In 12 years, I have had 22 roommates (I think) and nine addresses. As of tomorrow, that will be 10 addresses, but still 22 roommates because I’m recycling one. Since graduating from college, I have lived in the same place for more than a year only once, and I’ve had seven different jobs. My guess is that next summer I’ll be moving again. It’s not that I don’t love living with Sara (because I do), it’s just that I’ve figured out my life’s patterns by now, and nothing seems to be very permanent for me. This particular move was brought on by someone else, but I like the new place and the roommate, and Molly will have lots of dog friends nearby, so I’m trying to stay positive, despite being slightly (or a little more than slightly) angry at the circumstances that brought me here.
And the truth is, I love my current roommates. I really, really love them. That little house on Raven Lane has been a home for the last two turbulent and difficult years. I will miss it partly because I like the neighborhood and the yard and the front porch and the patio. But mostly because I love the people in it who’ve loved me well in the midst of my struggles. And there is always beer/wine/liquor when I need it.
I’m not sure what my constant moves and job changes say about me. According to a stress evaluation I recently had to take for a new volunteer opportunity, all of these changes (and relationship changes) translate to a higher than average stress load and put me at risk for physical and mental illness. Awesome. Maybe God is simply trying to cure me of every bad habit that being an only child instilled in me. After all, of my many roommates there were only three that I didn’t like living with, so I’m pretty sure I’ve got that whole sharing thing down by now. There may well be more than three who didn’t like living with me, but I’m not going to ask and find out. Maybe I’ve come to a point where I actually like change, and I now fear stagnancy and boredom. I would very much like some stability in my life, but I’m also scared of it…if I stop moving, will I somehow stop growing?
In my mind, a new place can also bring a fresh start. That’s especially true this time. I want a fresh start, a chance for a clean slate. I can’t erase the painful memories of my past, although that would be nice, but I think I move on more easily in a place that’s free of those memories and all of the emotions attached to them. So I’m hoping this next residence will bring fewer tears and new adventures…and just maybe a new pond might bring some new fish :)
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