The Mandarin Barbecue Beef sat unopened, congealing on the table next to a half pint container of white rice. We had ordered take out so that we would be home in time to receive the call; however, as we sat in quiet anticipation, neither of us could eat. The excitement growing in our stomachs like weeds in a garden had temporarily suppressed our appetites. Each minute felt longer than the last, and this unexpected holding pattern compelled me to question the sagacity of our “final offer.” In desperation, I decided to take a more proactive approach. I stared at the phone, secretly willing it to ring, until, to my surprise, my telepathic powers delivered. In a voice that did not require the speaker- phone feature, I heard Susan, our agent, say the words that we were longing to hear, “Congratulations. We have a deal.” As I celebrated the good news with a generous serving of my favorite meal, I had no idea how those five words, as well as a new five- digit zip code, would change my life.
This weekend will mark the one-year anniversary of that fateful night and the culmination of a whirlwind year. Within one week of receiving the bittersweet call, and seemingly before either my meal or the news were fully digested, a team of professional movers, armed with large corrugated boxes and multiple rolls of packing tape, descended upon our apartment like a massive swarm of locust, travelling room by room until every inch of it was stripped bare. Nothing escaped their grasp, and to this day, I am humored by the absurd sight of these burly men wrapping multiple sheets around a foam beverage cozy, a souvenir from the DUB auto show. By the time the sound of the tape separating from its roll had ceased, the walls were devoid of any personality, and our apartment was as drab as a hospital waiting room, a far cry from the warm and inviting place that it had been. As I surveyed the boxes, neatly stacked by the door, I saw a few marked “G’s room,” and for one brief moment I felt my stomach churn as reality and fear invaded my senses like bone-chilling water. Tucked away in those boxes were seventeen years of memories, representing my carefully developed sense of home, self, and community. However, these were just things from my past, and my future in Boston promised to be far more exhilarating.
As soon as we crossed the threshold of 5B, we were sold, but we were not sure how flexible the owners would be, so we continued to pursue all of our options. Located in a family-friendly neighborhood, the first condo we saw was close to baseball fields, tennis courts and public transportation. A particularly enticing ad for the property mentioned a “view of the reservoir,” and to illustrate the point included a dramatic picture of the sun setting over it. Yet, when we toured the unit, we were disappointed to discover, that the reservoir could only be seen from the porch… so long as somebody was holding your feet. Next, we visited a home a few blocks from our old apartment. We called it “the Tumbull Estate” because compared to the two bedroom condos we were viewing this home had four bedrooms, a finished basement, and an expansive lawn. It also required too much maintenance, so we passed. Then it was off to the 20th floor of The Clarendon, a luxury high rise, boasting spectacular views of the city and impressive amenities such as a roof deck, exercise room, library, and indoor play space, all of which were offered at a pretty spectacular price. Finally, we circled back to 5B, where a well-dressed concierge effused about the building before our agent arrived. As the door swung open, I was struck by the finishes: marble foyer, Brazilian Cherry floors, granite countertops, stainless appliances as well as the quintessential views of the Boston Common, State House, and Park Plaza. Negotiations resembled a competitive tennis match as numbers were volleyed back and forth, before both teams agreed to a draw.
In the months following the closing, painters, cable installers, electricians, and furniture delivery men worked tirelessly to help make our new home our own. As the rooms became filled with comfortable, modern furniture and art, our vision for our condo was taking shape. Yet, despite my excitement over the progress, I couldn’t shake a hollow feeling that enveloped me without warning. I knew that there would be changes. For example, my commute, which previously took me five minutes from door to door, now ranges from twenty-five minutes on a good day to an hour, if there is an accident on Storrow Drive. Some drivers are less than welcoming, jockeying for a better position, while leaving me stranded at the lights. Cabbies are notorious for this. On one busy morning, a particularly charming driver even offered me the one-finger salute. After a few sleepless nights, I have adjusted to the bright lights and unfamiliar sounds of the city. Nestled comfortably in my king-size bed, the P&B bus that roars around the corner at 4:00 am no longer disturbs me from my slumber, and the recently installed light darkening shades combat the early morning rays. On one especially clear night, as the light reflected brilliantly off of the State House dome, I had an epiphany. I realized that a home is so much more than breathtaking views, desirable amenities, or fine Italian-made furnishings. Instead; memories, people, and surroundings shape our lives and give them meaning. As I made the transition to the city, I underestimated the importance of community, as well as the sense of belonging and acceptance that I derived from my life in Brookline. Although our new home is only six miles from our old one, it feels more like one hundred. I miss George, who treats every customer at Bernard’s like an old friend; Sil, who is never too busy to stitch a hem; John D, who ensures that our cars are in perfect condition; Tammi, who knows that I like a tall caramel macchiatos with extra shots of caramel, but only on Saturdays and never on a race day; as well as John and Henry, who offer me ample encouragement as I run around Jamaica Pond. With my change of zip codes, I have gained valuable insight. It is natural to cling to what is familiar, but it is equally important to forge new relationships and explore different surroundings. Consequently, as I adapt to my present life, I resolve to create a community similar to the one I left behind, beginning with an order of Honey Crispy Chicken from my new neighbor, P.F. Chang’s.