This apartment is where I lived when Sherry and I first started dating. Looking back, it’s hard not to laugh: my decorating skills were minimal, but apparently there was enough charm (or potential) to make an impression. More likely she saw the space as a blank canvas with plenty of room for improvement.
At the time I was a recent college graduate, relatively new to the city, and proud to be a renter in Long Island City, Queens. My setup wasn’t glamorous—a futon tucked into the corner of a shared living room—but it was mine for a brief, memorable period. The apartment was a one-bedroom unit shared among three of us: one roommate occupied the bedroom, another and I split the living space, and we all made do with what we could afford while trying to establish ourselves in New York City.
Sharing a small Long Island City apartment taught me a lot about city living, budgeting, and compromise. When you’re splitting rent and utilities with friends, you quickly learn to prioritize what matters. Comfort was rudimentary—sleeping on a futon and keeping clothes stacked nearby—but the tradeoff was a central location and a community of friends who made the experience worthwhile. For many young professionals and recent grads, this kind of arrangement is a rite of passage, a temporary but formative chapter before moving on to larger spaces or different neighborhoods.
To be fair, my stay in that apartment was short-lived. I was only there for two months while waiting for my friends’ lease to end so we could move together to the Upper West Side, where I would finally have my own room. That move marked the end of my brief futon era, but the memories from those weeks remained vivid. It was during that time that Sherry and I started dating, which makes the little living room feel more significant than its size or décor ever warranted.
One of the best things about that tiny living room was the view. From our window we could see a wide swath of the city skyline and the activity across the water. That view made the cramped quarters feel less confining and turned late-night conversations and weekend mornings into something almost cinematic. Even when I slept with my clothes nearby and the futon was hardly luxurious, waking up to that scenery made everything feel more bearable and oddly special.
Looking back on that period, it’s clear how much small, temporary spaces can shape our stories. Living in a modest Long Island City apartment taught me resourcefulness and reshaped my expectations about urban living. It was a practical phase, but also one full of personal milestones—making friends, learning to live with others, and starting a meaningful relationship. Those early New York experiences, even from a futon in a shared living room, are part of what made later homes feel earned and appreciated.
If you’re navigating city life in a similar way—sharing apartments, splitting rent, and making the most of limited space—know that the temporary discomfort often leads to valuable experiences. A small apartment can be more than just a place to sleep; it can be the backdrop of friendships, growth, and the start of something unexpected.