The Big Three

In her blog, Kelly Kreth has documented her progress with the Big Three for years. Single women in NYC, Kreth espouses, are constantly fighting for the Big Three - the job, the apartment, and the man. It is rare to possess all three at once, and almost certain that you can’t hang onto all of them for long.

The Big Three theory jives with my experience thus far. My job teaching in a Harlem public middle school? One soul-sucking, harrowing experience. The apartment? Fine, until my lease was broken and I was told to move out during the hardest time of the year - and one of the most expensive times in years - to secure an apartment. The man? This has been consistently fabulous, supportive, fun, and challenging for the last four months.

Two weeks ago, I hurried to meet Cade in midtown after he got off work. It was a hot day, but something else simmered inside me. I had something to confess: “This is really weird to say and completely out of character. But I have this feeling inside that things are going to be good, that there are so many possibilities ahead of me. It’s foreign and uncomfortable, but I’m feeling optimistic. Hard to believe, right?”

It is for me.

It’s not that I’m always a pessimist. I prefer to think of myself as a realist. A realist who knows that life generally sucks. I feel this exhilarated right now, because, ladies and gentlemen, I have (temporarily?) found the Big Three. I’m going to covet them like an inner city school teacher with free crayons.

The Job:
I started my new job last week. It’s been difficult getting up early, even though my old school just got out for summer. Still, waking up has been the most challenging part of my new job.

The new school is smaller, progressive, and completely different. The small staff consists of intelligent and dedicated teachers, administrators, and support staff. The school pays for everything - copy paper, pens, useful classroom furniture from Ikea, my own new laptop, working wireless Internet access. I’m going to a mountain retreat to bond with my fellow teachers before the fall begins.

I feel like I’m in an alternate universe. When I voiced this thought last week Cade retorted, “No, you’re just teaching in a place that all the schools should be like.” That’s true.

The Apartment:
I spent over a month gripped with fear of impending homelessness. NYC rentals are extremely expensive and hard to find. I pondered finding my own apartment, but I didn’t want to use a broker. I just bought a used cheese grater! How could I justify an exorbitant broker’s fee, one that would probably cost more than my rent? I didn’t want to move away from the Upper West Side. I didn’t want to settle for a lesser standard of living than I’d had in my apartment share situation for the past year.

So all my resolve slowly flaked off. I met many people with apartment shares that wouldn’t work for me. The bedroom was too small, I wasn’t allowed to have guests over, I wasn’t supposed to talk after 10 pm. I decided that I needed my own place, so I could be the dictator.

I found a studio on the Upper West Side through a broker and serendipity. I did all the paperwork, crossed my fingers, and paid a deposit to keep the apartment from being shown. I sat pretty, only to find out that the apartment had been shown and rented to someone willing to pay more for it than I could. Pickings were slim in Manhattan, so I contacted other brokers in Brooklyn and Queens. I don’t want to be a geography snob here, but this really hurt my pride. Well, Queens more so than Brooklyn. I associate Queens with accents and horrible sitcoms with Leah Remini and gulp, people who actually drive.

A little over a week before I was to be kicked to the curb, Cade forwarded me a link from Craigslist posted by the man who would become my broker. Yep, I broke and got one…who broke me. Eugene, said broker, showed me a unique little Central Park West studio. Instead of the typical box, the apartment has a large living/sleeping area, separate kitchen, separate bathroom, and separate closet/dressing area. The building is nicer and quieter than the one I previously lived in and is on the first floor. Bye-bye, 39 Steps!

My very first apartment of my own is in Manhattan! I didn’t know if it would be possible, if I was “picky” and refused to live in basement squalor near a housing project. (I took some pictures of other NYC apartments I was shown. I’ll show you how awful they were). I’ve slowly been buying previously unfamiliar items, like my own furniture, dishes, and TV. What’s next - a Palmolive commercial? I feel like a grown-up.

The Man:
Through all the chaos, including the end of the old job and apartment, Cade has been a constant. We’re really conscious of how long we’ve known each other, but are still surprised when we acknowledge our meeting each month.

Only four months?!

These last few months have been the hardest of our relationship, because it’s not all about fun anymore. It’s been a scramble with deadlines and changes of plans and those obligations you fulfill not because they’re your own, but because they belong to someone you care about.

I’m lucky to have someone to make reservations during Restaurant Week with. Someone for me to drag to Ikea and rent movies with. Someone to make me laugh and think and dream. Someone to help me change for the better.

Cade is the man who moves me.

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