The Urge to Move Moves On

 

 

Carolyn J. Rose

Twenty years ago I often described myself as someone who moved more than she traveled. At the time, I counted up more than two dozen different addresses—more if I factored in college dorms and short-term episodes of squeezing in with friends after breakups. I moved for job opportunities and relationships and fresh horizons. I moved toward and I moved away from. I moved furniture that had been in the family for many years and I moved boxes labeled “stuff” I hadn’t opened in a decade.

 

Five years at one address was a record, and back then I expected it wouldn’t be broken. But, here I am, still in the Vancouver house we bought in 2000.

 

Why?

 

The reasons are many. It’s a comfortable house. It’s in a great location, close to grocery stores, the rec center walking trails, movie theaters, the dog park, and restaurants. Friends live nearby. We have some terrific neighbors. We’re retired and no longer eyeing jobs elsewhere. One of us dreads the physical drudgery involved in moving. The other dreads learning her way around a new city, getting to know new neighbors, making new friends, and finding reliable repair people when the roof leaks or the heater dies. That’s me. But I’d be willing to take on all that, plus the planning and packing and putting away, if the move was to the “right” house.

 

What is the right house? One with an awesome view, a cook, a cleaning staff, a yard crew, and a price we could easily afford.

 

Are we likely to find such a deal?

 

No. Not in this age and this city.

 

Perhaps if we relocated to a small town in the Deep South or somewhere across the border—the Southern border, that is. But that move would still involve the drudgery of getting there.

 

So, for now, we’ll stay put.

 

You might say our urge to move on is gone—gone with passing years and the economic wind.