12 moves in 9 years... does that make me insane?

I’m in the stage of moving where there is light at the end of the tunnel, but its going to get a lot worse before it gets better. There are piles on the floor, some of them for Goodwill, some of them for the trash, some of them to pack (hopefully they don’t get mixed up).  All the tables, shelves, and all furniture that could get things off of the floor have been moved already, and the only thing left to stack things on is the couch or my bed (and I’d like to utilize them both for another day or two). The walls are bare, the closet is empty… I’m not even sure if I have anything besides a shirt to wear tomorrow, but I’ll figure it out.

I’m not overwhelmed or panicky, the end is in sight, but I am a little exhausted, and of course its right about now that I question the overall sanity of moving. I know exactly why I’m moving, and I’m thrilled to be moving, but since graduating college in 2007, I have moved a total of 6 times.  6 times in five years. Count back through college, and when you realize that I lived in a different dorm or apartment every year, and spent two summers in campus housing, I’ve actually moved  12 times in the past 9 years. Please God let this be the last time for a good long while! Saying it out loud makes me question my own sanity. Am I a glutton for punishment? In my defense, moving into and out of a dorm room isn’t really all that challenging… what do you have besides clothes and books, and maybe a mini fridge, and a tv? College apartments weren’t that much different… sure I accumulated a few additional things… a desk here, a twin bed there, but most of my major house-hold items I didn’t acquire until after graduation.  I once read that buying furniture is the dumbest thing I college graduate can do, because then you feel tied down to a place. “Oh I don’t want to move across the country for graduate school, I bought this really nice couch and I don’t want to sell it!”  and miraculously enough I have yet to buy a single piece of furniture larger than a fold up bookshelf.  My parents ended up downsizing/ selling their house the year that I graduated, and in that transition I obtained my childhood bedroom furniture (which was my aunt’s childhood bedroom furniture), two wicker love seats, a kitchen table, two benches, and two bookshelves. I’ve since traded in the love seats for a couch (also from my parents. I had the couch my Junior  year of college, then my brother took it when he graduated, and I took it back when he got married). I downsized the kitchen table (again, took it back from my brother)… and all of these things I have moved within a two mile radius 6 times… Yeah, I’m certifiable.

But I’ve timed my moves in such a way, that by the time I decide to move I have conveniently forgotten the hassle and terror of moving. My first place out of college I lived in with a roommate. We signed a year long lease, and all was peachy. After that first year, she moved in with her boyfriend, and I moved into a little shoe box of a loft… the kind that dreams are made of. It had brick walls, and small appliances, and I could almost reach out and touch either side of my bedroom walls… but it was quaint and perfect. It overlooked the weekly farmers market, it was right down town, it was charming. I lived there for a year and a half crammed happily into the tiny space until the much larger apartment next door opened up. It was literally 3 times the size, with just as much charm. Skylight, giant kitchen, great pantry, bigger bathroom… there was even room to hula hoop. I lived there for a glorious 3 months before getting notice that the building had sold and was going to be turned into vacation rentals. Had situations been different, I’m convinced I would still be living in that apartment. My life would not be the same. I wouldn’t have a passion for gardening, and I probably wouldn’t have a bulldog, but the only reason I moved from that apartment was because I was forced. The kitchen was amazing, it had cheery yellow walls, and fabulous vaulted ceilings. I was utterly in love with that apartment.  The next apartment was a panic move. It wasn’t terrible, but when working on a deadline and not wanting to sign a lease, you have to take what you can find. It was in a charming house with a great yard, awkward carpet in the kitchen, and a tin porch that would burn your feet at the mere thought of going outside. It had a large-ish bathroom, and two smallish rooms, and the weirdest lowest ceiling and door frames. My downstairs neighbor would smoke a pack a day on the porch, all while her Chihuahua sat on her shoulder like a parrot. It was an apartment, but not my best. So after a year there, and a bad breakup I was ready for a change. I told myself “moving is a pain, I’m not going to bother unless I find the perfect apartment” and lo and behold. Here I am. Its not perfect, but its quaint, I could paint, it had a garden, and my landlord wrote a bulldog clause into the lease. It’s close to perfect.   And yet, here I am moving again… hopefully for the last time.

I wasn’t even thinking about moving. I was thinking about what to plant in my garden when my parents put a bug in my ear about looking for a house. I have always had real-estate lust, but never really thought about seriously looking for a “home”. It seemed too permanent, too grown up, too scary. And then suddenly it didn’t. My parents decided that they wanted to put money into a house and asked if I would rent it from them, with the idea that maybe in a few years if I’m still in the area and still happy here that I will take over the loan from them. In the meantime my rent will be going towards the mortgage.

We looked at a few houses, one in particular that I loved, but that didn’t work out. I was pretty bummed, but knew that something else would come along, something better. And a few weeks later it did. From the outside the house was nothing special, and really the inside wasn’t overly impressive either. But this house was oozing with potential. Walking in I could picture living there almost instantly, and then I saw the backyard. The house itself is an ½ an acre with 14 raised beds, a plethora of berry bushes and fruit trees, a size-able lawn, and gorgeous landscaping. One look and I knew that I was home.  

And somehow it makes moving a little easier. It’s a little less stressful, and a little less overwhelming, and definitely less frantic.  I’m sure once I’m in the new place the stress and anxiety will come. The never-ending yard work, the unpacking and settling, the new roommate dynamic, the sharing of the space. It is all going to be an adjustment. 

I think what I’m most nervous about is that I fell in love with the house and its potential almost immediately. My new roommate did not. Which I suppose is the challenge of committing to live with someone before you actually see where you are living. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into and I knew the changes that I was going to make to the house. She came in with no knowledge of the house, and I think she was a little underwhelmed/ disappointed when she saw it.  Though she is a really creative person, I don't think she was using her imagination when it came to the house.  Her initial reaction was “well I don’t love the house, but its my only option.” Which was actually a little heartbreaking for me. There I was, super excited about the place, my new home, and my new roommate was less than thrilled about living there… not exactly the kind of energy I was hoping to come home to. She couldn’t see past the oak trim and the icky siding.   But now that the new paint is on the walls, the trim and doors are hidden under a classic grey, the carpets are cleaned, and the curtains are down and the new siding is almost up,  she is a little more enthusiastic about moving in. Its just hard because every minute I spend at the new place I fall more and more in love with it, and it becomes more and more my home, and I can’t quite wrap my head around living with someone who doesn’t feel the same way. I want to live with someone who loves living there.  I am really excited to have a roommate again, and I hope that once we settle in things will begin to mesh.

Regardless, I’ll be in within the week, and I couldn’t be more thrilled to be moving into my new home. Before and After pictures coming soon! I forgot to take pictures before I started to move in... so the after pictures will probably be a little cluttery...

But in the mean time, a little teaser.