Living in a Norah Jones Song

I recently moved into a new apartment, not just any apartment, but the apartment. The “I’m now a 24 year old woman with a career and I no longer play rock paper scissors with my roommate for dish duty” apartment. There was only one condition for my apartment search: love. I was looking for love at first sight. After six awkward first dates it happened, and like all real loves it completely blindsided me.

I knew immediately it was special, the question was how special. The 1912 brick building with 100 year old hardwood floors and a claw food tub felt like the inside of a Norah Jones song. I should also mention the apartment has a kitchen so small you have to walk sideways through it, coin operated laundry in the basement and 2 small windows with a view of the neighbouring building close enough to touch. So perhaps more like a Norah Jones song playing on a static radio. But beautiful none the less.

Yet agreeing to this place still managed to take me 3 days, 2 visits and about 5 phone conversations. (Much love for everyone who listened to me explain every detail of this place). It took me that long to trust my heart. My cunningly sharp ego spend two days reminding me of every inconvenience, potential issue and paint chip. Despite that my heart managed to beam on, patiently waiting. It was my heart that waited silently while playing images of what picture would sit above the mantel and of asking my mom to help me sew some curtains. So my heart has now turned that apartment into my home, with my inner personality flowing into every part of it. So now this girl will be spending her winter living in a Norah Jones song with freezing cold feet and the warmest of hearts.

(And yes that picture is actually of my apartment)