After a Certain Age

I have roommates and I couldn’t be happier.

There’s a stigma in the U.S. about having roommates. After your late 20s, I feel like there’s a general consensus that you should be settling down, if not with a partner than at least alone. Otherwise, you’re seen as immature, careening into Peter Pan syndrome. And minus the perceived stigma, according to Five Thirty Eight, it’s not even normal — in 2014, only 4% of Americans who are 32 years old live with a roommate.

As a newly minted 32 year old, this stat now includes me. I have roommates. And honestly, I don’t know what I would do without them.

I have the dual distinction of being the first college graduate of my working class family and graduating from college in Dec. 2007 — which the National Bureau of Economic Research deemed the precipice of the Great Recession. In my family, we would say that made me duly fucked. It was a hard 3–4 years. I washed dishes at night after working a temp day job, maxed out my credit card charging a new transmission and heating system for my Honda (on the same day), and helped my younger brother cover a semester of college after my father lost his job.

Having roommates for 10 years has always seemed like just another thing I had to do that my peers don’t. And not in an envious way — it’s just a part of my journey that differed from others. I could have easily moved in with two long-term boyfriends I acquired along the way, one of which, as a finance bro, did (and continues to do) very well for himself. But depending on some guy I was blasé about always seemed like the easy way out, plus very unfair to him.

And while not every roommate has been the right fit, for the past two years I’ve lived with women who are absolute gems. Moving from Chicago to New York two years ago, I only knew a couple of acquaintances and was feeling quite shaken and alone. A chance Craigslist ad has given me friendships that are indispensable. Besides always having someone to try out a new bougie restaurant with, I’ve become more physically active, a better communicator and way less petty because of these women.

Since living with my current roommates, I’ve begun to make real, serious money, putting me in an income bracket my parents never reached. I’ve been able to pay off all my debt and amass a solid financial foundation. “Should I start planning to buy a house?” is a question I now turn over and inside out on one of my long, meandering walks through Prospect Park. It’s also a question I wouldn’t get to ask myself without having roommates.

I’m not impervious to societal judgments and now with my income, I know it’s time to probably live alone — but another part of me is leery. Living beneath my means has made me feel more secure. Just like a good, healthy savings account, it’s another sandbag against a potential economic storm. Why should I give that up? So I can be lonely in some overpriced studio? Will that make me feel like some kind of next level adult? I honestly don’t know.

Marlena Ryan is a copywriter living in Brooklyn. Follow her inappropriate musings on Twitter: @Marlena_Ryan.