In my fifty-six years on this planet, I have had thirty addresses in seven states.
This nomadism didn’t start with me; my mother’s parents moved all over Wisconsin, and my father saw the world during World War II. They married in his tiny South Dakota hometown, and arrived in Sioux Falls while Mom was pregnant with me. While they never left town, we lived in three different places by the time I was four, and another three before I was nine.
The last move was across the street; my mother was determined that with the unexpected
birth of twins, we needed to own, not rent a house. My then-husband and I would go them one better about thirty years later and move downstairs when we bought the Chicago three-flat in which we had been renting the top floor.
Today, I’m closing in on nine years in my current apartment with my sister, the longest I’ve lived anywhere since leaving Sioux Falls. In five months, I will have been with my current employer for longer than I’ve ever worked for the same outfit.
I’ve learned that there are some tangible benefits to stability. You’re not always looking for a new medical team, for example, and you’re not always learning new names at work or new routes to the grocery store. But most importantly, I’ve learned that there are some problems you can’t move away from. Sometimes, you have to acknowledge that the way you cope with stress or bad choices needs to be addressed, not avoided. I’ve learned that with the help of God and some great people in my life, stability can be a pretty neat thing, even if it isn’t as exciting as packing moving boxes every year or so.
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