I have to preface this blog by apologizing to my grandmother.

I know I’m not supposed to talk about money and I’m never supposed to publicly direct people toward my place of dwelling.  Please forgive me. I promise to get my haircut, dye it blond and get married someday. Forgives?

I have wanted to get out and get a place of “my own” since, I think, the fourth grade. My brother would pelt me his sweaty socks while I played Barbies in the living room and I’d think: There’s got to be more than this.

Living alone makes it easier to take webcame self-portraits in peace, but it's pricey, y'all!

The thrill of an independent and, in my case, a very clean and neurotically organized life was a dream I kept throughout my early and mid-twenties. I shared dorm rooms, studio apartments, three bedrooms, houses, closets and bathrooms with some lovely characters, sure. I’ve lived with boyfriends, best friends, family members and, even once, a British guy named Paul who turned out to actually be a real, live crackhead. I’ve always wanted more than just a room of one’s own and so it was with much glee and celebration when finally, at twenty-eight, I got my own place. My mother and I walked my empty apartment before my move-in day and giggled, danced, gushed, exclaimed: It’s perfect! Fabulous! Check out the crown molding! OMG and the closet space!

A year later, I still think there’s no place like my home, but Damn Gina, this life’s expensive.

The other day, I sat down to pay my “first of the month” bills. I paid my power bill, my phone and wireless bill and my rent. Then, I went to the grocery store and to Target for household gizmo’s (paper towels, trash bags, the random Mr. Clean Magic Eraser). I got home and tallied it all up:  I had spent around $1,600. My bank account, bless its ever-breaking heart, seems to be getting lost in my independent life so, I’ve been thinking: Single people, living alone, seem destined for a life of poverty. Or, at least a life of ramen noodles and cereal for dinner (Again? Again.).

Even this studio apartment cost $600! (Okay, maybe it's not THAT bad.) Photo: kungfueats.com

If you live in Norfolk, like me, you can expect to pay anywhere between $800-$2,000 for a one bedroom apartment.  Studios are more realistic in cost, but not in size (I saw one listed at 300 square feet! Time to shop for a bed/couch/coffee table/kitchen countertop? Sheesh!). Studio rents range from anywhere between $550-$800, though. In my one bedroom, I’m on the low end of the spectrum, paying around $900 for rent, alone. But? That doesn’t include any of my utilities or other expenses. If I include just my household living expenses (not my car or my insurance or food or haircuts or whatever), I clock in at about $1,400 on average, per month.  Maybe if I were a tax attorney, the creator of Facebook or just independently and fabulously wealthy, this would not be an issue. Maybe I’d be out shopping for one of those $2,000 one bedroom apartments I see with the French balconies and the Decorum decorated model, all modern, chic and “I’m a sophisticated young professional living in Downtown Norfolk.”

But I’m not.

And so… the sex appeal of my solo habitation becomes less and less obvious.

Don’t get me wrong. I am, in fact, what some people might call a sophisticated, young professional and yes, I live downtown. I love this life. But it’s a lot more of a commitment than I realized, all those years ago. When something breaks down, guess who fronts the money for the repair? Moi. It’s empowering, managing all of my own stuff. I love that everything I own is mine. I love that I worked and I continue to work for it. But with all that power comes a hell of a lot of responsibility, financial responsibility truly, and that’s something they don’t tell you about when they’re walking you through the list of available amenities and perks.

A quiet sunrise through my window=priceless.

I guess I think about this a lot lately, because I’m seeing new directions for my career and my life and I’d like to follow them, but then I’m bound to my financial responsibilities and my commitments. I thought, the other day, for the first time in a very long time, that I’d consider, when my lease is up, moving into a two or three bedroom and-gasp-getting a roommate. It might mean less independence in one sense, but in another, it takes the load off of my wallet so that I can travel, save or just spend ridiculous amounts of money on my new niece.

Probably not everyone is like me. Maybe many of you already knew that living alone can be super expensive and so, you’re still living with Ralphie roommate and it’s totally a pain, but worth it and you’re duh-ing me all the way to the bank. Or maybe you’re blog’s totally taken off and now with the steady flow of extra income, you’re chilling on/in your French balcony without a drop of sweat to spare. But for the rest of us, I’d just like to encourage an extra bit of thought about the whole situation. While there may be yet another apartment and condominium development coming on line any day now with gobs of exciting little tricks and bells or whistles and free gym memberships, galore, it’s not a bad idea to consider being a little more conservative with those dollars you worked hard for, and independently save, wait and refrain.

It’s not a bad idea to consider that independence can actually be measured less by the things we have and the space we’re able to buy and more buy our ability to manage our financial choices and responsibility with maturity and pragmatism.

I’ll keep you posted on what I decide to do about the roommate situation.  For now, I’m going to go eat a bowl of cereal and scrub my bathroom with my magic eraser.