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From Nick Branstator, Software Engineer:

07/23/97

When I first arrived in Williamstown almost a year ago — starting my bid for a permanent job with Tripod — housing wasn't exactly my priority. Any cheap shelter would do; the goal was a roof over my head, not opulence. I hooked up with an extra room in a friend's house; for the first two months, my bed was a sleeping bag. When I moved to a futon I felt like I was living in the lap of luxury.

This July my perspective is a little different. After a raise and a disagreement with one housemate over the future of the household (after he unexpectedly added a girlfriend and two small children to our ménage), it was time to move on to better digs. If you have ever tried to find a place of your own before, you know that it's almost invariably an unpleasant process, full of dashed hopes and questionable compromises. But a few gems turned themselves up.

At this point a new question arose, an obvious one which nevertheless had failed to cross my mind (because I had not had the luxury of asking it ever before): where did I want to live? Furnished or unfurnished? Big or small, in town or back in the woods, modern or Victorian or just plain homey? I ended up with a choice between two places, but the choice was really between two ways of living — because a furnished condominium and a backwoods house create two entirely different lifestyles. The first represents the ultimate logical extension of dorm life, with rooms on each floor for each person, everything ready-made and beautiful, even a housing association to mow your lawn and shovel your walk. Low-maintenance, the microwave of homes. The second beckons with the strange allure of domesticity, a desire to put down roots and develop a personal space, with hand-picked furniture and your favorite artwork hanging on the wall just so. It's a hard choice.

In the end, I took the condo, figuring there's plenty of time to make a home. But the trade-off sucks, and I don't see an end to it — mobility vs. settling, with no easy solution. Add scattered friends and a significant other with her own plans and ambitions to the mix, and presto! the paradox of happiness in America, where success and community somehow always end up at odds with one another. Or something like that.

For now, I satisfy myself by buying the occasional small piece of antique furniture, a couple of curios, and lots of books. Books are a good compromise, if a heavy one: any house becomes much more yours with your favorite titles lining the shelves. But it's interesting to remember that there is a whole different way of living out there, that, if you want, you can be Ozzie or Harriet, and that there are reasons why the '50s dream was so attractive for so long.

07/28/97

My housemate just went psycho and now I have joined the ranks of the actively homeless, at least for a month. Sleeping on couches changes your point of view a bit. Domesticity or condo-life, I don't care right now — but I do look forward to being able to care again, soon.

Love, Nick (8/1/97)

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Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.

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