Putting a number on how many places I've lived would be difficult. To say that recalling each one clearly is difficult would be an understatement. Still, of all the spaces I've stayed, and there has been plenty of variance - a condo complex in La Habra, a house in Richmond, Victoria where my backyard was the corner pub's alleyway, a Moorabbin cul-de-sac where the kids of the family across the street would bang violently on our living room windows until my parents forced my brother and I outside to play with them - nowhere seems to lend you the same odd lessons about people and yourself than when you live in close quarters. Without your volunteering, the wall-to-wall set up teaches, and often times leaves questions, about the type of person you are, who you live with, and the invaluable understanding of how little sense other people make.

In terms of yourself and who you live with, it goes without saying that the sheer compactness of everything is what makes all the difference. However, I've found it's more of a mental check than anything else. Living in a dorm my two first semesters of college at SFSU has not surprisingly been cause for a great deal of change in thought for me: Firstly, it really is the little things. There are hair products I didn't know existed, and smells (not bad ones, either) I'd never comes across before sleeping six feet from my roommate. Likewise, the effortless order about his desk, bed, everything, is something that has slipped through my fingers my whole life. Not that he's pedantic in the least, but I always tend to end up asleep on sweaters I could swear I put back in the drawer. The foreignity doesn't stop at my doorway, either. Even visiting my best friend, who lives with four roommates in a two bedroom apartment, lets me in on lifestyle choices as alien as E.T.'s. Toilet paper roll holders should be required by law. I've no real reason behind this but I think they're a good enough idea, and when they aren't used and you have to hold the roll and spin the paper off, as at my friend's apartment, I need those who somehow don't mind to let me in on how they cope. It's through these quips and quirks of others you can only experience living at arms-length from them that you begin to realize how rarely we pay attention to how very different everyone's day-to-day lives are in such subtle ways. Who puts honey on a bagel? The guy on the other end of my building does, and a healthy serving of it too. Just as living so tightly can make you think about yours and your roommates' rituals, it can do an awful lot in shaping your perception of people as well.

A backyard and a driveway are no doubt desirable, but I think there's something to be said of the non-stop intrigue an apartment or dormitory environment provides. I once lived for six months in a Residence Inn Marriott Hotel across the street from the I-5, during which time I learned an incredibly varied lot of things. Like that Santa Claus must have a very hard time finding where the presents go with so many rooms in one building, and that ornaments are made miniature sometimes because not everyone can have a full-sized christmas tree. My parents made it jolly regardless. I also learned never to trust you brought your keys without double checking - my dad is a heavy sleeper, and my mother had never been as mad as when she was booking that room for the night. Walking down the halls of my floor on campus, I've discovered the girl across the way and one door to the left of me has a really great voice and plays guitar, as well as that whoever's above me must only have sex on a metal pogo-stick because I've decided there's no other explanation for that incessant noise.

Say what you will of how scarring a Brian Wilson beard in your shower drain is (very, actually) you would be hard pressed to find a more hands on way to really open your eyes to how wildly strange you seem to everyone else. If someday you can, live in close quarters. I honestly do think it makes one less conceited. Living small helps make your scope of the world bigger.