I was recently asked what home was the hardest one for me to say good-bye to (besides, of course, the sweet little house we just moved out of). The answer, when I finally came up with it, surprised me.
It was on the first floor of a crumbling house beside a railroad track in Connecticut, during a brief career change for E. The upstairs neighbors smoked pot and had friends over all hours of the night, and the acoustic tile ceiling did not live up to its promises. There was a faux-brick faux fireplace, really just a wall of fake brick that covered a wall of real brick behind it (don't ask me why). The bathroom was the same size as the bedroom, which wasn't small, so there was a ton of wasted floor space. And the kitchen and living room were squeezed together into the small space that was left.
But I loved this place because of what we were able to make of it. We rearranged the kitchen, changed the lighting, painted all the walls, and hung shelves. It was so cozy and inviting. When you live in a small space, you have to get creative, and I did, and I loved the result.
After three months, we moved to the larger apartment upstairs, and did a lot of work on that one as well, but it never quite like home. Every time I'd pass the door of our old apartment, I'd get a little pain in my heart because it was no longer mine. Maybe this is proof that I prefer small spaces.
What has been your favorite place you've ever lived? Why?