Over the past four years I haven't lived in any one house or apartment for more than eight months or so. I don't love moving -- and I certainly dislike the physical act of it -- but I still find myself doing so every six months or so.
Most of those moves were only across town, but a few of them were of an interstate nature: Arizona to Idaho, to California, back to Idaho, to Colorado, and back to Arizona. I still love Arizona, and while I thought that when I moved back here over a year ago that I'd be here for good, I really wouldn't mind moving somewhere else.
We don't get trees like these in Arizona, at least not where I live. I took this photo last July at the Sacred Grove in Palmyra, New York. Does the green in this photo hurt your eyes too?
I almost moved to Fremont, California, in the San Francisco Bay Area right after graduating college. I would kill to live there now. An hour away from San Francisco, the ocean, Muir Woods. And two hours away from Monterey County, the birthplace of my favorite author and the setting of his best novels. For all the things I love about that part of Northern California -- Steinbeck sites, San Francisco hills, redwood forests -- I wonder if I would begin to take them for granted, just as there is so much greatness -- being close to my family and constant sunny days -- that I take for granted while living here in Arizona.
I don't think I'm ready to live here for the rest of my life, not just yet. But I am happy to be here.
If moving were as easy as packing a bag and leaving tomorrow -- where would you go?