Watching Tim invest in his home reminded me that right now, my life wasn?t about feeling comfortable or rooted In my first month as a TaskRabbit in New York City, I assembled an Ikea dresser for a stoned real estate agent in Bushwick, waited in line to get someone a table at a trendy Flatiron sushi restaurant, and helped a dude pack his cashmere sweaters for a move to the Lower East Side. Then I got a message from Tim (whose name I?ve changed to protect his privacy), a recovering cancer patient who wanted me to cold-press organic juice once a week in his Williamsburg kitchen. It sounded like a good gig to supplement my freelance writing income, which was almost zero at the time.
I was surprised when Tim answered the door of his sleek townhouse; I?d expected someone bald and frail from chemo. I guessed he was in his mid-30s, like me, and he looked healthy, with thick, tousled hair. He smiled and asked me to take my shoes off. We padded into his living room, where I set my bag next to a pouf in a sprawling, Moroccan-inspired seating area filled with colorful floor cushions. Tim led me into the kitchen, which was arranged around a large island outfitted with a separate sink. Two grocery bags of produce delivered from Whole Foods sat on the counter. Rustic wooden shelves held neatly labeled glass jars of quinoa, lentils, and several different kinds of rice. A vat of homebrewed kombucha perched above the stainless steel dishwasher. When I excused myself to use the bathro...