We are probably going to move. Not right away, but now there's a deadline. And though the move is due to a good thing — my husband has accepted a new and better job — I am feeling a ton of grief because I really love where we are right now. I love our house, I love our neighbors, I love the friends I've made here, I love the kids' school situation, I love how close everything is, I love the mountains practically in our backyard. We stumbled into this incredible situation, and now we have to start withdrawing from it.
|Our garden, which we built from scratch|
Some people stay put: my sister-in-law still lives in the house where she grew up, is now raising her own family there. My grandparents remained in their same home until my grandpop's death. Amazing Aunt Jimmie, from my husband's side, is in her mid-90s; still living in the same house where she was once a young wife. We do not seem to be those sorts of people. In my twenties, I moved no less than ten times. Since childhood, only one house has been my home for more than a handful of years. I can't imagine how military families do it. No house really looks like home, but more like a rental we're keeping up for the next tenants. Do the stayers experience the world differently than the movers? Does time seem less aggressive? Does the past seem nearby, and the future more predictable?
Even as I write these words, I cringe a little. This is a silly thing to mope about. Nothing is changing right away except my husband's career, which is soaring, and I really am happy for him. Meanwhile, I have so many friends who are dealing with real crises that my sadness seems petty and selfish. But while I can tell my brain to be quiet and be happy, I can't really stop my emotions from doing their thing, and this has to run its course.
I think of myself as a fairly no-nonsense person, occasionally moody but mostly resilient, and I know I'll stop being sad about this, maybe even soon. I actually like change. I'm easily bored by routine. I have to change my running route every week. When I was a kid, I felt compelled to rearrange my room every six months; I'd even disassemble and move the furniture myself. I'm sure I'll get back to that restless energy. It's just right now, I want to be very still. I want to hide from change. I want to bury myself under blankets: the blankets on my bed, in my bedroom, in my house, in my home.