How to Make Empty Nesters
Step 1: Move away from home while your two younger sisters are at college. Congrats, you have now made empty nesters!
What these instructions don’t illuminate is exactly how hard the lone step is, both mentally and physically. The following epic includes trips to three different IKEA stores, three failed jump starts, and another Olivia.
My moving out journey started once I realized exactly how annoying it is to commute via Metro North into NYC. There are only so many strangers I want to sleep fitfully in front of. The pandemic strengthened the desire to move when I realized that being in the city during quarantine still offers more activity than being in suburbia during quarantine, especially in a town without sidewalks.
I came close to moving back in August. I met two girls for dinner—potential roommates—and we hit it off. Not twenty-four hours later, the deal was off. I’ll save you the story, but it includes an aunt’s friend and cold feet. I am not sour about this incident at all, though it did sour my view of finding random roommates. I went through a dark period of looking at dinky studios that I could not afford.
But then, a shining light through the fog—another Olivia who also liked karaoke. That’s how she broke the ice. And now this 670sf apartment belongs to the both of us.
It’s never easy to leave home. And I know this time wasn’t as hard for me as it was for my parents. We lost our family dog in June, and two months later my sisters left for college. The house was already feeling empty, but I can say that I did a good job of filling it. I have a wonderful, loving relationship with my parents. And because I am empathetic to a fault, the hardest part of leaving them was knowing how much they’d miss me. Just today, my dad sent a picture of the empty dining room chair where I had worked for six months.
Unfortunately, moving out is a part of becoming whatever a grown-up is. It has to be done. Whatever. I did it. Happy?
A couple FaceTimes later, Olivia and I shook virtual hands and hunted for a place. That part is not exciting. Spoiler: we found one.
Shifting metaphorical gears entirely, I want to talk a little bit about IKEA. Due to the global pandemic, even when stores opened, there were no Brimneses or Nordlis to be found. One morning, there were twelve Alex desks in stock, and by the end of my work day, there were none. A five dollar bracket to hang my nightstand would only restock in a month. And so on.
My parents and I bought the nightstand in Jersey. When the bed suddenly came in stock, my dad and I drove to Connecticut. And then that five dollar bracket appeared back on shelves, my dad took a solo pilgrimage to Long Island. Needless to say, I settled for the back-up dresser from Amazon.
When moving day came around, we hopped into two packed cars. My mom and I pulled out of the driveway. Before we made it out of our neighborhood, my dad called. Naturally, the other car was not starting. The jump start failed (we tried three times). So moving day ultimately started with a trip to The Home Depot to rent a cargo van.
We arrived in NYC around 10:15. All of my shit went van + car -> sidewalk -> inside service entrance -> elevator -> apartment. And it was all HEAVY, and I think I pulled my left bicep, and my dad was too sore to bend down and place a golf ball on a tee the following day. 12:30ish (I don’t quite remember): everything is inside the apartment. I’ve met Olivia and her dad. There are nine boxes of furniture that need to be assembled. My parents did not bid me farewell until 11:30. For dinner, we ate pizza on the floor.
It was a perfectly hectic and exhausting day. So much happened that I had little time to think about the magnitude of the step I was taking. Sure, I have lived away from home before, but that was under the eye of an institution called college and then a foreign institution called more college but British. Room and board does NOT equal rent and waiting in line for a half hour to get into Trader Joe’s and then eating leftover pizza anyway.
Life has begun at a pace and a level of expectation unlike anything that came before. Tomorrow morning, I will be picking up my job right where I left it at my dining room table. Only now, it takes place at a desk that only two days ago was in a dozen pieces.
When you are younger, you think of a time in the abstract future in which you will be moving out, living alone. Well folks, it’s arrived. In the words of Kurt Vonnegut—and subsequently my college graduation cap—so it goes.