Hoboken’s favorite son sang, “If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere.” Of course, he was talking about New York City, but I never wanted to make it there. I wanted to make it right here in Hoboken.
After all, this is supposed to be the cheaper alternative, the sixth borough, if you will. The mile-square city has the best view on the planet, and 100 bars and restaurants all within walking distance of your front door.
This is where I wanted to make it.
But next week, I will cram into my little two-seater (the first car I’ve ever owned) with my wife and my dog, and drive south on route 81 for about ten hours. Destination: Charlotte, N.C., where the rent will be one-third what we’re currently paying.
After 10 years of trying to make it here, I realized that I can’t make it here. Sure, I could continue to live paycheck to paycheck, working only to pay the rent. I even used to think there was a certain nobility to that kind of lifestyle – sacrificing savings for the benefit of being able to walk home if you’ve had one or two too many drinks.
But 10 years, five residences, seven jobs, two career changes, and one marriage later, I’d say it’s time to start living my life in places that are measured in acres and not square feet. I’m a 35-year-old boy, ready to finally live like an adult.
Two years ago, I read an article about Charlotte and how it was one of the few cities that still had a growing real estate market. My wife and I went down there for a weekend, and it was fairly evident we were the biggest fools on the planet – tied with everyone else that lives in the tri-state area, with all due respect.
Given the choice, would you rather live in a place where the weather is 65 degrees every day, and $250,000 buys you a new-construction mansion, or would you rather live in a $350,000 studio measuring 500 square feet, afraid to touch the handrails on the PATH train after a 20-minute walk through grey slush?
Put another way, would you rather play golf nine months a year, or live someplace where you can touch three walls of the same room at the same time?
I need to provide my family with the kind of life that my parents gave me growing up in East Hanover, N.J.: a nice house, room to run, a good public education – somewhere I can save for my unborn children’s college education. Wouldn’t it be nice if this town was actually, oh, I don’t know, affordable?
Is it possible to think of a city as a phase rather than a home?
Then again, if I win the lottery…
Now, if I should happen to win the lottery in the next week, then Charlotte can pretty much kiss my grits, or whatever they say down there. Otherwise, to my beloved
Hoboken: thank you for cramming a lifetime into 10 years.
My chest always swelled with pride when I told people that I lived in Hoboken, N.J. Even the anti-bridge-and-tunnel crowd who would dis Jersey for the sake of dissing Jersey just didn’t get it. My crappy studio apartment was better than their crappy studio apartment, and I was just as close to work.
If it wasn’t for my time in Hoboken, I wouldn’t have enjoyed the great debates of “who has the better mozzarella?” Roast beef sandwiches wouldn’t be thought of as a viable breakfast/hangover option. It was in these streets that I trained for two marathons, helping raising over $15,000 for the Leukemia Lymphoma Society. I’ve made illegal U-turns, indulged in art in the form of pizza and been in need of immediate chiropractic adjustment after hitting some of the perennial potholes. Free buffalo wings! Live bands! Six-minute ferry rides! Sharing cabs with total strangers! Hookups and breakups! And unfortunately, boutiques on Washington Street that came and went. And therein lies the problem.
Nowadays, when I see a new place open, I try to guess the over/under on how long they’ll stay in business. I don’t just want to keep my head above water, anymore.
So, as our favorite son once sang: “Start spreading’ the news, I’m leaving’ today.” – Steve Blahitka
Steve Blahitka is a 10-year resident of Hoboken.