As I was filling out a job application recently, a prompt appeared that made me think more than previous ones had. It read, “Tell us about a place you lived that shaped you into who you are today.”
There was only one place that came to my mind: my best friends’ old college house. This place had a slight insect issue and the occasional squatter. There was no carbon monoxide detector, and the heater sounded like a woodchipper when turned on. Most of the windows had been painted shut over the years and couldn’t open, and the neighbors slammed hockey pucks against the brick siding of the front porch most days out of week.
And it was perfect. Its slight imperfections only added to its authenticity. The neighborhood formed an ever-booming social scene and was a corral for college students long before my friends moved in. Every nick in a doorframe or mark on a wall was a part of a time capsule of good times past, one that we got the opportunity to add to.
Choosing off-campus housing is an exciting decision to make. It’s your first time living away from home, and this time not in communal dorms. Tuscaloosa has endless options of places to live for students. While a more modern apartment might at first be more appealing, it is guaranteed that it won’t have the same unforgettable experiences as an old college house will.
The three of my friends who lived there named the house Oz, as the sidewalk was the yellow brick road that led to an Emerald City and safe haven for our entire friend group. Though I didn’t officially live at the house, I certainly spent more time there than my own apartment. Throughout the two years my friends lived there, the house turned 100, and it held countless sleepovers, study sessions, surprise parties, a first date pep-talk, a come-to-Jesus and everything in between.
In the living room, the back wall became an ever-changing collage of hand-painted signs hung in dedication to different milestones in our lives. The staircase creaked with a high-pitched hello to everyone who walked upstairs and alerted my friend’s dog, Fern, that she had a new friend to people-watch through the window with.
Though I’m sure there were times that my friend Rachel wished the hole above her shower was permanently fixed, or that the windows could open on sunny days, or maybe times that those who lived there full-time grew tired of the constant messes left from being the house deemed the permanent hangout spot. But none of those things could ever be outweighed by the experiences within those walls.
Living in luxury is a relative idea. For most people, what comes to mind is perfect front lawns, marble staircases and chandeliers that dangle from vaulted ceilings. For me, it was a window lined with flickering purple string lights that illuminated the front yard and let me know that someone was home. It was a staircase that creaked with every step and let the dog know that she had a new friend. It was an old kitchen fridge stuffed with drink mixes and uneaten birthday cakes and leftovers from weekly dinners together. It was the not-so-glamorous moments that made being an extended resident all the more worthwhile.
You can choose the newest complex in the nicest part of campus, and it will be a great experience, I’m sure. But living in a place that has room to grow with you is an experience money can’t buy. Oz taught me that there’s no place like home — even if that home is 100 years old.
