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Moving Again

MovingAgain

Goodbye Connecticut

 Moving – again. Some people move only two or three times in their lifetimes. I have moved more times that I can count. More times than I have fingers and toes to count off on. You would think I would be good at moving by now. You would think it would come easily to me, certainly after all this “practice” I have had. It doesn’t. It feels as strange and foreign and difficult to me as if it is my first time.

I wanted to give my children roots. You know, that proverbial house with a white picket fence. A family home to come back to once they had grown and moved on with their lives. Height markings on the wall showing their growth over the years. A chip in the hardwood floor, worn down into a groove over the years, which was first created in a terrible temper tantrum when one of them was three. We have …

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Having the Guts to Move

“Ok, I get the fact that you’re moving,” one friend said to me.  “But to Connecticut?? It’s as if you closed your eyes and threw a dart at a map of the United States.” “Wow!” said another acquaintance, “I could never do that, to just pack up and move across the country.  I wouldn’t have the guts.”

Ah yes, having the guts.  I remember back when I graduated from college and was thinking about making my first “big” move – out to Colorado. At 23, it sounded like quite the adventure. It was as though I could picture my life if I stayed in Southern California (the job/career, the good friends, the eventual husband and kids and house in the suburbs where all houses looked the same) and the thought stifled me to my inner core.  Sure, it sounded like a fine life – it just didn’t sound like an exciting life.  I didn’t want to look back at …

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