning my immediate future in Austin, I don’t expect it to feel like “home” until we’re invested in a more permanent residence.