I was babysitting for a nice family in the mission district. It was a beautiful lazy Saturday and there was no place I would have rather been at the time. The four-year-old girl I was babysitting wanted to be lazy, too, and to stay in watching cartoons for a while, so I obliged. Walking down the long, narrow hallway on my way to the kitchen to retrieve Goldfish (partly for her and mostly for me), I looked up at the crown molding and, below it, the strips of sunlight shining through onto the chestnut hardwood floors. Used to the slightly more foggy and drab Inner Richmond neighborhood, I delighted to feel warmth tickle my face as I walked through the parts of the house where the sun shone in through the windows.
Pouring myself a glass of water in what could only be described as the most immaculate kitchen I’ve ever seen (think modern minimalist style, a wolf range that inspires you to challenge your cooking abilities, and a sink you could bathe a toddler in), I stopped to think. This whole time I’ve been thinking about moving apartments, I had forgotten that the best things in life are those that present themselves and are not entirely searched out.
You know how you sometimes see those couples who seem so peanut butter-and-chocolate perfect for each other, you just want to hug them, or slap them, or both? How you can just tell they’re in love, and they don’t even have to flaunt it, because they know they are the best thing to happen to each other? Well.
What if finding the right apartment is like finding the right person? When I see couples like that I usually get the feeling that a perfect match is worth the wait and, more importantly, can’t be forced. I know I’ll have to pay a cardiac arrest-inducing amount of money for any apartment I declare perfect, but what I’m really talking about here is waiting for the right apartment to show itself. Maybe I’ll find something from a friend of a friend, or maybe I’ll meander through Craigslist one day mindlessly and actually spot something I want to check out. Regardless, I can’t move into a new place just because I am bored and like change. I can’t move just because I want to be somewhere fun. And I can’t move into a place where I do not feel warm and cozy and happy. I might not have a Wolf Range, but if I can find somewhere with a good roommate and a little bit of sun, that is worth waiting for.
Apartment hunting still sucks, though.