I’ve been in Boston for nearly a week and I’ve been working at the magazine for 3 days, and everything is pretty fantastic.
My roommates have turned out to be wonderful, fun, kind, interesting people. I took a shot in the dark on Craigslist on this one, and even though I met one of them last month, you never quite know what you’re getting into when you live with strangers. I’ve lucked out, for sure.
Everything is unpacked and I’ve set up house. It’s funny when you move your furniture into a new space. It’s like I live in a bizarro replica of my old place. The new place didn’t have really anything in it, so I brought my whole little Long Island apartment up here to Boston and everything fits, which is a relief, since it’s a small house we’re in. I’m still in that phase where I can’t remember which cupboards I put the mugs in or where I stashed the batteries, but it’ll become routine in time. Right now, it feels, at the very least, like home.
Work has been awesome, too. The office I’m in is modern and cool and I’ve written a couple stories already and I’m working on a few more. I jumped right in and I’m busy making work I care about, which feels like a big sigh I let out after holding my breath for a while. The editorial meeting, where we read the previous week’s magazine and pick apart what worked and what didn’t, is fun and interesting and I’m learning a lot already.
Being back in Somerville after 7 years away is strange but good. I lived in 2 apartments in this neighborhood, each about a 10 minute walk from where I am now. I’d forgotten how beautiful it is here. On my walk to the bus I pass a gorgeous church and some of those big, wonderful Boston homes with lots of paned windows and pretty porches. A lot about this place has changed, but so much has stayed the same. I don’t really know how to describe what it feels like. When I was setting up my house, I kept coming across little quirks about old New England homes that I’d forgotten: the clank of the radiator, the closets that are just a hair too shallow for a normal hanger, the plaster walls that absolutely will not hold a screw no matter what kind of anchor you put in there. It’s like living in a fuzzy memory that gets clearer every day. But it’s changing too, because I’ve changed and so has the city. Still, it’s a nice feeling.