One of the things I will miss the very most about DC is my apartment. I have called this bright, happy one-bedroom my home for two years now:
I love this apartment.
This place is so important to me not just because I am obsessed with it, but because of what it represents to me. When I first moved in here, I was nervous scared as shit. It was my first time ever living alone, and I had no idea what to expect. I had lived in a house with a big family, in a single bedroom with a roommate, in a sorority hall full of girls, and in a basement of a rowhouse. But never an apartment building all by myself.
Moving from a basement bedroom to this place, I basically chose the apt based solely on the windows. With this flood of natural light, it was bound to be a happy place, right?
This was also my first experience with designing a home. I finally wanted to buy nice pieces of furniture I could invest in, and bedding that I would keep, rather than living with a hodge-podge. I became obsessed with design blogs, magazines, and flea markets. My amazing mom and I took a trip to Frederick, Maryland, to scour antique shops for unique furniture to pull the place together. We spent a week arranging and re-arranging, battling with drills, and cursing difficult walls. In the end, we created a space that reflected my personal style, and somewhere that I was happy to come home to every day.
Living here was the first time I truly felt like an adult, and where I learned the most about being independent. I would not change a thing about living alone in my 20's and having the opportunity to create a space that reflected who I was at that time.
The very best part about this place, though, are the memories I have of time spent in it:
Home-made dinners
summer cocktail hours
christmas parties...
..and mornings like this.
