The ordeal began when I had run the dishwasher on a Friday night — the same dishwasher that had relentlessly scrubbed my blender, plates, and pans for weeks without fail — and let myself drift off to sleep.
When I awoke to gurgling sounds shortly after, I knew something was off. As I crept into the hallway, my socks grew soggier by the step. Turning on the lights only made clear to me the scope of the disaster that I already felt beneath my feet.
The dishwasher was gushing water into every corner and crevice of my Washington, D.C. apartment, flooding the unit. I soaked up opaque water on bath towels, hearing saturated thuds against the bathtub as they sloshed around.
The next two weeks were a chaotic blur of bouncing between apartments, watching the floors be stripped and replaced, and battling with rental companies, movers, and maintenance crews.
Despite the chaotic situation, I used these two weeks to see friends, visit sites, and peruse in the coffee shops and bites that can be found on every one of Washington’s radiating avenues. I popped into a coffee shop owned by an Indonesian woman for a latte and a scone, immersed myself in photographs of American celebrities at the Portrait Gallery, and kicked back with friends on a Friday night while snacking on pizza.
Yet at the same time, I struggled with the stress of living a transient life in the nation’s capital and shed tears over the frustrating moves between apartments. I found myself unable to embrace the calm, reliable routine of coming home from work to a still apartment.
To fill the evenings, I began looking for more complicated recipes to entertain myself — chopping vegetables, boiling pasta in salty water, and playing music while I worked. As the food cooked, I threw in laundry, cleaned the apartment, and packed up lunch for the following day of work.
Over time, I began to accept the quiet. I would read as I ate, occasionally calling family and friends as our schedules aligned.
I also made a point of slowing down when out in the city. The abundance of things to see and do was sometimes overwhelming, and in the first weeks, I crammed in sites without taking the time to genuinely enjoy or understand them.
When I went to the Botanical Gardens — a place I expected to buzz through — I mulled around the grounds the entire afternoon after work. One weekend became dedicated to two art museums, where I was captivated by the pieces that stood out to me.
While my life wasn’t dramatically changed in the two months I was there, I became more comfortable accepting the present moment and place I was in, rather than concerning myself with the people, responsibilities, and campus out of my reach for the moment.
I even began to enjoy the smallest moments, particularly after the hecticness of my apartment flooding. I loved the game of timing the morning Metro. A little bit early, and I found myself having a quiet ride to myself. A bit later, I faced a people-watching extravaganza of interns and employees clutching coffees and backpacks. One woman even carried her heels for the office as she commuted in sneakers.
After my flooring was replaced and the furniture was repositioned in my apartment, I moved back in and unpacked. I was sure that little deluges would still spring up. And there quite literally were more deluges, when my dishwasher flooded a second time, luckily to a much lesser extent. There were still friends and family to miss, assignments to complete at work, and an insurmountable number of sites to see. While I had tried to ignore what I missed at home or school, I also began to accept those emotions as a normal part of being away from all the people and places I had considered home.
Yet standing in my newly-floored apartment, I looked around at the space, and, much to my surprise, felt a sense of relief knowing that a quiet evening lay ahead. With the constant bustle of the city surrounding, my quiet alcove that once felt stifling — and was once very wet — finally felt a bit peaceful.
Isabella Dail is the head editor of The Prospect for the ‘Prince.’ She can be reached at id7289[at]princeton.edu.
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