I know it’s a corny title, but I was laying on the floor of my bedroom today, trying to work out the kinks in my back when that thought hit me. I was looking up at the ceiling which reflected that afternoon (now evening) sun that I have grown to love so much, and as I tend to do come springtime, I was pondering an eventual move.
I didn’t move much growing up. I lived in the dormitories at Tufts with my resident director parents for the first three and a half years of my life, and while we did move between dorms, I don’t remember much of it. In August of 1986 however, we took off up Route 93, and my parents settled our little family in Londonderry, NH into the same house in which my parents still live. After college however, my life has been a different story.
As I approach my five year reunion, I am realizing how much I have failed to put down roots. How much constant upheaval has become a part of the rhythm of my life. How much I’ve grown to like it. I have been out of college for five years. Counting my sublet in the summer of 2005, I’ve lived in 5 different apartments since then. Somerville #1 (Powderhouse Square), Brighton, Somerville #2 (Inman Square), Somerville #3 (Porter/Davis Square), Somerville #4 (.1 mile from Somerville apartment #3).
Maybe I should stop moving, realize that there is no “perfect” place, or “perfect” set of circumstances, but then again, I think that moving so much has taught me some valuable lessons.
- I keep less stuff, and I use the library. I love books, and I keep the ones I really love, but books are heavy. Almost everything I own serves a purpose, and while I STILL have a lot of stuff, this is a big step for a childhood pack-rat (hello, high school French notes still living in my closet after my college graduation….)
- When my boxes are packed properly, I can unpack a bedroom in a matter of hours. Seriously. This summer I moved into my apartment at 9:00, returned a rental truck all the way to Portsmouth, NH and drove back by 3:00, and had my bedroom completely unpacked by 6:00. Even I was impressed.
- I no longer get super attached to the places in which I live.
- I can pack boxes like it’s my job. I could probably make it my job and make some good money off of it.
- I can make almost any space feel like a home.
- I can maximize space with the best of ’em.
Anyway, as I contemplate those big life changes that seem to creep my way, or at least into my consciousness every spring, it’s nice to know that home really is where the heart is.