Maybe, perhaps, it could be that I have commitment issues.
I recently calculated out how many times I have changed my place of residency. It comes to twenty-seven. For real. The weird thing is that
if when I find myself exaggerating, I often use the number twenty-seven. You know, like when I tell you how many red lights I hit on my way to your house (which is why I’m late), but it’s really only like five. It’s way more fun to say twenty-seven red lights. Maybe it has something to do with extra syllables when one is exaggerating. See?
It is not fun, however, when twenty-seven is the actual number of how many times I have physically relocated. Every last one of these moves has been as an adult, with a few cross country, and many were across town. My parents still live in the same exact house they bought when I was a wee babe (circa 1968). I lived there until I was eighteen, and I’ve been moving ever since.
What my family saw as stability, I saw as boredom. I couldn’t wait to live in other places, especially somewhere not cold, like Florida. I’m happy to say that I’ve been in Sarasota since 1996, so at least there’s that. Some stints have been on the longer, more respectable side, like five years in one place, and four in another, but this is my third move in as many years, and this spot is only mine for a year at most.
Some of the moves, probably half, involved a boyfriend or fiancee or a wedded relationship. I won’t bother to chronicle it all out for you (you’re welcome), but it’s safe to say I understand what propelled each move. Some moves were simply necessary, and some were fueled by desire. I know the next place will be a purchase, and the only name on the closing docs (and mortgage) will be mine. Oh, and probably the bank, too.
Back to the moving, I’m over it honestly.
It seems silly that I’m just now embarking on this home ownership goal, but that is my reality. I’ve been spending all my dollars on raising children and adventures and travel and college and braces and my soon-to-arrive grandson. So the timing hasn’t been right to even dream of it until now. With that, it is my goal, and this girl is getting after it.
Where I am living is perfect – for now. It’s big enough for visitors, and cozy enough to feel like home. It’s peaceful and quiet and deer literally play in the front yard. It’s comfortably furnished, and all the maintenance is included, so I can just relax and unwind once I’m home. There are several options for my hammock, and it goes up tomorrow.
That is the hard part. Knowing that this location is temporary, when I am so ready to settle in. Do grandparents go through nesting too? Is that what this is about?
Update: Baby Grandson’s official due date is in just 2 weeks, so my goal, which was to be unpacked before his arrival, was met this weekend (yay me!) I will be ready to head north by the time her contractions take hold, which can be ANY DAY NOW!!!
And back to the moving…
When I buy my very own place, I will be able to paint whatever walls and colors I want. I will get to choose light fixtures and cabinet handles and I can plant things in the actual ground. I can hang wind chimes in the backyard oasis I plan to create. This actually frees me from fussing over every nook and cranny here.
But, first things first. My grandson will be here very soon, and my attention will be appropriately consumed! There will probably be a few pics, and maybe some gushing. Who am I kidding? There will absolutely be pictures and gushing . And you’ll want to see, right?
Of course you will.
It’s gotta be better than reading about endless moves!
Thanks for reading, until next time,