Space

For a long time, I wanted more of it.

I grew up on a farm with four siblings, my parents, and countless pets. The space I had was outdoors until my older siblings started filtering off to college. I loved being outside, I liked finding trees to climb and read under. I liked finding barn kittens to tame and play with.

Me (far right) and my siblings on the farm, photo by my mother

But I grew up, I became an angsty teenager. I wanted to be inside and listen to music, surf the web, chat with my friends on AIM. I got my wish as my siblings started to move out. I finally had my own room: my own space. And I was happy with it.

Eventually, I also moved out and was reduced to a dorm, roommates, the constant cycle of packing and unpacking. That cycle has continued for me into my thirties as I became and stayed a city dweller. Roommates are a thing of my siblings’ pasts but I depend on sharing my space to survive in areas that are otherwise too expensive. Up until COVID, I worked in hospitality and thrived in city settings.

I spent twelve years in the Boston area, living in eight different apartments. I moved to Providence and am now in my second apartment in one year. The rent keeps climbing and we, we keep moving. We keep moving for our rented space. We keep moving because the people who own the space keep making it more expensive to rent their space.