On Moving, and Being a Father to Your Child
When I was growing up, my mother and I experienced life in nine apartments across four different cities. Recollecting my five college residences invokes vivid (pungent) memories of a simpler era, where the act of moving involved cramming a friend’s car with my CD collection, some clothes, and a futon that grew flatter with each passing semester. In Seattle, post-college, I witnessed the rise of both grunge and indie rock from six different houses, bringing my pre-NYC total to twenty.
Moving has always served as a cathartic means to clear my mind, reset my body in a new space, and evaluate the significance of my possessions. Sometimes my mother chose to move us, seizing the opportunity to declutter. We once relocated to the adjacent apartment because it was nicer. During our lengthy four-year tenure in an Amherst apartment, we even swapped bedrooms halfway through. Now, as an adult burdened with an excess of belongings, the process of moving has become significantly less enjoyable.
Last week, my wife, AJ and I moved into our new Brooklyn apartment, a mere 0.8 miles from our old place. Despite the proximity, the move felt like a cross-country expedition. Several weekends were dedicated to selling, donating, and discarding items ranging from air conditioners to expired cans of soup. We streamlined our spatula collection from over a dozen to a mere four, and bid farewell to crusty old ketchup and mustard containers with the promise of slick new replacements. I spent one long weekend going through my record collection… and parting with very few. I’m not sure how we accumulated so much stuff in the three years since we last moved, but now it’s finally all in the New York apartment that will hopefully be our last.
As much as I dislike the process of moving, I absolutely love exploring a new neighborhood. This is my third apartment in Ft. Greene—which is a relatively small Brooklyn neighborhood—but this particular section feels different. We’re at least two micro-neighborhoods away from our old place in Clinton Hill, and we have a whole new slew of restaurants, 24-hour bodegas, and hardware stores within our reach. If we want to feel like we moved to another country, there’s a Chipotle and a Domino’s Pizza nearby. I have a new route to the subway to work, and I’m still learning which train car gets me closest to my desired exit. Come winter, we’re a three-minute walk from Ft. Greene Park, where I plan to be the first kid to sled down the hill. Here’s a picture of me accomplishing precisely that in 2013.
This might be the first post where I don’t have any upcoming events to hype. I had an amazing time in Columbus, Ohio the other night at my last book event of the year. It was an honor and a pleasure to chat with the Columbus legend, Hanif Abdurraqib, and to meet the Kansas City musician, Treanne, who performed a short set before our talk.
During our casual conversation about music, Hanif playfully caught me off guard in front of the audience by referencing an Ed O. G. & Da Bulldogs song featuring a Roy Ayers sample, a track unfamiliar to me. The song is called… wait for it… “Be a Father To Your Child.” It became a focal point of our discussion, and Hanif's introduction to that song alone made the entire trip worthwhile.
OK it’s time to unpack. Happy holidays!
You can now listen to the My Life in the Sunshine audiobook on Spotify. I wish there was a way to integrate my book-related Spotify playlists with the audiobook… maybe someday.
I hope to see you somewhere soon. Upcoming events are always listed here.
Nabil Ayers / Brooklyn