Moving is sort of like childbirth: If you remembered the details, you would never ever do it again. But the outcome is generally so happy that our brains reset and we convince ourselves that it’s a good idea to try for #2.
Or in the case of moving, #7. A couple weeks ago, my family moved for the seventh(!) time since my husband and I graduated from college. The good news: We stayed in Blacksburg, VA, the town I’ve come to deeply love, by building a new house on an infill lot about a mile from our old rental. The bad news: We still had to move. Though it’s been six years, the attendant chaos and dislocation felt terribly familiar.