Since high school graduation, I have moved sixteen times. It has been a never ending ebb and flow of comfort and discomfort. Stability and in-.Temporary, temporary, temporary.
I've moved in and out of so many circumstances and situations, that I can barely find one suiting enough to call home. It seems that true home is where I always end up in between all of my life's changes - my parents home, my childhood home - the only constant I've had as my '10 Year Reunion' creeps closer and closer as this year matures.
I've moved across town, across the state, across the country. In good weather and foul. More often than not, my father puts down whatever he's doing to come and pack me up and join me on the journey to my next destination.
My state of flux has become synonymous with one of vexation. As I get older, the more I move, the less whole I feel. I not only leave behind material things I can afford to live without - I also leave behind pieces of me, scraps of memories, and unrealized futures. Every time I move, I launch myself down a different path - the vexation being that I have yet to find that move that keeps me from moving.
That said, I'm optimistic about this one. After living in Westchester for less than a year and this making my 3rd move, I have come to a point where I'm ready to put down some roots. I have my friends, my boyfriend, my job, yoga, and my amazing new apartment. Things may not be perfect just yet, and they are bound to change - but come hell or high water, I'm not moving again until there's a zombie invasion or an outbreak of the plague.
Thank you to my wonderful parents for coming all the way from Syracuse to help me with the transition, and thank you to my boyfriend who took time out of his incredibly hectic schedule to be there by my side through the whole thing.
Cheers,
Breezer M.
