You could say that I know a thing or two about leaving – we have moved three times in the last five-ish years, including a three-month stint in a camper and a six-month period living in a different hotel or vacation home on a weekly basis. And let's not even get started on the fact that I have moved a total of 18 times in my life, not including my college years. So leaving, I'm good at that.
Staying. Staying is much harder for me. I'm trying to make peace with it. I want my boys to grow up in a place where they will hopefully have friends that last a lifetime. But I may always feel the tug to move on.
This transient side of me has learned to make friends almost anywhere, but more often than not, the people I connect with are also the moving type. I guess we gravitate toward each other because we understand what it is like, this impermanence. This year I have already said goodbye to a new friend who moved to Idaho, and last week I dropped by to see a friend who is headed to Montana soon.
I'm excited for them, but it's hard to be the one on the saying goodbye side of things. I'm sad to see them go, and also a teeny bit jealous perhaps. Jealous of their new adventure? I don't know. I guess I'm just in an antsy phase. We have been in our current town for three years now which is enough time to feel settled, but also historically this is about the time that life uproots me...
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