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Moving. The thought of it makes me shudder. I’ve often joked that it would be simpler to just set everything on fire and start over.
But, you know, that’s expensive, and I’m kind of attached to some of my stuff. OK, a lot of my stuff. So, that’s just not an option.
That sentiment comes from moving a lot, I think. Not as much as some, of course. Military families, for example, move all the time. But I had my fair share of location upheaval in my youth. I lived in six different towns and residences by the time I graduated high school. Two different states. Four different school systems. Again, not as much change as some, but enough to be a bit unsettling.
After high school, and before moving to Lincoln City, I lived in ten different places (in five different states). Lincoln City is the place I’ve lived in the longest. I’ve lived in my house for 12 years (if you don’t count the 10-month period where I moved out of my house only to return to it three moves later, but that’s a long, complicated story…)