Have you ever felt like you’ve accomplished something you’ve wanted forever? It may even be the slightest victory, like coloring your hair the perfect brunette, or turning the last page of a novel you’ve been reading for weeks. Well, my hair will never be the color I’ve always wanted it to be (hair stylist recommendations, anyone?) and, even after being on the Dean’s List at Columbia University twice (hair flip) I still don’t think I’ve felt true accomplishment in my 25 years of living.
Until now.
Here I am, sitting on my balcony and drinking green tea, feeling a feeling I’ve never felt before. I’ve accomplished what I’ve so badly wanted for these past 11 months: I have officially moved in with my boyfriend Jonathan.
Our apartment is perfect, and I’m not exaggerating. Okay, so I probably am, considering the fact that the stairway up the apartment looks like an unfinished abandoned club entrance and there is no elevator to make getting up here any easier. But for me, this apartment is everything. The couch sits perfectly in the tiny living room, across from a slightly beat up dresser with a picture of Jonathan and me resting effortlessly on it. The kitchen cabinets are the most pleasant shade of cream, and even the cables sprung out all over the place where the TV will soon stand look vintage and hip in my eyes.
As I’m writing now, I feel the urge to describe how lucky I feel, because aren’t we lucky? Living in this gorgeous apartment, starting a new life together? But no, LUCK LITERALLY HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. It’s been two days that Jonathan and I have been living together, and already every one of my girlfriends is quick to note how lucky I am, how lucky he is, or some combination of both. As if luck is the sole reason this beautiful, intelligent man simply waltzed into my life, fell deeply in love with me, and decided that he wants to move in together, now. That is certainly not luck.
That takes persistence! Sacrifice! Focus! It takes communication and letting your guard down. It takes confidence. It takes knowing how to stand your ground, but also knowing when to apologize. It takes maturity and risk. Not luck.
Let me assure you that I put effort into Jonathan and I becoming a serious couple, a couple that considers taking things to the next level and sharing a home together. Of course, the spark was there, and when you know it’s right, you just know. But regardless, I had a goal in mind: to cast a spell over him and hope he falls head over heels with what I hoped was my impossibly irresistible personality and emoji-peach level a**.
Of course, the feminist in me is screaming at the top of her lungs as I’m typing. SO WHAT? YOU MOVED IN WITH YOUR BOYFRIEND? THAT IS YOUR “ACHIEVEMENT”? WHAT ABOUT SOMETHING THAT PUSHES YOU FORWARD AS A CAREER WOMAN AND WRITER? THIS IS NOT HOW I RAISED YOU!
Yes, of course, I have dreams and goals and thousands of plans and ideas leading me straight to them. I know I’ll be a successful writer one day signing books and leading workshops and achieving what some may call real goals. But let’s face it. What is all of that worth without somebody to come home to? Somebody to hug, to inhale, to laugh with at the end of the day. Even if he does leave his socks in the middle of the living room sometimes. I can guarantee that every successful career person is not truly happy to unlock the door to an extravagant apartment, merely to find it empty and cold.
So, yes, I officially live with my boyfriend and I am accomplished.
And that, you guys, is not luck.
It’s love.
Kisses,
SGK
