Colombia. Florida. Alabama. Utah. Ohio. Florida. Utah. Missouri.
I am no stranger to picking up my entire life into a few suitcases and boxes and starting a new chapter in a new place. When I was younger, I used to curse my parents for making the decision, without any input from me whatsoever, to uproot our family, force me to leave everything that I knew and loved, to move to a new, scary, friendless place.
3. 12. 15. 18. 23. 26. 30. 32.
It was easier to let go the older I got. After a few years in any one place, I'd start to feel an itch for shiny newness, for something life changing, awe inspiring, blow your mind...ing. I looked forward to meeting new people, to getting to know a new neighborhood, to finding the perfect local bookstore and the coffee shop where you could spend hours alone or in conversation. I am thankful that I moved so much. I am thankful that my parents made the decision to do so. I am so, so thankful.
So, when I think about moving every few months to a new place, my adult heart fills with excitement and anticipation: new food! New culture! New people! We really don't expect to make too many close friends, since the 3-6-month time scale we have doesn't allow for the proper fermentation of adult friendships. However, it wasn't until we put Des into daycare and preschool that we began to second-guess our lifestyle (again. and again. and again. Happens once every so often).