It’s hard. That sums it up. I could wrap it up there, but even if you don’t move to a new home/city/state/country often, you instinctively know that it isn’t an easy process. All our belonging are (sometimes) neatly organized into a living, breathing home life, and at first glance, placing all our goods into boxes doesn’t seem like a big deal other than some physical labor.
But, seriously, do you know the phase “like a can of worms”? The imagery of things just spilling out all over and getting away from you, out of your control?
That is moving.
Especially a military move.
As soon as I begin to make lists of what needs to be done, what to pack to take with us, what serial numbers to we need to write down, what valuables need to be separated, what paperwork do we need, what do we need to do to clean the house (please don’t make me clean the oven again…), do I have the movers phone number, did I schedule the write dates, and a carpet cleaner, do I need school records for the kids, what about new schools where we are headed, end current utilities, set up new ones in a new place, figure out a new internet provider ( and do I need to send back my modem?), take art off the walls and fill all those nail holes, replace light bulbs and batteries in smoke alarms, gather medical records, get current on immunizations, visit the dentist one more time, and the eye doctor, stop and forward mail, and change your address on every account you have ever had online, financially, magazine subscriptions, oh! and say good-byes and thank-you’s to friends, and make sure the children are happy and optimistically resilient, and also it’s okay to be sad–through the whole process…
As soon as I start to write it down, so I won’t forget, it multiplies into an overwhelming description of what the next several months will be like for me. Regular life carries on, even practicing violin and piano, and my business continues to grow, but all these tedious tasks wedge themselves in-between the comforts of a regular schedule. I could get completely bogged down and overwhelmed with worry and anxiety, but now, on our eighth move in fifteen years, I know what to focus on, what to take in stride, and what to breathe through.
Things always work out. I choose to be excited about where we are headed. I don’t delve too much into what all the details will be when we get there, but I take comfort in knowing that I will make friends, I will love others, we will find “our” places that we love and share and recommend. I know I need to find the musicians and teachers, and some students to love. My children will have friends and good teachers. I will be their advocate and be involved in their lives. We will all go through a sometimes-lengthy lonely-feeling period where we have many acquaintances, but no deep friendships. This is perhaps the hardest of all.
I have a chance, yet again, to do a little better through this process. This time I feel more at ease, less organized and less anxious. Sad and grateful, happy and hopeful. I think my can of worms will be manageable.