It’s the end of an era, folks.
There are 10 days left of my freedom, 10 days for me to sleep spread-eagle and 10 days to throw my sh*t anywhere I want without worrying about it landing on top of someone else’s sh*t.
I have 10 days left to watch trashy TV with my roommates until 1 am and order all the tofu pad see ew I want on Seamless.
In 10 days, I leave the fourth floor, rent-stabilized, West Village walk-up I love so dearly and make my way to Brooklyn like my parents, grandparents and great-grandparents before me.
That’s right, I’m moving in with my man friend.
He's the love of my life. My single gal days are over, and I’m taking that huge step into cohabitation with him.
I'll never come home to my own bedroom again.
But that’s okay.
Actually, it’s more than okay.
It’s amazing! I’m beside myself with excitement, and it’s not just because I’ll have an elevator and an in-unit washer and dryer.
So long, re-wearing dirty bras. Goodbye, months between jean washing.
Adios to you, $22 every other week for staticky, poorly folded clothing.
This girl is going to smell fresh, and she'll be donning sweaters that haven’t shrunk in the wash.
But, we’re getting off track here.
The point is, I’m taking a leap of faith in my relationship and moving into a place that will no longer be mine, but ours.
I should also mention I’m scared out of my f*cking mind.
I’ve read articles about how to move in with your significant other without hating him or her.
They’ve detailed how to combine your stuff, how to respect each other’s space and how to keep the love strong.
But most of all, they stress communication. I get it.
Communication is super important. I know that.
I work in advertising, and I majored in journalism.
Communication is what I deal with all day, every day, and I see how important it has been in maintaining cross-country friendships and celebrating long-distance family holidays.
Strong communication is the cornerstone of every good relationship, so this advice isn’t news to anyone out there.
English isn’t my boyfriend’s first language (or his second or third, for that matter), so we’ve mastered how to make sure nothing gets lost in translation and that we're communicating correctly.
The first few months after we met were spent dating via Skype between New York City and San Francisco, so the two of us have communication locked down.
Give me something more, Interweb.
What I want and need is real advice, not something a psychiatrist, book or podcast is going to tell me in vague terms that could be applied to everything and nothing.
So, I went to some of the people I love and trust most in this world, who have experience living with significant others.
They know what it means to work hard to make sure cohabitation is as fun and comfortable as it should be.
Here’s a handful of the best advice I’ve received so far, and I hope you’ll benefit from hearing it, too:
— Blythe (again)
— My mother (obviously)
The basis of what will make our new home together wonderful comes down to the advice my grandmother gave me when she said, “Just love each other. I know sometimes that may be difficult, but remember to just love each other.”
Then, she broke into laughter.
Do you have real-life advice for me and anyone else venturing down the path of cohabitation? Add yours in the comments.