Ok: seven minutes plus the time it takes to walk .4 miles to the bus route, but I don't really count walking time. That's not commuting, right? That's exercise.
Except, of course, if you do count that time, then that puts total transit significantly over the half-hour mark, which I know from being stuck in traffic in Mumbai is the magical number beyond which I suddenly think "my goodness: who's screaming?" and realize it's me.
Honestly, when I started this process, I thought I might be able to get something by the metro, or at least something with a shorter bus commute. Turns out that the market isn't really cooling down in DC the way it is in other parts of the country. Turns out that lots of people live in ~1000 square feet (people: how do you do it?) but we don't really want to be two of them. Turns out -- we discovered from a recent, protracted series of unfortunate plumbing events -- that K and I share an "heir and a spare" philosophy when it comes to required number of bathrooms for a property to possess. Turns out that I'm insanely
Unless, of course, we get this property. (With a somewhat lower offer. It isn't actually overpriced, but it's been stuck on the market for a while, and I'm frugal.)
I hate condos. I hate giving up a significant chunk of change each month, for no real reason. I hate having someone live on top of me, and to each side. I hate having no outdoor space and no real privacy. I love having a ten-minute commute.
Mental accounting is a funny thing. I cringe and groan at the prospect of paying $350 a month in condo fees, but if you were to ask me whether I'd make an annual lump-sum payment of $4200 to cut my commuting time by two-thirds, have a short, safe, and pleasant bike commute, and be within easy walking distance of shops and restaurants, it'd sound pretty good to me.
But throw in emotive factors, and things get really do get ugly.
The first property is awfully cute. It's on a quiet residential street, on a nice-sized piece of land, and it's quirky. It's easy to imagine spending all summer on the deck, and maybe adding a hot tub in the yard in the winter. It's far from perfect -- each of its many rooms is actually stamp-sized -- but something about the many windows, the greenery, and the solidity of the 1930's structure (my favorite decade for masonry, we've discovered) whispers of la dolce vita.
The second property is a box with stained carpeting.
It is, maddeningly, an almost precisely same-square-feet box as the first property. Two of the bedrooms are annoyingly small; the kitchen is stupidly large. I've plotted out the what-have-we-got-and-where-would-it-go, and it'd work, more or less, with some compromises. But have I mentioned the ten-minute commute?
I'm scared I'm being overly-influenced by the summerness of my reckoning, by making my decision while standing out on the deck of property #1 and listening to birdsong. I think that being overly-influenced by actual, current circumstances is a pan-human shortcoming, but I know that I'm particularly bad at overriding immediate sensory input in favor of future projections. I'll never forget having to quickly pack for an impromptu work trip to Phuket in the freezing darkness of a London January, and discovering, on arrival, that, despite having recently spent two years in Thailand and knowing the score, I'd brought a useless suitcase full of long-sleeved shirts.
I'm even worse at predicting future self-states. I was such a delicate,
If I take the first place, will my future self be declining social invitations because she can't be bothered to walk to the bus to the metro? Will those extra seven minutes dribble away like water torture? Will she be exasperated to have to get in the car just to get a Saturday morning cup of joe?
But if I go for the condo, will the future me be forever harrumphing over my elephant-footed upstairs neighbor? Or become the subject of community gossip for frequently forgetting to reach for her robe? Or, on the other hand, will she love being able to stroll to Starbucks and Borders or catch the train and be in Old Town in minutes?
Or will she look longingly out to the small patch of shared common space and wish, wish, wish she could just see the goddamn sky?
Note to future self: please don't hate me. I'm trying to do the best that I can.
8 comments:
Do NOT undervalue the inner peace and lower blood pressure of having nobody living above you.
I completely value the principle, but I despair at the pursuit. I currently rent a box: neighbors on all sides. For whatever reason -- solid construction; average resident age over 50; I'm not sure what -- 99 percent of the time it's blissfully quiet. (I cannot, alas, afford the condo fees if I were to buy into my building -- I checked.) The new place *could*, of course, be the same. Or, OTOH, with the house: what if the house next door throws regular raucous parties in their expansive yard? Or mows it at 7 each Sunday morning?
It's such a crapshoot; that's the depressing part.
I'm clearly biased by being still in school, but I value closeness over just about everything, including physical well-being (yeah Hyde Park!). Take the Condo, and find a nice coffee shop nearby to lounge at.
14th S: Are you *really* up for yardwork? And taking a bus over the Metro even late at night? (That said, Columbia Pike is getting bus rapid transit and/or a tram, no?)
Hayes: What is the financial condition of the condo association? What is the likelihood of one-off assessments? What has the trend been for monthly fees?
Brava for viewing the $350 as a proxy for the reduced hassle of the commute, etc. It didn't strike me as all that high a fee, particularly if the frequency and magnitude of one-off assessments is low.
And bravissima for recognizing the reality that virtually all of us are terrible at anticipating our future happiness.
Like David, I value closeness (have I told you how much nicer my life is now that I live 25 minutes' walk from the heart of the West End)? Our flat is cramped (~ 400 sq ft) but it sure keeps us from buying stuff we do not need.
The only reason I'd buy the 14th S house is the vintage, which -- as you pointed out -- was excellent. My parents' old house was 1942, my Seattle house was 1942, and they were built to last.
PS Not sure what your parents' experience has been, but my parents have LOVED living in a condo since they moved into one in 12/07. Yes, they are "conventional" people, but even with that caveat, they find that their neighbors are far more neighborly than they were in Po'k., possibly on account of living in such close proximity.
And it's different from living in flats because when you have your own entry door, somehow it feels more real and less dorm-like.
PPS You will HATE having to get in the car on a Saturday morning.
PPPS If you're worried about neighbors mowing their lawns at 7 on a Sunday, what about birds waking up at 4 or 5?
And now for something completely different--
Apparently, no one buys property the way we do in Oregon. Here, you find the oldest, ugliest, smelliest ass place in a good location--and then spend the rest of your life rebuilding it. As my friend Todd says, the most useful tool for rehabing a bathroom is a hand grenade.
From having been involved in condo litigation, I would NEVER buy a condo without having a friend and the biggest boom box ever playing Black Sabbath above, below, and on all sides of my space.
But on the issue of the commute...I'm a western kind of guy who loves the wide open spaces. A long commute (provided you aren't ALWAYS driving) is not bad. My first job out of law school featured an hour plus commute each way--and when I wasn't driving, it was the best part of my day. Just my personal opinion: I think getting used to a long commute will be easier than getting used to having the other person your nose (let's just say) every minute of the day.....
As for "yardwork"--listen to me, City Kid: would you have ever believed that back in the day you would have lived in COUGH COUGH, ridden a bike all over, and LOVED it? (or lived in a place known as "The Beaver State," and people say that without laughing?) Can you really look me in the eyeball, and tell me that you'll NEVER get a thrill from growing your own wildly fragrant roses? Or fresh basil?
Listen to me, refugee from the Age of Aquarius: It's not just little old ladies who grow and love hydrangeas......
Not that I'm complaining or anything....but this has been a long ass seven minutes......
I'm going to see Bill's "not complaining" and raise it to "complaining". I am going through esq2 withdrawal here.
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