When I started to seriously consider buying an apartment, I was esentially living in an expensive coffin: a 300 square foot studio with a brick wall view. I boiled my Future Apartment Wish List down to the obvious: more space and more light.
After a brief but passionate hunt, I bought and settled in here on 96th Street. I was finally stirred awake by morning sunshine, the toilet wasn't next to the bed and I actually had to leave the couch to get something from the refrigerator. I had everything I had sought, at the right price.
And, then, slowly, I started to want more.
Suddenly, the apartment wasn't quite bright enough. Plants were dying, and I still couldn't read without a lamp, even at noon. And all the space I wanted? There IS more here, but whenever someone learns that I bought this place, they immediately light up and say, "One-Bedroom or Two?".
I know there's no shame in moving from one studio to another, but tell that to my ego.
I am fighting the "More = Better" Mantra. A good friend of mine has shared a policy: every time he brings home a new item, be it a button-down or an end-table, he gets rid of something else. Conscious de-cluttering.
One of the basic human needs is shelter, with which I am blessed. Now I just wish I didn't covet my neighbor's view of the park. TF