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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 none of these things.

I show them pictures – of the deep purple walls in the loft-like apartment in Brooklyn Heights (where we lived when my son was too young for this even to be a memory) and the brownstones I pushed the stroller past every day on our daily walk with the dog. Photos of outside fun with their favorite pool toys at our house in LA, or of the parks we went every Sunday with Grandma Baba and the hours spent with her going down slides and getting pushed in the swings. Then the move to Marin County and photographs of hikes in the redwoods and ferry rides across the bay to San Francisco. For the last three years it’s been New England with sledding in the winter and all the lush green trees in the summer, and the many touristy sites of NYC, which we’ve all enjoyed seeing and experiencing over and over again.

Recently, there have been trips to the latest place in Southern California we will be relocating to – a new area for us, different and yet in many ways the same, with new places to explore, and thankfully beautiful weather to enjoy. We have taken picture after picture of warn sandy beaches and beautiful sunsets and lots of palm trees, because after the long Connecticut winter – which we are still suffering through – we can’t seem to get enough.

I have liked each place I have lived, but have also welcomed the adventure of experiencing new places too. I will miss the big colonial houses here, the horse farms, the rambling stone walls and overgrown tree-lined roads with no sidewalks and one lane of traffic in each direction. I will miss the pureness and beauty of fresh fallen snow and being able to walk out our front door and go sledding. On the flip side, I will not miss the stifling summer humidity or the bugs (those annoying blood-thirsty mosquitos or nasty minuscule disease-carrying ticks) or the ugliness and brutal cold of the long winters once Christmas has past and dealing with the elements no longer feels like a novelty.

Having said all that, this Zen Mama Wannabe is so grateful to have lived here, to have had this experience of living in a charming New England town. I wonder if my children will feel the same? If these last three years will enrich their lives somehow? Hard to think it won’t, but perhaps it is all in the way you (or they) see it. Will they come to appreciate having lived in all these different places and having been able to experienced many different things? Will this latest move FINALLY be it? There still is time for us to put down some roots – will we find this new area the place in which we do that?

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