it takes a village

My greatest claim to fame is that I have rented three apartments in three countries over video calls. And every single one was perfect.

It comes down to seeing potential and following my intuition. Also being slightly delusional (and extremely lucky that none were a scam).

In the case of our current Upper East Side apartment, I almost fell in love with the real estate agent as much as I fell in love with the building’s crown mouldings and dual aspect windows. (Key word, almost).

She was absolutely lovely and did the walkthrough at her 8am because my being in the United Kingdom timezone meant I had a leg up on any other prospective StreetEasyers. By the time New Yorkers were waking up, I had already put the application in.

To be clear, the apartment had everything I wanted.

An elevator, wood floors, sconces, a great layout, and is situated hardly twenty feet from Central Park. I could see myself in it and I could see my furniture in it.

But more important than how it would look, I could imagine how it would feel–because the real estate agent said something I needed to hear.

“It takes a village.”

I don’t remember when she first said it.

It might have been when she offered to go to the apartment and receive all of the furniture I was hoping to ship there before we moved in or when she said she could loan her vacuum to whoever came to clean the apartment. Or when she figured out how to get our keys to us at 6am on the day we moved.

Or it could have been the numerous times she said was happy to help with anything that came up because she knew how hard international moves could be.

After every text and request I would send her over the next four weeks, I’d profusely express my gratitude for her help and she’d always say the same thing.

“It takes a village.”

God, the phrase split me open.

Over the past four years, I had learned to figure things out myself. I had become an expert at battling logistics and bureaucracy—and God knows there was a lot of both between taxes, mortgages, visas, movings, and marriage.

Each time she said it, something in me unlocked. I had forgotten about having a village and leaning on people to help you.

Her wisdom came at the perfect time. Over the months, I had built up loads of anxiety about moving back to New York City. I had started to anticipate a roaring, ferocious city that was going to eat me alive. But I had forgotten about my village.

In New York, both G and I have friends that we have known for over ten years, and in G’s case, over twenty. I’ve already seen my parents, grandparents, and entire extended family on my dad’s side in the two weeks since we moved and I think my mom is coming to visit next week.

These are things I one hundred percent took for granted and only missed once I was living in a different continent. I’m so grateful for the time I lived away from my village so that I could feel the relief from returning to them.

And God, does that village show up for you. Seeing my long-time friends has been like stepping into a pair of perfectly broken-in blue jeans that you had misplaced under the bed. What a joy to see them, what a delight to see that everything fits just right.

I am also reminded of how much I love to be part of other people’s village, to show up when my friends need me. Regardless of cities, life itself can be roaring and ferocious, so that’s why we need villages.

Over the past four years, I watched my friends’ lives from afar, so to be able to step back in to the exact space I left was a relief. (Though I have written that long-distance friendship should be easy!!!) I’ve witnessed their triumphs and trials from a 500 ft view—I’m so happy to be able to participate in them again, whether that’s carrying mattresses up four flights of stairs or going for long walks in the park.

As for me, I know that every season is temporary. I have to come to wholeheartedly embrace the one that I’m in, because I never know how long something will last.

In the future, it’s not impossible that my life will take me away from the village once more. The one problem with manifesting the perfect husband whose family lives in Spain is that our lives will always be split between two continents.

As for now, it’s been two weeks back among my village. Our real estate agent has loaned us an iron, picked up my call at 11pm when our power went out the night before G’s first day of work, and given us a garbage can.

I’m sure you can guess what the note said.