nude highway driving

The last time I saw my apartment look like this was almost exactly five years ago. I’d just returned from a surprise month in Tokyo for my new job in D.C., and through some miracle found this apartment in the Post while drinking margaritas on the roof of Roxanne in Adams-Morgan on a hot-ass May day. The open house was ending in an hour, and my friend and I found the address just in time. I put almost no effort into apartment hunting because it stressed me out in D.C. (everyone shows up with their checkbooks ready to pay two months’ rent, and I was used to casually checking out a place and calling back after a few days).

I spent the first few weeks sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag, with a CD alarm clock and my computer as my only comforts. I had been staying with a friend in Frederick, Md., and although we had fun times the commute to NW D.C. (at the time I was working “regular people” hours) was pure evil. More than an hour of creeping traffic to get to the most-distant Metro station on the Red Line. From this new apartment I could be at work in 20 minutes if I used Metro and 45 if I walked. Back then when I walked to work I could walk around the patio of the Capitol, take in the great view of the Mall and walk down the steps. Remember when that building belonged to the citizens?

There was still some “hood” in my neighborhood, and friends who already lived in D.C. were always a little leery about hanging at my place when it meant walking back to their cars at night. I even had a bartender at the Hawk ‘n’ Dove tell me I should take a cab home rather than walk the several blocks because it was after midnight. Across the overpass were projects, and right down the street was a burned-out ex-liquor store that looked like hell. Eighth Street had almost as many unoccupied business properties as it did open businesses. Now it has two fru-fru yuppie pet stores.

The last time I saw my apartment look like this I was in my 20s. America actually had a budget surplus and its citizens all had much more freedom than we do now. I had just moved from Colorado and was determined to do what it took to seek out parks and trails in the metro area so I could keep up my outdoor activity. I think I rode my mountain bike a total of five times in the five years. I camped four times.

Aside from missing people who have come into in my life here, I didn’t think I’d feel sad about leaving D.C. I never found a comfortable fit in this city, and sometimes wondered if its aura was sucking my soul out of my body. I never socialized as much as I should have (some of that was due to the evils of the copy-editing workday, some of it due to a battle with radically low self-esteem) and always felt like I either belonged in a bigger city or back in a wide-open place with lots of Nature.

But when I looked at my empty bedroom before leaving the apartment for the last time I found myself tearing up a bit and feeling attached to the place (after five years I never paid more than $900 to rent this one-bedroom with hardwood floors, a fireplace, off-street parking and a 10-minute walk to Eastern Market). It’s the longest-term residence I’ve had since living on my own, and I’ll miss everything about it except the tiny kitchen with the scary stove.

I’ll also miss the smell of Popeye’s on 8th Street when I walk to Blockbuster to rent a movie. I’ll miss the lesbian dance club that always has women hanging outside who could kick the shit out of the Marines down the street. I’ll miss French toast at Eastern Market on Saturday mornings (but not the line), and getting my Christmas tree there every year from the Pennsylvania farmer dude. I’ll miss the greatest gym in the world even though I blew it off way more than I should have. I’ll miss being able to see the city’s fireworks display from my living room (and feeling relieved I’m not pressed up against hundreds of thousands of sweaty, confused people who don’t know how to use a fucking escalator). I’ll miss the abundance of dogs on weekends.

Now I’m sleeping in another empty place, though this time I actually had furniture waiting for me when I arrived. I know I will not grow attached to the physical apartment while I’m here, nor will I live here for five years. But I do wonder what sort of memories I will create during my stay in Tokyo and if I’ll have the strength to make the most of this opportunity. The stress of the move is gone, which is a super relief, but it has been replaced by doubt. Doubt about whether I made the right move, doubt about whether I am up to the job I face, doubt about whether I will take full advantage of my current position in Life or whether I’ll leave Tokyo wishing I had done more with what I had around me, which is kinda how I felt when I left D.C.

I guess we’ll find out.