The Nomad Shuffle

My life had stood -- A loaded elevator --

It's late August in New York, which means one thing: everyone under the age of 30 (at least, everyone I know) is in the midst of what I like to call the "nomad shuffle."

As young, mobile professionals, we lead lives in constant flux: changing jobs, going back to school, moving across the country, or — gasp! — settling down with a special somebody. Add to this mix the fact that most apartment leases last twelve months and you have an annual ritual of epic proportions: the yearly apartment search. While you usually have the option to renew your lease for another year, the stars rarely align for three or four roommates to find themselves in the same circumstance year to year that would make staying in the same apartment feasible. In fact, I don’t have many friends who haven’t moved every year. 
 

To exacerbate the problem, most of us moved to the city shortly after graduating, which — you guessed it — was sometime during the summer. This means that most of us signed our first leases in the summer…and got stuck in an endless cycle of moving at the same time every twelve months thereafter.

(Oh, and by the way, approximately 2 million people live in Manhattan, an island that covers only 23 square miles.)

Trying to rent a U-Haul? Good luck with that. When I moved last year, a friend and I had to go all the way to 300-something street in the Bronx just to rent a 14-foot truck for the day.

All of this is to say: moving in New York is not easy. In fact, it may be just about the most painful thing you do all year.  Surgeries, all-nighters, and extreme hangovers included. It’s stressful, sweaty, and always takes longer than you think it will.

Let the games begin.

And, as an added delight, it’s also painfully expensive, with most moving companies charging $125+ an hour for a minimum of three hours, plus traffic and parking costs.

If you’re lucky enough to live in a nice building, you’re also un-lucky enough to have a building manager who thinks he’s operating the Plaza Hotel. Our manager recently insisted that one of my roommates hire a moving company — even though she’s moving across the country, so she’s shipping everything, and doesn’t actually have any stuff to move.

“So…what you’re saying is, that I need to pay movers $300 to move my bed from the apartment to the curb?” she asked him, jokingly.

“Exactly,” he replied. Not jokingly.

But, all gripes and UMIs (Unidentified Moving Injuries) aside, there’s a reason we put up with this nonsense every year. There’s a reason we haul our belongings like hermit crabs across town, only to settle in for what feels like a few months and then do it all over again. There’s even a reason we eat oatmeal for a week (er, make that a month) after signing away an entire paycheck to the movers…and then next month’s paycheck for the first month’s rent and security deposit which are required by most NYC landlords.

We endure because, at the end of the day, we get to live on this 23-square-mile scrap of land. We get to close our eyes at night against the twinkling lights of the city, and wake in the morning to a glorious cacophony of car horns and break pads. We get to walk out our front doors and be a quick walk, train, or cab ride away from the best theater, dining, shopping (you name it) in the world. We get to order Thai food on a Sunday night at 2:00am from our favorite restaurant just because we can.

Goodnight, moon!

Of course, I can only say this now because I just finished this year’s nomad shuffle. After the most stressful week of my life, I’m settled into my new home, and — like we all do — have already forgotten how terrible it was in the excitement of exploring a new neighborhood.  I’ve forgotten about the boxes, grumpy building managers, and stalled elevators in favor of picking out new bathmats (more thrilling than you’d think!) and deciding which way the couch is going to go. 

Welcome home, my fellow New Yorkers…until next summer.

Home sweet home.