i could fix them

on home hoping and imagined identities

i know i’m not the only one who spends far too much time browsing zillow, but i can’t be the only one who dreams up entire new lives in certain homes, right? i took this fantasy exercise entirely too far recently, and here was the result:

the cool rom-com girly

dakota johnson WHO? this apartment is the main character, honey.

i’d wake up and make my (french press or pour over) coffee, switching on the gas fireplace and settling in at my desk to write various fabulous articles and manuscripts before my musician boyfriend with impeccable cheekbones — but awful follow-through — stops over to make out with me against the exposed brick wall and smoke cigarettes on the roof deck before he heads to band practice.

later, my seven wildly different close friends, who somehow all live around the corner and get along swimmingly, would come over for a dinner party with taper candles and lots of wine and gossip.

maybe the light reflecting off of the tin ceilings, and the molding — the MOLDING— would help me forget that i was living directly next to the expressway entrance and a stone’s throw from the airport. maybe.

the retro domestic diva

after immediately ripping out the vomit-inducing cabinets — and stripping the tragic wallpaper — i’d put my own stamp on the place with shades of pastel peach, tangerine, and mint all over the place.

then, i’d spend my days between the (updated) booth in the kitchen and the sunny dining area, suddenly feeling compelled to start my own vintage clothing store or pick up a crafty hobby like needlepoint or quilting. in the evenings, i’d cook casseroles in pyrex dishware and make fondue that i’d place on a lazy susan in front of the fireplace. i’d probably start wearing go-go boots, and i’d probably have to buy a VW bug because i could no longer walk anywhere.

the mature, mid-century mrs.

i’d be married if i lived here, definitely. likely to a college professor who listens to NPR, has strong opinions on jazz, and only buys fair trade coffee.

we belong to a farm share, subscribe to architectural digest, have a tried-and-true dog like a golden retriever or lab (none of this maltipoo nonsense), and spend our summers in the berkshires going to concerts at tanglewood. we silently, happily read books in front of the fireplace with bottomless tea and cook bon appetit recipes as a vinyl record crackles in the background.

it’s a cool concept, but only until we divorce because i find out he was sleeping with one of his students.

the cozy boho babe

i would somehow transform into the absolute best version of my current self here. my dying fiddle leaf fig plants would thrive. i’d cook dinner at least four nights a week (and meal prep on weekends). i’d have a membership at a yoga studio and regularly attend a book club. i’d finally feel like i had the freedom to paint one room a moody jewel tone — ideally, “java sea,” which was the color of my teenage bedroom.

i’d buy one of those bougie bath trays because the tub is not flush against the wall. i’d slowly sip my coffee on the screened-in porch every morning, without looking at my phone once. i wouldn’t need to optimize it, but it could optimize me. a girl can dream.

the nancy meyers movie character

fresh fruit would always be on the table, fresh flowers would always be on the dining table, my dresser would always be full of freshly-laundered turtlenecks and linen pants, and i’d always be pulling freshly-baked tarts and croissants out of the oven. golden hour isn’t a time of day here; it’s a lifestyle. i’m on a diet of roasted chicken and white wine, and my college-aged children return home frequently to join my joyous dinner parties, illuminated only by twinkle lights, in the backyard.

this one doesn’t need fixing, and it wouldn’t need to fix me. here, i would have already arrived.

…but maybe i don’t want to fix any of them at all, anyway. maybe i just want to try on some different versions of myself.