Interiors

For the last month or so much of the interior of my head has been filled with musings, concerns, fantasies and doubts about where I'll find myself living.

When I returned from my trip, my main preoccupation was whether I'd stay here or pick up and move somewhere else. A not insignificant part of me wants to be somewhere else, anywhere else, as if the Boston area is just one large toxic waste dump that is poisoning my soul (the truth is more likely that a part of my psyche, a voice whose job is to be sure that I'm not enjoying myself, is poisoning Boston for me). Of course, without a clearly defined "somewhere else" (this voice was not terribly helpful about suggesting another place to live), it made some sense to stay until further clarity emerges.

Having decided to stay here, the next decision was whether to buy or to rent. Having been a homeowner for half a dozen or so years, the thought of paying to live in someone else's space made me wince. "No way, Jose!" said my inner property owner, not wanting to reduce its status to that of a lowly renter.

I began looking online at condominiums for sale. But my heart wasn't really in it, and each day I'd come up with new criteria or a new neighborhood in which to look. Focused I was not. Different scenarios appeared in my head. There was the minimalist scenario of buying a studio or small one bedroom apartment, paring down my belongs even further (last winter I sold, donated or got rid of a ton of my things), and having a tiny stake in the real estate market. There was the maximalist scenario of buying the largest house or condominium I could afford and getting roommates to help pay the mortgage, giving me the possibility of expansion as time goes on. There was the vulture scenario, where I'd descend on a pre-foreclosure sale and, benefitting from another's bad luck, snap up something big for cheap.

These scenarios had a logical appeal but didn't feel right. I don't want to purchase a tiny apartment to live in, and I don't want to take on the responsibility of maintaining a larger property. And there was no single neighborhood that beckoned, that had my name on it. I wanted to feel excited about possibly having my own home and yet the thought of owning something made my stomach clench. And then there is that nagging feeling that, maybe, I really do belong somewhere else, even if I don't yet know where that somewhere else is.

I realized that I might be better off renting, either until I leave (a possibility) or can feel happy about buying here. It could also be the case that the real estate market will soften further, making it a financially wise move for me to wait before locking myself into a property. But that is my analytical brain talking. It's yakked a lot in my life and I'm trying not to listen too much to it anymore.

Somewhat reluctantly, I began looking at rentals in July. After the irritation of working with rental agents, I started to look at apartments rented by owners. If I were going to be paying rent, at the very least I wanted to meet the person who'd be cashing the check. Some of these people were renting in-law apartments in their homes, usually on the top floor (my favorite).

I fell in love with a large-ish studio with sleeping loft in the Victorian home of a Brookline couple. It had some drawbacks - not a full kitchen, the entrance was through the house, parking was a bit like musical chairs - but the view of the Boston skyline and the serenity of the space won me over, as did its location: just a few steps away from my synagogue and less than half a mile from Coolidge Corner.

"I'm interested!" I exclaimed.

They told me to think it over. I told them I really liked it. They chose someone else.

I tried to blunt my disappointment by telling myself that this, too, is for the best.

A woman in Newton showed me her in-law apartment, a basement level space which contained a lot of furniture, including a hideous couch.

"Would the furniture stay?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Why, do you have your own?"

"Yes, I was planning to bring my bed," I said.

She didn't seem very happy about this, nor did she seem willing to empty the single closet down there for my use.

This, too, I told myself, is for the best.

I briefly considered renting a room in someone's apartment for a few months. An acquaintance from my synagogue offered up a room in her condo, then retracted it after deciding that she didn't want to live with my cat after all. Another person at my synagogue put me in touch with her neighbor who rents a room in her JP apartment. The place was extremely well cared for and nicely decorated, to the point that I didn't feel at home. The woman had been there many years and had clearly left her mark. The room itself was small and, as she pointed out, somewhat noisy.

Next.

A voluble woman in Brighton showed me her top floor apartment. The entrance was through her kitschily decorated Victorian house but the apartment itself was spacious, with a full kitchen. A possibility. She told me that she'd be painting it before the next tenant would move in, including adding some color accents to some of the shorter, funky walls under the eaves. My gut contracted - what if I didn't like the colors she chose?

Still, the rent was reasonable and she seemed like a decent person, if I didn't like her taste, so I kept open the possibility of staying there. She reassured me that she and her husband would respect my privacy and that I could come and go without saying a word if that is what I wanted. I told her I'd think about it. Ultimately, I realized that I didn't really want to be traipsing through someone's house to get to my own place.

Back on Craigslist, I posted my own ads indicating that I - a quiet and responsible person with a car and a cat - was looking for an apartment in Newton or Brookline. A surprising number of people responded with apartments in Winthrop, Quincy and Medford. Would I consider those communities? Um, no.

There was a tempting ad for an apartment in someone's home, but with a separate entrance and a private deck overlooking a brook. The photos looked attractive, so I e-mailed and expressed my interest. A day or so later the owner called me. She seemed to know who I was, or had at least heard my name, and told me that the apartment had a drawback that might be a dealbreaker for me. She explained that because the owners have a teenage daughter, they only want a married couple living there or a celibate single, or a single who is willing to not have overnight guests. Feeling uncharacteristically optimistic about my romantic future, I told her that yes, this scenario would be a dealbreaker. I hung up, feeling discouraged.

With the summer coming to a close and the number of apartments dwindling, my anxiety was rising. A few days ago I did a final search on Craigslist and found a listing that was a few days' old for an apartment in a two-family home in Newton. I e-mailed, realizing that it was quite likely that the apartment would already be rented. I received a response from a man whose last name is the same as mine, except with another six letters tacked on. I asked him about the place. He told me to contact the tenant to set up a time to see it. Annoyed but not showing it, I told him I wasn't comfortable doing that, that I wanted him to show it to me.

He agreed.

I was pleasantly surprised by the place, which met many of my criteria: top floor, skylight, dedicated parking spot, non-exorbitant rent, clean and in good condition. Those were enough to outweigh two major demerits - wall-to-wall carpeting in most of the apartment and an electric stove, neither of which I would tolerate in a permanent home.

And I had a good feeling about the owner himself. As I told him, I wanted him to show me the place so that I could see who I'd be dealing with - he's an athletic Jewish man, a real estate attorney and developer, a husband and a father. He had a relaxed air about him. He must have had a good feeling about me, too, because he decided not to request my credit report, trusting me at my word. It was odd to sign a lease as a tenant, not as the owner, but I am glad that someone else will be taking care of home maintenance for a change. I had a good chuckle when I signed the addendum in which I agreed to not throw a keg party. So much for continuing my mid-life crisis by acting like a college student. I hope none of you are disappointed by the fact that beer will not be flowing freely on the premises.

I move at the beginning of September.