The short days are getting to me. By the time I get home after work, the sunset is already settling in. I tried to do an after-work Firefly Trail stroll last week, and it was literally pitch black out by the time it took for me to reach the trail entrance. By then all I could see was our city’s new skyline, sparkling with the lights of a seemingly never-ending stream of student high-rises occupied by whimsical youth who don’t have the sense to make sure that the insides of their homes are not visible at night. I smiled at Weaver D’s and The Tire Depot, ghosts of downtown Athens’ past, and I wasn’t really bothered when a student clutched harder at their groceries as they walked almost two blocks from their parking garage to The Mark. I remember thinking that if someone paying $1,400 a month for a bedroom is nervous to walk from their car… I guess this is growing up, right?
That’s cold as hell, but that’s how I was feeling at that moment. My sleep hygiene has gone to the dogs since my housing situation changed in August, and my therapist has been reminding me of my seasonal affective disorder (SAD) diagnosis since daylight savings happened. I’ve been denying it, insisting that it won’t happen this year or that I really don’t feel it coming on.
And then I looked up what’s going up in our prestigious Vince Dooley Memorial Intersection: million-dollar gameday condos that are being specifically marketed to “second-home buyers.”
I poured myself a glass of wine when the football team lost. I said out loud that I hoped those condos failed. I thought about the cost of rent and how I no longer make enough money to live alone or buy a home here. I thought about how my health thrives when I live alone, and how the current state of the rental market in Athens isn’t really allowing for that. I pictured myself at the age of 50, walking to the kitchen to cook dinner and having to wait another hour for a roommate to finish up. I thought about only leaving the house after kickoff on fall Saturdays for the rest of my life. I thought about moving back home to the poorest state in the nation to live with my mom.
I don’t have solutions for the housing situation that renters are facing in this town, and I sit here anxiously as our Affordable Housing Advisory Committee continues their important work. I’m not hearing much about it all, and that is not comforting. What I gather from Athens-Clarke County’s website is that they’re hearing comments and making strategies, but I know I’m not the only person in town who needs to see results in a more timely fashion. It’s almost 2024—what am I supposed to do next year? My health is suffering in major ways, and I’m starting to lose my attachment to Athens as a forever home. I mean, if median rent is $1,200 here while I’m not getting any raises, why not take a higher-paying job in Denver where I could more easily afford their median rent of $1,400? I have friends from high school who own homes in the Denver area, and I never thought a cross-country move would make more sense than staying right here.
I am simply powerless against most of this, and I don’t want to end my year feeling powerless. I’m over the dance floor makeouts of yesteryear’s New Year’s Eve, but I hope to remember what I do control and what I can change by year’s end. I can get my car serviced so maybe I can commute from farther away, where rents might be (but often aren’t, let’s be honest) cheaper. I can turn the town upside down hunting for an affordable rental, if it doesn’t drive me insane. And yes, I can look at jobs out of state, if it truly comes to that. I don’t want it to, but I don’t have the years it may take for something tangible to be done about affordable housing in Athens. I still love you, Athens, and hopefully I can make lemonade out of this seasonally-affected sour mood by year’s end.
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