apartment therapy changing the world, one room at a time

I am a big believer in housing karma - you absolutely will find a better place. I found my condo (first time home owner! yay!) when I had already decided to make an offer on another, more pedestrian place - my realtor suggested we check out one last open house just as a goof and it was perfect - fell in love the minute I walked in.

You will find another great home.

you're really taking this positively - and i think for that reason alone you'll find a great new space after you return from traveling (jealousy, oy!)

my family has lived in midwood & old midwood for 4 generations (thassalongtime!) & ditmas park is definitely my most favorite area to stroll through (ok, second to brooklyn heights) - actually, i was going to take photos today around the area but the silly constant drizzling has kept me homebound. i suck.

anyway, i have no stories good or bad but i do wish you lots of happiness wherever you are :)

You will find an amazing new home. And it will be different, but oddly better :). My story is that our landlord at our Brooklyn 1 bedroom/studio decided to raise our rent and gave notice three weeks before our lease was up. He didn't raise it much, but enough that we felt we had to look elsewhere. If we were gonna pay more, we needed a space with doors! The same morning that he notified us of a rent increase, we went hunting. We looked at a few places, but nothing we loved. Since we had to move quickly, we were almost ready to just settle and stay put, dealing with the rent increase. But, the last place we looked at that day was perfect - exactly what we were looking for. The next morning, the owner offered us the space.

Within 24 hours of our landlord telling us of a rent increase, we had found a new dream home! We move in next week and we're already sure it's our new "perfect" home.

Sorry about your apartment, it is really beautiful. Here's my story of housing luck:

Last time I had to move, I desperately wanted my own place - no more roommates! - but I'm on a tight budget, couldn't afford much rent, and didn't have a lot of savings for the fees etc - plus my credit's not great. Not good!

I answered an ad from a no-fee realtor on craigslist, figuring that either the no fee thing was some kind of scam, and/or the apartment would be horrible. Turned out the apartment was so much nicer than anything else I could afford, the realtor was legit, and he took a liking to me and took up my cause with the landlord in spite of my iffy credit. I got a good-sized one bedroom that I like and can afford. It's even just three blocks away from my best friend! And it was only the second place (out of three - the other two were HORRID) that I looked at, so I was spared a long, stressful apartment search. If that's not karma looking out for me, I don't know what is!

I hope your apartment search goes just as smoothly.

hats off to you for choosing to only focus on the positive.

we were living in what i thought was our dream house, a 1920s bungalow on lake michigan that we had spent the last two years lovingly restoring. a series of events starting with an attempted break-in in the middle of the night (then major career change, car accidents, etc.) that were probably some of our most challenging months. anyways, fast forward 2 years later. . .we're now living in an amazing town, have connected with a wonderful community of friends and our careers are headed in a great direction.

what we learned was exactly that, at the end of a day, a house is just walls and shelter and what is most important are people in your life. what an amazing opportunity for the two of you to travel together for 3 months! i bet that is something you would have never considered possible unless something like this came up. . .but what an amazing experience that will be!

I think it is great that you love your current place for what you have done to it - this makes it likely that wherever you end up, you will be able to make it equally awesome.

I don't have a real housing story to relate, but I do have a mantra: make every change an upgrade. This goes for moving, for rearranging furniture, for painting - one often feels compelled by circumstances to change things, and that's the best time to also make them better. I hate the idea of anyone coming into my home and saying what great potential my home has. I would much rather hear, "It's amazing what you've done with the place!"

Your ability to turn this lemon into lemonade is inspirational!!

Indeed. Travel for three months instead of one sounds tremendous. (Could be good timing, no?)

Anyone who creates beautiful home(s) is often going to need a "push" factor to move. But you will certainly do it again. Warmest happiest is something you take with you.

I'm at home today, packing with my husband for our move later this week. It's hard...and very emotional. We are in an apartment that we love (it's beautiful, high ceilings, 500 year old timbers in the ceiling) but also deceptively expensive (lack of insulation, can hear full conversations b/w neighbors, the bar/restaurant that is opening beneath us). Add to that a bad cold and sinus infection and I'm feeling overwhelmed at best.

What has made the weekend better was the satisfaction of finding new homes for items we can no longer use and that will not fit in our new nest. A friend came by and just took 6 wine glasses and 4 champagne flutes. Another was overjoyed with the salad choppers I have not used in two years. "I can't believe you have never used these!" she exclaimed with such joy from having this new kitchen gadget. Another friend neatly packed up two serving platters and promised a cheese plate next time we have dinner at her apartment. As I sit here I am listening to the two "men with a van" who have come to take out our couch for another friend. (I wanted to warn them of the challenging time the delivery people had getting it in, a move so intense I tipped them 2X what I had planned!)

It's hard to let go of a place so beautiful that has come to be our home over the past few years. But I feel like it is something we have to do in order to grow. My husband is thinking of grad school, I have student loans, and the cost of our un-insulated home is too high. It's painful but necessary. (Damn these beams for being so lovely!) It's hard when you put so much of yourself into a space...I'll miss it but am hopeful that someday I will own a nest of my own. For now though, I'll enjoy the minestrone soup my friend just brought me in exchange for the box of glasses she took. Warm soup and good friends, makes me feel better already. : )

Wishing you all the best in your move and upcoming adventures.

Miniature Dance Party, another thought that I can also relate to and I like your words of encouragement above. As we look around, we realize that it's a beautiful space but it is really the unique touches we have added that have made it such an amazing home. It's the small things like dimmer switches and the bigger things like a sliding door we designed and built. I'll think of your words above when I'm sitting among the boxes in my new apartment later this week! : )

"When man closes a door -- God opens a window" or "When man closes a window -- God opens a door." I once heard that the Chinese symbol for crises and opportunity are the same. Either way the glass is half full or half empty. Best of luck and enjoy the search.

When I landed my first job out of college, I had exactly two days to find an apartment. We were moving long-distance and didn't know anything about the area. The recruiter for the new job happened to mention the apartment complex she'd stayed at for several years, so I checked it out with several others. It was the only one that was even remotely suitable, and I'm so glad she mentioned it, otherwise we'd never have found it. We've really enjoyed living here.

What amazes me about New York is that the poor supply creates both desperation and inertia which allows landlords to get incredible materials and labour investments from their tenants. I don't think anywhere else in North America would you have people rent a fixer-upper and fix it up just to leave all of their investment behind. Your contributions actually increased the sale value of the building, and thereby helped to push you out!

And sorry VickyA, but your Chinese still needs some work. :)

Shannon--

Sorry to hear about the life disruption (but good to see you, albeit so briefly, at the CB2 party).

I'm a believer that change happens for a reason, so maybe that offers something of comfort.

But, um, I'm a landlord in another state and 90 days of notice is legally required there fir me to boot out any tenants. Just sayin'.

for

This is the sign that you're supposed to travel. Put the stuff in storage and go for it. The problem will find its solution when you're ready to come back.

I would not be able to do it. Not knowing if I had a home in this RIDICULOUS real estate market would ruin all three months of even the most delightful travel for me.

But this is coming from someone who was in the car on the way to Key West after losing my job that same day. But I was much younger. Does age make one more pragmatic and worrisome? If so, that really sucks.

Hi Shannon.

I been there and I got the story to prove it. OK, so, technically, I guess, the story (see below) doesn't prove anything, but the end result was that I ended up in a better place, anyway, a place that got an Honorable Mention in last spring's Smallest Coolest contest. Change is good, although it's usually a hassle. Best wishes & have a great trip.

Everyone else, feel free to scroll down. W-a-a-a-y down.
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...as printed in the Chicago Reader Ferbruary, 2002...

Perfect


It's New Year's Eve, the windchill in Chicago is near zero, and I'm home--alone--painting. They're expecting 10,000 people for a party at Navy Pier. At midnight, I'll be able to see the fireworks from my windows, but I'm spending the last few hours of the old year putting a coat of black enamel on the window ledge in my apartment: an apartment that will have been gutted and remodeled and rented to strangers long before the next New Year's party begins. For that matter, in less than a month I have to be out of here.

My postwar high-rise building is being renovated, and I and my seventy-some neighbors have been given notice to vacate by February 1st. Lately, the dumpsters have been overflowing every morning. My cousin Jim has already left for California. The Romanian couple across the hall with the handsome baby moved out before Christmas. I'm the only one left on my floor. Mrs. McCann, the friendly woman who lives below me and who's a waitress down on LaSalle Street, is already looking at what she resignedly describes as "old folks' homes". So why in the world am I up here on the last night of the year, striving for a perfect finish on a chunk of wood that's headed for a landfill? That's what my friends want to know.

It's a reasonable question. And my answer for them--and for myself--is that I have to do this. I have to finish what I started. It doesn't matter what happens after I'm gone. What's important is that even if it's only for a few weeks, this apartment will finally be the place I saw in my mind the day I first looked at it, eighteen months ago.

It was a dump. But it was cheap, and it had potential, tons of it. It had, in fact, the potential for perfection. Underneath the matted carpet, under the layers of cheap paint, I saw the apartment as it had once been, and as it could be again: Modern, clean-lined, immaculate. But I saw more than that. Behind the grimy vinyl mini-blinds, sagging from the heat of a Chicago summer, was a view to die for: eighteen feet of windows, with an unbroken vista of the lake, the park, and six miles south, the towers of downtown, shimmering like a mirage in the August haze. It took five minutes to sign a lease.

It took another year to clean the place up. The mini-blinds were the first thing to go, ten minutes after I took possession. I sealed them in garbage bags and stuck them at the back of the hall closet. The carpet was next. In its place went gray rubber tile. I painted the walls a soft gray that matched the floor. It took a while to get all the crank mechanisms working again on the 1950's casement windows, but once I got them open for some fresh air, I started on the ugly job of stripping the windows' metal frames. There were at least a dozen layers of latex paint, most of them brown or off-white. When I finally got down to what was left of the original factory finish, it turned out to be a startling aqua. That meant another week or so to weigh the question of historical accuracy versus the vision in my head. In the end, the vision won. Four coats of silver automotive paint did the trick, buffed down between coats. Now the windows' metal frames and the panels between them gleam like mirrors.

So the gray on the walls matches the gray on the floor, and the window frames reflect the chrome of my 1930's furniture--what little there is. That there isn't very much is exactly the point. Two lounge chairs in gray leather, a desk chair, a side table with a black glass top. No sofa. No dresser. No bed. I sleep on the floor in a sleeping bag that gets tossed into the closet the moment I get up. On the long table in front of the window (a flush door I painted the same black as the window ledge) sit an aluminum lamp, and two pieces by the industrial designer Henry Dreyfuss: a black '500' phone and a little Thermos carafe he designed in 1935. The carafe's gray enamel and brushed metal were the inspiration for the whole place. And that's it. No covering at the windows. No art on the walls. Best of all, no TV. With a view like this, why would I want one?

Not that I am some sort of ascetic: just the opposite, in fact. But then, this isn't my real home. I only live here during the week, while I work in the city. My real home, the upstairs of a big Victorian house, is three hours away down the Illinois River, on the Bluffs of Peoria. Even that place is only a rented apartment, but I lived there for ten years, and I still spend my weekends there. I love it. But it has four generations of my family's history squeezed into seven rooms, and it's filled with antique furniture and paintings and books and rugs and, well, junk. And, like all the places my family lived when I was growing up, it has a lot of potential.

My father worked for the local Chamber of Commerce in a series of Midwestern towns, and we lived in a series of rented houses that were full of potential, that could have been wonderful, but weren't--at least not while we lived there. There was the center-hall Colonial with the flying-saucer chandelier hovering over the pagodas and willow trees on the dining room wallpaper; a huge Craftsman-style house frosted with sugary Fifties pastels; a long, low ranch house with natural redwood paneling--and a big grape-juice stain dead center in the living room carpet.

In all these houses, we lived exactly as what we were: temporary occupants. We seldom painted, and we never changed the curtains, or stripped the paint off the carved woodwork. Why should we? They weren't our houses. That was my parents' view. Why should we put money into fixing up somebody else's property? And so we moved from one not-quite-right place to another for years. They all had potential. But that's as far as it ever went. And I told myself that when I grew up and got a place of my own, I would never, ever move again, and I would never live in a place I didn't love.

So I do love my place in Peoria, my weekend place. My friend Suzan calls it a museum, but it's friendly and comfortable, and it's the kind of place that, if you take off your shoes and leave them in the middle of the floor, well, it's not a problem. Last Sunday's Chicago Tribune, still in its out-of-town wrapper? An empty juice-drink box balanced on the arm of a chair? Oh, well. That's the appeal of the cluttered look--it's very forgiving.

Somehow, though, even though I've had the place for 15 years, it's still just a place with potential. That is, it's still not the place I meant it to be. In fact, sometimes I think it's farther away from that than it was when I moved in. Because it not only still has the same ancient wallpaper--fading just a little more every year, coming a little more unglued from the wall all the time--its seven rooms have in the meantime become like a huge magnet, drawing from vast distances not only the real treasures of my family's history, but also the sad evidence of my ancestors' short attention spans.

I have my great-uncle's half-finished portrait cameo of a man who seems to be President Taft. My grandfather's partly-completed oil paintings are in a closet. My mother's unfinished needlepoint lies in a basket in the book room. And somewhere, there's a box of thank-you notes for her wedding presents, written almost fifty years ago, and stamped and addressed to people who are now all dead. She never got around to mailing them. Who knows why she kept them all those years--maybe to remind herself to do better in the future? If that was her searson, it didn't work. But I'm just as bad. My beautiful 20's sofa, with its fat down cushions and cheerful 30's fabric has to stand against the wall because I never finished the upholstery on the back. And the whole place is like that. No matter where I look, something I see whispers "Finish me!"

That's why my Chicago place means so much. It's a symbol. It represents the tantalizing possibility of actual completion, of something for once finally reaching its potential, of fulfilling its early promise. On foggy mornings I wake up and it's like heaven. Luminous, absolutely calm, and utterly simple: from my vantage point on the floor, no buildings intrude on the sky. There are no plants on the window sill crying out for water. No memos on the refrigerator reminding me of appointments I already missed. The walls match the floor and the floor matches the sky. On some December mornings, even Lake Michigan matches. Everything is silver. Everything is perfect. There's only one problem. On February 1st, it's all over. I'm being cast into the street.

OK, I'm being melodramatic. I'm not really being cast out. In fact, the new owners say they want me to come back after they finish making the improvements. But in the end, the result is the same: I'm outta here. By "improvements" they mean scrapping the beautiful streamlined steel kitchen cabinets with their recessed handles shaped like crescent moons, and replacing them with brand-new oak. They're putting up oak picture moldings, and adding oak chair rails to the beautiful flat planes of my Eisenhower-era walls. They're going to add ceiling fans--and mini-blinds. They assure me it will be a "major upgrade." I don't think so.

No new sliding-track windows, with their clunky metal frames and insulated glass could ever make up for the loss of being able to crank open ninety square feet of window to a Chicago spring breeze. And those flimsy picture moldings will pop right off the wall the first time somebody actually tries to hang a picture from them. No, these guys are going to ruin this place, and there's no stopping them. When they finish, this will be a building with major gender issues, an architectural changeling: a muscular, strapping 1950's high-rise gussied up in unconvincing "Prairie-style" drag.

Of course, we live in chaotic times, and nothing in this world is ever really permanent. The loss of people and places we love is just a sad fact of life, so it's not like I thought I’d be able to live here forever. I always knew I'd have to leave--someday. I just never imagined someday would come so soon. I guess we never do.

At any rate, next month I'm out of here. Still, we don't get many chances in this life to achieve perfection, even on a small scale, so to pass up a chance like this just because the results are doomed to be short-lived seems foolish and petty. And so, I tell my friends, that's why I'll be spending the next few days taking care of the things that still need to be done: touching up the baseboard, and replacing the plastic switch plates with brushed steel. If, in the end, I'm left with nothing but memories anyway, I can at least make sure those memories are good. In a few weeks, I'll lock the door behind me for the last time, and my final view will be down the hall and out the living room windows toward the lights of Chicago sparkling in a January dusk. Or, at least, that's the way I'll remember it.

By June, my little gray Thermos--the original keynote for the whole place--will be stuck at the back of a closet again. Who knows where I'll end up a year from now? Nowhere like this, I'm sure. I believe in letting a place determine its own style, rather than imposing a pre-conceived look, so my chances of replicating this apartment anywhere else are slim. But in the long run, I guess it doesn't matter: at least I'm here today. And really, when you think about it, today is all we ever have.

I’m cleaning the paintbrush as a distant cluster of booms announces the New Year. Six miles down the lakefront, the fireworks have begun. Twin bursts--perfect mirror-images in reds and greens--light the horizon, filling the empty walls with colored shadows. I won't see them from this spot again, but wherever I find myself a year from tonight, I'll think back to this night--to this room--and remember that I spent it in a wonderful place, a place that was ordered and calm and filled with shifting lights. And best of all--for the first time in my life--a place that was perfect. : a place that was complete.
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Great attitude and tons of good karma to you.

I have several threads of one ongoing wonderful story. When my marriage ended in 2001, I was heartbroken that it ended AND I would be leaving what I thought was my dream house. Talk about devastated.

But? The apartment I found (I let him stay in the house for good karma reasons so as not to upset his life too much) had a wonderful view that looked out over a stable and a wooded area. This, I thought, was the best view in the world and how could I ever get better?

Until two years afterwards when I was single again and bought a house of my own...with the MOST magnificent view ever. And at that point it dawned on me that what you think is the best you will ever get, gets even better the next time around.

Now I live in Denver. And every day I am honored to witness spectacular views of the sun setting over the Rockies. The best kept getting better for me. As I'm sure it will for you two!

Shannon,
You are SOOO right about what you call The Tyranny of New York. "It's what keeps us stuck where we are because we fear that we if give up an apartment, we'll never ever find another one as good or as affordable."

As you say, you would have had a hard time breaking the chains yourself; so sometimes it really is better if someone else does it for you (even if they look like bad people while they do it).

I can think about quite a few other things in life that function in an almost identical way.... Like, oh, say, the "golden coffin" of academia.

In the 6 years my husband and I have been together we have moved 6 times, 2 local, up and down the eastern seaboard 3 times and one cross country.

Every apartment only seen through pictures, every lease signed without ever stepping foot in the apartment.

Every place gets better and better.

We have been in our new place 4 weeks now, it's the smallest apartment either of us have ever lived in, we lost 300 some odd square feet since our last place, but it is already my favorite place, it is the best decorated one, the most charming one and best location.

Since we've moved all of our attitudes have improved (even the cat's I swear) and we've given several HUGE donations to Goodwill, we've pared down, learned to live small and are better people for it.

Good luck to you.

These great stories and words of inspiration are helping so much. Thank you. I keep thinking, too, of something Maxwell always says: Nothing you do for your home is ever wasted.

I love these stories! I've moved twice in New York (well, not counting moving from one roommate's place to another, my first year in the city). The first time I left my own home by choice, the second time, it was a bit more complicated. Both times, I was determined to gain an even better place, and did ... stressful though it was. You will, too!

Hi Shannon,

people here always seem to land on their feet!

Shannon... good on you for the karma! Though I wonder why you can't buy your apt or haggle with the new owner of the building.

I agree with VaGary that NYC is a rare place in that renters invest in their apartments... out in the midwest we don't even dream of such a thing!

Here's my good Karma story:
When I landed my first job out of college it meant a move to the next city less than an hour away from my college town. I stayed with a friend for a few days, using her phone number to field apt search calls. (this was in the days before the proliferation of cell phones)

I'd go drive around looking at different neighborhoods, writing down phone numbers from For Rent signs. Then go back to my friend's house to call, wait for a call back and then see the apartment the next day. It was so frustrating!

Another friend recommended his old apartment building. I went to check it out and it was fine, even if the neighborhood seemed a little shady (as in... not nice).

After three days of this harried search, and a lot of unreturned calls, I decided that the 'Okay' apartment in the scary neighborhood would have to do. I went and filled out the paperwork.

When I returned to my friend's house to pack up for the week there was a call from one more landlord. I was exhausted from the search and told her so. I told her I'd just signed an application and that I was done looking.

"But you haven't even seen mine yet." She almost whined, "We just put in new ceiling fans and new carpet."

Well, I didn't really care for ceiling fans and quite frankly I would expect new carpet. I caved. I went to look at her apartment.

LOTS WINDOWS! Lots of space! Lots of closets! A little kitschy due to 1960s linoleum in the kitchen and flesh pink bathroom tiles, tub, and sink and toilet in the bath.

It was the perfect first apartment, across the street from a historic mansion, two blocks from the Cathedral! And she turned out to be a fabulous landlady!
Maybe an angel to save me from the neighborhood I was ready to resort to.

Now, like KathinCO - I'm in Denver in a very cute condo that spoke to me the moment I walked in with my realtor!

Shannon, because of the love you put into your current apt... you WILL find something wonderful when you return from your trip. Enjoy it.

shannon, so sorry to hear of your housing surprise but also inspired at how you and erica decided to handle it. i would love to travel for 3 months!

in the meantime, my housing story started about a year and a half ago. i lived in a beautiful 3-BR in park slope, brooklyn. loved it until the rent went up by a LOT and one roommate decided to move (unrelated reason). the other roomie and i tried to find a 2BR, but couldn't find anything affordable.

then we decided to stay put--the fear factor, but i knew 3 roomies with its in-built instability (someone's always moving) was more than i could continue to handle in my mid-30s. after much soul-searching, i decided to buy a place... IN NYC... ON MY NON-PROFIT SALARY... WITH LITTLE SAVINGS... AND NO CHANCE OF FAMILY ASSISTANCE. crazy talk.

well, i emptied my meager 401k and went searching. panic set in after a few weeks cos so many places at my price point just sucked... in a moment of fear, i put an offer on one place that was ok, but not great. got outbid (thank god!)... depression, more fear, more panic... but kept looking until i walked into a large & sunny studio apt in ditmas park (http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/ny/fall-colors-2007-east/24-kemis-contemporary-classic-harmony-034392). my first year anniversary is on tuesday the 20th, and i absolutely love it and my new nabe... and i have my greedy landlord to thank for it all!

good luck to you and erica... i'm not worried :)

let's try that again...

http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/ny/fall-colors-2007-east/24-kemis-contemporary-classic-harmony-034392

im sure you'll find something else better, we did.

my housing karma story;
we lived in a 180 sq foot studio in midtown, above a restaurant. the restaurant closed, then our (only) fuse blew. we could only get accces the the fuse box through the restaurant, but since it was closed we had to call the landlord to get him to open the place up. it took him more than a week to respond. for that week we had no electricity at all so we ate out a lot, we had brunch in a new neighbourhood that sunday and thought how great it would be to live there, we saw an apartment available sign, called the number and were viewing our future apartment 20 minutes later. we now have a great 600 sq foot one bedroom overlooking a park, for only 250 more than we were paying before. also our fuse box is in our apartment now.

Magnaverde, I really enjoyed reading that - thoughtful and beautifully written.

Shannon, all the best. I'm a believer in apartment karma too. Almost four years ago, I handed in notice on the 100sq ft yellow shoebox where I'd been living in Paris and started looking for something just a little bigger. Starting a new job so no decent payslips, non-French, and without anyone to guarantee my rent, nobody was interested in renting to me. I've never been to NY but it sounds like there's the same desperation for anything halfway decent - sometimes there are so many people milling on the pavement waiting to look at 200 sq ft of studio it looks like the building's been evacuated.
After two months, just at the point I thought I'd have to renew on my yellow shoebox, I found 200 sq ft in a decent part of town. Even better, I'd be able to move in two days before my current lease expired. Well, could have moved in if the agent hadn't left me standing in the rain on the day I was meant to get the keys, only to let me know two hours later that she'd given it to someone else. Of course, the yellow shoebox had finally found a new tenant that morning.
I schlepped all my stuff out, moved on to the sofa of a very kind friend (with a particularly teeth-grindingly annoying boyfriend) and stayed there for two months. (Yeah, I was probably getting pretty tooth-grindingly annoying by that point too!).
By that point, when I'd given up hope of finding anywhere full-stop - I couldn't even get the nasty places looking onto brick walls - I put a last-ditch "desperately seeking" notice in a magazine and, a week later, a phone call came and the magic happened. 300 sq ft of 7th floor walk up, quiet, a bit scruffy, sunny, one of the best parts of town, lovely landlady, semi-furnished, affordable. Whatever the ups and downs of the three years that followed, that flat was always a good place to end up. Come back from your travels ready for good things to happen.

Shannon, best of luck with your journey. I am a believer in things happening for a reason. Many years ago, my husband and I saw an ad in the paper for a house that sounded perfect for us. We called on it and the realtor told us it was already sold. We were disappointed, but when she asked if we would like to come in and look at other houses, we agreed. A week or two later, while we were sitting in her office, she got a call that the buyer of the house we originally called about wanted out (her job offer in the area fell through). We went to look at the house, offered the same as the previous buyer and have been living happily ever after for 10 years.


And, P2, I kind of liked "fir" ... I thought you were going for the rootin' tootin' cowboy vibe there.

You don't have to move! I was in the same situation and got myself a lawyer. I ended up staying 2 years longer than the rest of the other tenants, and ended up getting about 1 year of free rent in the settlement! Good Luck!

Shannon, your landlord CAN'T require you to move out by December 31st! I have a multi family property, and I'm required by law to give 3 month's notice. Fortunately, I've never had to kick anyone out--well, except for a certifiable crazy who had to be evicted. In response to which she left the hot water running all night every night (total: $1,600 above average water bill for the quarter. Oy.)

It's good that you can move right on past this issue, though--you'll be the happier and healthier for it.

When we decided we wanted to buy a place after renting for a couple of years, we looked for months and months! The ugliest, most disgusting places were selling for more than we wanted to spend. We even toyed with moving out of the city, and thankfully got out-bid on a house in the burbs. The house-hunting was emotionally exhausting and I was crying many times. Then, the landlord of our place decided he was going to sell the place that we currently live in and we could buy it! Almost a year of worry wondering if he would actually get it done and stick to the original price we had agreed upon, FINALLY it happened, and we bought the place for $60K less than market value. Our friends moved in next door, we took down the fence separating our places, built a sauna together and now we share dinner and a sauna almost every night. It's more than I could have ever hoped for and something I could have never seen coming a few years ago.

Shannon, your positive attitude is really impressive, and I'm sure that your ability to make something good out of a challenging situation will serve you well in all the other unexpected changes that will inevitably happen in life.

That said, and I know you said no legal advice, but if it's true that, as other posters have said, the landlord is required to give you 90 days' notice, that does not have to be inconsistent with your getting out by Dec. 31 and traveling for 3 months. I would tell the LL that you are willing to waive your right to insist on 90 days' notice and get out by 12/31, but he will have to compensate you for the inconvenience by not charging you rent for the last month or two of your tenancy. He gets his vacant apartment, you get some extra traveling money--everybody's happy.

You will find another place, one you like as much, if in a different way. People change and so should their homes.

Several years ago my boyfriend and I found the perfect apartment in the perfect neighborhood. It was 1,000 square feet, with all the original turn-of-the-century detailing, a working fireplace, hardwood floors, huge ceilings, and lots and lots of windows. It was "perfect." But then a year ago we were transfered, and our landlord wouldn't renew our lease for just five months, so we were forced to find a temporary apartment. I thought it was the end of the world.

So for those five months, we lived in a tiny 250-square-foot studio in another neighborhood. And you know what? We even kinda liked *that* apartment better. I filled it with cast-off furniture from Craigslist, while all of our "real" furniture sat in storage, and it had an awesome bohemian feel. For those five months we were different people, living different lives in borrowed rooms, and it gave us a wonderful new perspective on the city before we had to leave it for good.

The best part was when I went by our old apartment to pick up some mail. I met the new tenants, and they raved about the apartment. They were artists, and they loved all the colors we had painted the walls and were thrilled I had left them the herb garden on the fire escape. It was *their* perfect apartment now. The satisfaction of receiving their praise alone was worth having to give up our home a few month early.

And now? We're moving to a new city, one I find frighteningly prosaic, but we've rented the *perfect* house, or at least it will be after I'm through with it. And the best part is, that it has a whole garden, something I didn't even know I wanted a year ago, but which now means more to mean than anything.

You'll find your new perfect apartment, too. It will just be a little different because you are.

Strange, I'm in the middle of something similar. My landlord had been charging me less than legal rent on a rent stabilized place and then decided to tell me he was pushing the rent up three days before the new lease would start and by the way I would have to get rid of my dogs.

Anyway, I won't dwell on that. I found a cute co-op in Rego Park. I'm waiting to hear back now, so I'm a bit nervous. If it does go through, I will be in a safer neighborhood, pay less rent, have a balcony and a 24-hour doorman, and a pool! Who has a pool in NYC? Anyway, I hope it works for all of us!

When my folks were a couple of years from retiring, they could see on the horizon the possibility of helping me buy my own place and encouraged me to not declare bankruptcy, but continue to pay off my debts, and I did.

I also had a look at an an apartment that looked kind of affordable, in case that ever happened. Then a friend showed me one that was semi-for-sale in her building -- in that the owners were never there, but weren't being proactive about selling it.

So, I saw it and dreamed about it, and every 6 months for 2 years, I would look and dream about that place. And then, when my finance were looking better, I started to make enquiries, until it ended up being a negotiation. Then it was on the verge of being a deal. And then it fell apart. And then I almost fell apart.

But ... because my folks had, by that time, sent me the money for the down payment, I was able to go to a broker and say, "This is how fab of a place I almost got, and my folks have sent me $ for a down payment, so find me something I can be proud to tell them I got instead."

So, in a couple of days the brokerage sent me somebody who found me something and I got something which was in NUMEROUS ways was better for me than the first one. I then sold it a few years later for almost thrice what I paid, and am now in an even bigger place, which I completely love.

So, that's my funny little housing karma story. But I really must say that the whole 90 days thing is something you should explore, because it's WONDERFUL to have a good attitude, but to squander your rights may not be such a good idea. See if you can manage to do both?

Shannon,
Even if you don't find a "better" apartment, something good will come from this change. I left an apartment, neighborhood, and city I LOVED to move to a hovel in a small midwest college town to be with my bf while he finishes his PhD research, and to figure out my own transition from a lucrative but soul-wrecking career.

It's ugly here. The apartment is cracked, bumped, warped and has brown shag carpet (in a print I like to call "mottled dirt") everywhere....even the bathroom! My bf arrived in this country with pretty much nothing, and paid the prior tenant a hundred bucks for his junky mishmash of furniture. Because our stay is temporary and there is a storage space of my stuff waiting for us in SF, I've refrained from spending limited funds on just-for-now furniture that may end up in a landfill when we finally move. We make due.

But this place has things that my old one was lacking: the smell of home cooking (rather than canned soup or reheated take-out) emanating from the kitchen everyday; the clutter of my oil paints, canvases, and brushes, which before were tucked away unused due to a lack of time; the clicking of computer keys as I type stories and long emails to friends and family instead of reams of staid legal jargon or two-line promises to write or call when I dug out from under at work; my bf's goofy attempts to make me laugh... And it is thankfully missing something my old apartment was becoming filled with - my crying jags, which were hitting with increasing regularity.

I never in a million years would have thought I'd move here. It was, in that sense, an unexpected change. It certainly did not yield me a better apartment, but in many ways I gained a much better home.

You have such a positive attitude that I cannot help but believe you'll turn this unexpected circumstance into a great opportunity. Best of luck!

Everything always seems to work out, eventually. I suspect the hard part is the stress of dealing with all the unknown factors.

I wish you the best of luck.

P.S. In Los Angeles they have to give you a 60 day notice and, I think, $8,000 (it went up recently) if they want to evict you for a similar reason.

Keep your eyes open and remember what Bette Midler says in that song -- something about "God is watching us from a distance." While you're looking for an apartment, God will be watching over you and I'll say a prayer for you.

$23,611....that's how much I spent in storage at Access in Long Island City over the last 10 years until I thought I could have bought a house with that cash. I finally realized I had to buy a house. I did, in northeastern PA (for less than $200K)....just be wary of how long you keep your things in storage and good luck with your future housing endeavors. That money would have paid for most of the renovations I am now going into hock for, but each month over $300 of my mortgage payment is what I used to pay for storage. Just a word to the wise....

Shannon,
Remember the words inscribed in the cover of your antique compass; "You can always find your way home."

house karma is SUCH a big deal. it takes effort to make the energy balanced and enjoyable, particularly when you are sharing space with someone who has different appreciation for cleanliness, noise, or other things that can upset the house karma!