MOVING IN WITH THE MILLENNIALS
When Natalie Blenford, 37, moved in with two ultra-hip millennials, she went back to living the life of a 25-year-old. Here, she explains why ‘down-decading’ is the best thing a woman at a crossroads can do…
Natalie Blenford gets life lessons from her younger new room mates
“SUBLETTING MY CUTE DOUBLE ROOM in amazing apartment with the two coolest roommates. Five minutes’ from the beach,” wrote a girl called Shoshanna on Facebook. Three weeks into my “life sabbatical” and looking for a room to rent, I messaged her.
After a long, cold winter in London, I’d flown to
Tel Aviv to try a new life. I wanted to write, swim in the sea, sip arak with bohemian new friends and date handsome men. I wanted to forget my struggles to get on the London property ladder and my endometriosis diagnosis. All of my friends were settling down, and I had this gnawing feeling that I was becoming stuck.
The apartment was on the top floor of a block that hadn’t been redecorated since the 1970s. With lime green formica kitchen surfaces and secret drinks cabinets built into the walls, it looked more like a set from Mad Men.
But Shoshanna was charming. With a decade between us, I didn’t expect us to bond, yet we chatted for an hour – about everything from literature to yoga, plus the puzzling fact that no one could fix the apartment’s broken stove. I turned the gas tap 90 degrees and got it working immediately. Shoshanna looked at me in amazement and said the room was mine.
A few days later, I moved in. I was to live with two other American-israelis: Yael and Doron, both 26. Shoshanna left the key wrapped inside a note, saying: “Good luck, I hope you’ll feel at home soon.” I cried when I read it. What was I doing living in this old, dusty apartment with two people who were born in 1991 and had never heard of Take That? My married friends were on their third babies, yet here I was, 2,000 miles away, snuggling down under someone else’s duvet.
When my new flatmates tumbled through the door two days later (they’d been beach camping), my tummy flipped. They were extremely cool – and young. They sounded like the script of an indie movie; everything was “lit” or “100%” and their fashion – ironic retro sportswear and vintage prints – was markedly different
to my collection of Zara and H&M. I wasn’t just subletting, I was downdecading: I’d be living a life more typically associated with people 10 years younger than me. It was daunting, but I had no choice but to get stuck in.
I learned within days that millennials live quite differently to my generation. Unfettered by engagement rings, partners or kids, Yael and Doron could live for the moment and for themselves, whether that meant dating two people at once, “pre-gaming” before going out at 11pm, or inviting a date over for a midnight hook-up. It also meant working hard to juggle short-term goals (having enough money to pay the rent) with long-term goals, like getting a law degree (Doron) or a high-tech career (Yael).
I should have hated it, but there was something about these two that stopped their lifestyle from feeling threatening. Close friends, they cared about each other and the apartment, and the longer I lived with them, the more I began to relax and share their live-for-the-moment outlook too.
The turning point came on Israeli Independence Day, when 200 others came over for a house party. The flat was transformed into a club complete with decks, falafel balls and fairy lights. I bought vodka for “jello shots” and put my trendiest Aztec-print mini-skirt on. I had a midnight escape route planned in case I felt out of my depth, but we downed a shot together while waiting for half of young America to arrive. I was involved now; their party had become my party. But that didn’t stop me worrying that the building might collapse under the weight of 400 feet. When, at 2am, Doron demanded we all head to a street party, I laughed. Was I partying past midnight with millennials and actually enjoying myself? It seemed so.
The next day, I woke up to an apartment in squalor. By 10pm, the floor was still thick with dirt. I filled a bucket with bleach and spent an hour mopping the grime away. When the others got home they were amazed. “How did you do it?” Doron asked. “It took us days to mop up after our last party, but you’ve done it so fast, you’re the best!”
From that moment we were equal: I was a housemate, a friend, an honorary millennial. I started living life by Doron and Yael’s rules, which meant going beyond my comfort zone. I’d hook up with guys even if I didn’t think they were “The One”. I’d go to open mic nights on my own and sing You’re So Vain in front of strangers. Why not? Life was for living. When I hit a rocky spot, Yael and Doron were always there to help. I’d wander into Yael’s huge, bohemian room and tell her my troubles. She was a font of wisdom, encouraging me to live in the moment but know my worth. Doron was equally reassuring when it came to my career. I’d started getting auditions for TV commercials, but the scripts were in Hebrew. He would coach me, recording my lines into my iphone and Whatsapping to wish me luck. In return, I’d proofread his law school essays and Instastories, both of which were of equal importance to him.
Away from the expectations of other 30-somethings, I underwent a sort of rebirth. I felt okay about being single and forgot to worry about my fertility. I felt liberated. Living a younger lifestyle reminded me that life isn’t a tick-box exercise; I’m happy for my friends who have babies and husbands, but I felt just as happy making a new friend at my favourite coffee place, or speaking a new language successfully.
On my 36th birthday they were away, but left me a bouquet of white flowers with a touching note. When the time came to move out, I asked to grab a selfie with them and they went one better, asking to do a photoshoot so they could frame and display a picture in the kitchen. We did the shoot at 7am on a boiling October morning and then Doron and I ran into the sea, like a couple of teenagers on the last day of school holidays. It was perfect.
My six months down-decading were confusing, thought-provoking and ultimately life-affirming, but would I move in with 26-year-olds long term? Probably not. But spending time with them inspired me; I realised I have life skills they’re yet to develop and when two generations work together, we can all achieve more. My stay with Yael and Doron reminded me of the importance of spontaneity, passion and ambition, and everyone can let these into their life. Whether it’s mentoring a younger colleague, asking the 22-year-old style adviser in Topshop for help or dating a younger man, I suggest everyone makes like a millennial and learns to let go. I know I’m happier for it.