When I moved to the San Francisco Bay Area in my 20s, I rented a room from a couple in a two-bedroom apartment. The space had big windows, purple walls, and soft pink carpets. On the other end of the apartment lived Tracy* and Andy. They were practically a cliche: both worked in tech, loved silent discos, and hung with a Burning Man crowd. They were also in their early 50s, and used my rent to subsidize a rental home on the California coast, where they enjoyed spending time.
Despite the age gap, the arrangement worked. I didn’t mind the AARP advertisements that showed up in the mail. Andy didn’t mind giving me career advice, including how to negotiate a promotion in my underpaying journalism job.
