I’m moving in three weeks.
I’ve never, really ever, lived in one place as long as I’ve been here in CNY. Growing up, we moved just about every year, sometimes staying two years, and ironically, staying three once J, my stepdad, began working for the Department of Defense.
I am a moving-kinda gal, in the sense that picking up from one house and moving to another, wrenching myself from one neighborhood and one school to work my way into another, became very normal for me. In fact, I remember being in 8th grade (Thomas Jefferson in Waukegan, IL, if you care to know), and because I’d been there for 7th grade as well, I felt like things were a little off for me. People knew me too well.
But soon after that strange feeling of “too familiar” crept up on me, we moved to Kenosha, WI, where I finished the last 8 weeks of junior high. My teachers were appalled, mostly, that my parents couldn’t wait for the school year to finish, but I was happy. All was right with the world; we were moving again.
As an adult, I have moved pretty regularly as well, mostly trading small town houses for single-families as my own family grew, but also in service of my own figuring out what to do “when I grew up.”
I have really really loved living here. I don’t much care for the extreme weather, but when it comes down to it, anywhere I go there will be *something* I can complain about. Which also reminds me that where ever I go, I can be equally happy, as long as I’m looking in the right places.
Still, though, I’m feeling a bit of paralysis now, sitting in my dining room, surrounded by packages from Amazon of books I need to read (or, look at for an hour or so) for making diss revisions. The windows are open, the sun is patterning itself on the floor, and I’m thinking about packing and U-hauls and the sun hitting a new floor in a different pattern. I’m thinking about finding friends. What used to be easy for me to do as a child (“Hi, I’m new. Can I jump rope, too?”) seems untenable in adulthood (“Hi, I’m new. Can my kids play with your kids, and will your husband talk about hockey with my husband, and will you go running with me??”).
Don’t get me wrong. I’m thrilled to be moving. This (paralysis, anxiety), too, shall pass. But the prospect of, the getting ready for, the doing of, etc, has me mildly wanting to lay on the couch with my eyes shut.