When I was a little girl my mother used to love changing around the furniture in the house, painting the walls, or general redecorating just for the fun of it. There was some kind of whimsy to know you could go to bed one night with beige dining room walls only to wake up in the morning with walls that were lavender or olive. You just never knew. To my brothers, sisters and I (there were seven of us) it seemed as if she did this every few months, but in reality it was not really that often. My sister, Judy, said to me onetime that I like to move as often as my mother redecorated our house and she’s not too far from the truth.
When I move into an new apartment I usually feel quite satisfied and happy to have resettled. After all, I had spent months deciding on the right location, neighborhood, and property. Yet, not two years later I’m back at it again – ready to go through the process for the umpteenth time! It’s not as if I have a plan or a timetable, in fact, it’s not something I give much thought to at all (unless someone brings it up – friends and family are quite troubled by my restlessness). It’s more like a physiological response to some kind of outside stimuli I don’t recognize. All I know is that when it’s time to move, it’s just time to move. Besides, there is something fun and exciting in always starting over. People will say to me, “how can you stand the work of it?” Easy, I hire movers and I’m not a packrat by any stretch of the imagination. I live light and I travel light. I’m not so much an acquirer of things as I am a gatherer of ideas, experiences, relationships, and stories.
I think I enjoy traveling for the very same reason that I enjoy moving. It’s the idea of starting over in each new country that I visit. God, I love that feeling!
"Staying in one place is a lot like making the bed everyday...I just don't see the point."