Adapting to Luxury

Two nights ago I moved into a new apartment in San Francisco for the summer. It’s a massive upgrade from my previous 80-square-foot flex bedroom in New York. When I first stepped out of my taxi from the airport, there was a doorman who opened the door for me and let me borrow a cart to move all of my stuff upstairs. (mind you this was at 2 in the morning). The elevators in my apartment are the kind you see in office buildings – you just tap your floor on a kiosk and get dispatched to one of the elevators, none of which have any buttons inside. And compared to my old flex bedroom, I am now staying in a master bedroom with a walk-in closet and floor-to-ceiling shower. This was all overwhelmingly exciting for the first day after I moved in.

But now this all feels normal. I shower in my floor-to-ceiling shower like it’s any other day. I’m even now starting to realize minor annoyances; for example, because my bathroom is no longer cramed I cannot simply reach over to the sink counter from my shower to play music on my phone. And I have to keep track of where I put my belongings because it’s no longer the case that any part of my room is within an arm’s reach at all times. I now use the fancy kiosk elevators and smile at the doorman on my way to work like it’s second nature. It only took a day or two for this luxury to become my new baseline. And now I can see how easy it must be to fall into an endless cycle of hedonistic adaptation.