A Secret Trapdoor That Led to My Dream Office

All it took was 80 square-feet and a vision—I mean, who wouldn't want to spend their days working in a treehouse?

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When space is hard to come by, a mini Danish wing chair I thrifted years ago paired with an ottoman for reading/cooking up this newsletter, definitely feels like a luxury.

Something I thought was impossible actually happened at the open house to see the apartment we now own and live in. It was easily our 12th or 13th apartment viewing. All of them that preceded this one were gloomy and outrageously expensive. So, when we learned about this particular two-bedroom/one-bath in a fourth-floor walkup, and at the lower end of our price range, we thought, Okay….what’s the catch?

As you know it’s a pretty small apartment and was already teeming with 15-20 people perusing when we arrived. But as soon as we walked in the door, both Kevin and I were…surprised—the view, the giant industrial-style skylights (you’ve seen ‘em), pretty rare in a tiny apartment. And even though the rooms were on the small side, there was something so bright and hopeful about the whole space, like there were things yet to be discovered about it that maybe no one else had.

Which is exactly the moment I saw the trapdoor…in the ceiling by the door. “What’s that?” I asked the seller’s rep, pointing to it. “Oh, that’s just some extra space for storage or perhaps a mattress. I think the owners use it for suitcases.” Kevin and I looked at each other. Now, if you’ve ever been in the market for an apartment in/around NYC/Brooklyn, etc., you know things like this just don’t usually happen. An ancient bathtub in the living room, maybe. Hand-carved French Doors to a bedroom, definitely possible. But a tiny trapdoor…to what?

Inside the matrix…our home Before, baring all its secrets, which included good plank floors, excellent light, and a wee loft space that would eventually become the jewel of the apartment.

The whole thing reminded me of a studio apartment I once went to see on Sullivan Street, when I was moving back into the city in the early aughts. A woman who was sitting on a folding chair in front of the building handed me the keys to climb the five flights to see it. When I got up there, this apartment was so sweet and bright with fresh paint/moldings. It was an old apartment with a slightly sagging roofline (technicalities), but I could still see its wonderful late-1800s markings and all its potential. And then, as I was walking into the living room, I looked to my right and spotted what seemed like light coming from another door. When I stepped inside, I could see it was an actual room….extremely tiny, but a room nonetheless that could 1,000% be a little bedroom for me. The apartment was listed as a studio so how could that be? I remember my heart pounding, flying downstairs and asking the woman about the secret “room.” “Oh yeah,” she said, “the owners thought it was too small to list as a bedroom, so it’s priced as a studio.” It was $1,200/month. I applied on the spot and didn’t get it. And honestly, I am not lying when I tell you I thought about that apartment for like a decade. (FWIW, I recently walked down Sullivan Street and that original row of old slim townhouses are all gone now, replaced by a single giant skyscraper…😞)

But back to our place. “Can we go up?” I asked pointing to the trapdoor in the ceiling, to which the agent shrugged and proceeded to pull down the hatch that released a skinny folding ladder. It was weird because no one else in what was a very crowded open house seemed at all curious about what was up there. But once I knew it was there, it was all I could think about.

What could it be, I thought. As in, what could we turn it into?

My corner of the “treehouse,” trying to be as organized as possible with very limited space. The storage boxes are from Muji, and I love them/keep stationary and Polaroid supplies in them. Believe it or not, the kid’s Adidas shoe box is my Wish Box, which I highly recommend.

My husband quickly/quietly shimmied up the ladder, disappeared through the ceiling for a few moments, then came down…with extremely wide eyes. And so I went up myself, and even though it was dark, I could see it was real SPACE up there. Not just for a few suitcases, which were stacked in the corner, but for something else…a magical guest area or maybe even an office.

I’m not sure why, maybe it was having grandparents who lived through the Depression, but I find a deep sense of satisfaction, pleasure even, in turning nothings into somethings—carving out a vision for a thing or corner/space that’s been forgotten or neglected. Maybe that’s why I love thrifting and sidewalk discards so much…I can’t not see something that might make it new again, if not for me then for someone. And that’s what this funny little crawlspace was—a chance to turn an 80-square-foot attic into something I’d always yearned for, even at my former company where I never had an office but tried to conjure one out of a good corner.

It didn’t take long once the renovation began to envision what the loft could really be. Because space and cost were such big priorities for us in renovating this apartment (they are for most of us), Kevin took great care to design the ship-style ladder stairs up to the loft, which were more compact but still easy/comfortable to climb up and down numerous times a day. And in lieu of any furniture, he built basic plywood desks around the perimeter as well as some built-in shelves for books, files, and other work materials.

I suppose if you’ve ever had a treehouse or fort when you were growing up, that’s what this space feels like to me…albeit a little less rustic. And the giant skylight we have that stretches across most of our living room and faces the River helps it feel open, shifting the mood depending on what time of day it is. If you look closely, you can see that the roof only rises to about five feet, but when I’m sitting at my desk it honestly feels like I’m floating over the apartment…something I never take for granted. The two luxuries up here are definitely the skylight, which we installed just a few years ago to improve ventilation and bring in even more light. And also, bisecting the two work stations with a vintage Danish chair I covered years ago in black velvet (cat owners get it:) + a custom ottoman that’s proportional to the space. Everyone needs a chair in a cozy, peaceful spot, and that’s what this thrifted chair is to me…an ongoing invitation to break from work and read a magazine story, listen to a podcast (I loved this😭), look at building material samples with Kevin, or just take a beat, gazing up through the skylight. Eventually, I’d love to redo the built-in shelves and design a compact foldable sofa for watching movies with Raffi and adding a real place for guests to sleep over. Someday…

Kevin’s working corner, with an Alvar Aalto-style stool I found on a nearby sidewalk and old tape on the floor where we started mapping where a fold out sofa could go…eventually.

But for now, this hidden-away corner of our home is where we work…where we make things, including this newsletter. And even though it’s teeny, it reminds me every day about how important it is to be resourceful—to see things where maybe others don’t. And, to believe in secret trapdoors that could lead to something amazing. I mean, you just never know…xxCb