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On the Move... Again Nancy H. Rosenberg Published Publishing Information Published by The Frisco Enterprise "Five houses in six years? Enough already!" said my good friend Mary Jo when I told her we were moving again. "I've already given you a whole page in my address book. I'm running out of room!" Junking up our friends' address books isn't the only chaos we leave in our wake as my husband and I regularly uproot and move across the country. At times we've moved by choice, while at other times we've felt like peons subjected to the whims of a corporate climate that doesn't care where your six-year-old's best friend lives or how often you get to see your aging grandmother. Our families have become accustomed to our near-constant state of upheaval; tears have been replaced by meaningful sighs when we tell them, once more, that we will be moving to a new and exciting place where, usually, neither of us has ever been. We moved for the first time before the ink on our marriage license was dry. Three days after the wedding, we loaded up a (tiny) U-Haul and moved from Texas to Maryland, where we both had government jobs waiting. "We'll be gone five years, tops," we told my puffy-eyed parents, and, true to our word, we drove back into Dallas--this time in a little-bit-larger U-Haul--after five years to the day. We settled into a small bungalow and had a baby a few months later, but within a year we found another house around the corner that we liked better. We sold the shoebox, pocketed a tidy little profit, and carted our belongings a few blocks over. Eight months later I got the call. "Honey, what do you think about Pennsylvania?" I knew in an instant what he meant. Like it or not, we were moving there. We bought a house in a brand-spanking-new neighborhood in the rolling hills of a Philadelphia suburb. Deer grazed on the hill behind our house, and the whole subdivision was built on a former Revolutionary War battlefield. The entire region was steeped in historical significance and pristine scenery. Screaming billboards and privacy fences, the bane of my Dallas existence, were virtually nonexistent. I was in heaven! The neighborhood soon proved to be a hotbed of rollicking good times. The first neighborhood party was held on Labor Day. It was a potluck, informal affair with more children than adults. There's something about a group of people, uprooted and thrown together in a new housing development, that breeds instant camaraderie. Cheap wine flowed and cigars were lit as we swapped stories deep into the night. People didn't go home until after 3 a.m., carrying sleeping tots and smiling at the thought of 30 or so new friends. We all settled in and got down to the business of finding a dry cleaners, a decent deli, and the task of deepening these fledgling friendships. Some withered, but a few deepened into sweet, satisfying relationships with people I'll cherish forever. Gradually I began to find my way around town. I found a bank, a preschool, and a great little farmer's market with freshly baked apple pie. Two years passed, then one afternoon I got a call. "Hi, honey. Just had a meeting with the boss and wanted to give you a call." He paused. "There are a few job opportunities for me that I think we should consider. One is in Seattle, one is in Dallas, and one is in Stockholm." I took a deep breath as I gazed out the kitchen window and spotted two deer frolicking on the verdant hillside. I liked my house, the area was beautiful, and I had lots of friends--good friends--who lived right down the street. How could I leave? "We won't go if you want to stay," my husband continued. "But we really should consider these opportunities. The job in Seattle looks particularly promising." We hung up and I wiped away a tear, but then, quite unexpectedly, I started to feel the adrenaline rush. Seattle? Stockholm? My head was a whirl. I gazed around the kitchen, the center of what I'd called home for a full two years. It felt like I'd been there much longer. Could I leave? The phone rang, jarring me from my contemplation. It was a neighbor down the street, and when I told her about my husband's call, her first response caught me off guard. "How exciting!" she said. "Those are all great places to live. The truth is," she continued, "wherever you end up, you may love it or you may hate it, but it will definitely be an experience." Later I thought about her words. She was right; how could I pass up the opportunity to experience another part of the country--or even another part of the world? Life's too short to pass up opportunities like these. Resolutely, I brewed a strong pot of coffee and raised my cup. I was either moving home to Texas, moving across the country or moving across the world. I raised a silent toast: "Here's to the road that lies ahead." My friends will just have to make more room in their address books. |
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