trash and treasure

imperfect today is better than perfect tomorrow

I’m late. 

Nineteen minutes late to be exact. 

“On my way!” I text Faye, the metal door to my apartment building slamming behind me. 

In the street in front of me, two wooden nightstands sit in the trash pile. 

I snap a picture and send them to Faye. 

“Should I take?” I ask. 

“No,” she fires back. “Not cute enough.”

She’s right. They aren’t beautiful by any means. A bit scratched and nothing like the modern Parisian opulence I’ve saved on my Pinterest board. 

I start walking towards the restaurant where we’re meeting. I can’t stop thinking about nightstands.

Decorating an apartment is new for me. 

Well, everything is new for me. I moved to Spain one week ago. I’m living alone for the first time, in a new country, in a completely unfurnished apartment. In New York, I had one fifth of the size and three roommates to share it. Now I’m on my own.

This is why I’m late. 

I wanted to put sheets on my bed. The night before, I slept directly on the mattress. In the excitement of getting a bed, I hadn't thought about sheets until the stores were closed. 

My bed is an island in the big empty room. I definitely need to get a nightstand of some sort. Last night, I put my phone and a glass of water on the floor. Getting out of bed, I kicked the cup across the room. 

The nightstands on the curb are calling me. They’re free and better than the alternative, which is nothing. 

I turn on my heel. I’m going back.

Speedwalking down the block, I do a quick calculation. I don’t need both of them, it’s just me in the apartment. The thought of dating someone, let alone moving in with someone is so impossibly far away.  

One nightstand will do.

Grabbing the one in the best condition, I throw open the door and shove it into the elevator. 

Hitting the floor, I run up the stairs to meet it at the top. I shove it into the hallway and sprint back down the stairs to meet Faye.

---

Weeks later, Faye comes over for dinner. I show her around the flat and when we come to my room, she bursts out laughing. 

“The nightstand!” she says. 

Busted.

“I only took the one!” I say. “I was already so late for drinks.” 

After washing it down and putting an antique lamp on it, I have to say it doesn’t look half bad. 

It isn’t gorgeous, but it serves its purpose.

Something is better than nothing. 

---

Over the months I get settled into Spain the way I dreamed I might. 

I fill up the apartment with furniture from vintage markets and scour sales. In a month, I get it livable. My second major purchase after the bed is an enormous wooden table so I can host dinners. I make friends and we pass hours gathered around the table while candles burn all the way down. 

 I also fall in love. 

Less actually, of a falling, but more of a melting. An easy, effortless, whole-hearted stepping into the type of relationship I’ve dreamed of having since I was a little girl. 

When he moves in, it’s hard to believe it’s the same year, because it feels like a different lifetime. 

I rented the apartment with a five year lease, never imagining that someone else might live in it with me or that I’d even have someone else to consider when I’m making decisions. 

We begin to make changes, turning the apartment into a shared home. I swap pink pillows for a more neutral alternative and get bins to split the closets more fairly. I make a list of things to modify.

One of the items on the list is getting nightstands, one for each of us. Every time when I get ready for bed, I remorsefully picture the second nightstand on the curb. Why hadn’t I just grabbed them both? 

But then I remember that moment.

The unfurnished apartment reflected my life at the time: empty and intimidating. 

I was so paralyzed to start, overwhelmed by the momentous undertaking of a million and one decisions I needed to make. Filling the apartment was one thing, but everything else from filing taxes to building a new social life needed my attention too. I didn’t know where to begin.  

Necessity forced me to start. Good enough became good. I met the immediate need and moved on. The more I did, the more momentum I gained. 

For this, I’m immensely grateful for the curbside nightstand. Having something to build off kept me moving forward. After the nightstand, I found the table, then the chairs for the table, then the plates to eat from and so on. 

Once I got going, everything got easier. 

---

When the day to change the nightstands arrives, it’s like Christmas morning. 

Pulling them out of the truck, we each take each one up the stairs. He sets his down on his side of the bed. 

Stepping back, I admire how the nightstands frame the bed. These gorgeous light oak nightstands have golden legs, perfectly matching the Pinterest board I’ve used like a bible these past months. 

I stride into the living room and grab the lamp tucked away on the coffee table. There was no need for two lamps in a room that held one person. 

But now it holds two. 

I plug in his lamp. In the glowing light, the nightstands are satisfyingly symmetrical, mirror images.

Quietly, I move the old one into the hallway. It’s no longer needed. 

But I can’t bring myself to put it back out on the curbside just yet. Instead, I push it into the guest room. It can rest there for a while. 

They say one person's trash is another’s treasure and I believe that. Trash or not, the nightstand got me started. That’s to me, the real treasure. 

Imperfect today is better than perfect tomorrow. 

I’d choose momentum over perfection every time.