Moving

When asked about moving often as a child, I notice that the person usually wears a pained, sympathetic look on her face as if to signal, “That must have been hard!”

I imagine if you didn’t move as a child, the idea might indeed seem traumatic. Thoughts of tearful goodbyes with friends, the stress of having to start from scratch and figuring out where to eat, where to shop, how to get places. No older friend's brother who’s going to tell that bully to beat it because your parents have played tennis together your whole lives. Yeah! That does sound awful!

The thing is—I didn’t really think about those things as a kid. Only now, as an adult with my own children, do I understand the inclination to have that viewpoint. As a child, moving every couple of years was all I knew and just a big adventure. My father would take our family out for exploratory drives at each new place and point out various nuances— “See how you can see the whole sky light up here at sunset because there aren’t as many hills?” Each new house was so fun to refill with our things—familiar objects but in a new setting. And, it was exciting to not know exactly what laid in store for you. Almost like going on vacation in a brand-new place—the senses are delighted with the unexpected.

Sure, as I got older, it was harder to say goodbye to friends. My last big move from Chicago to Connecticut in the middle of seventh grade felt particularly hard-- I loved my friend Kerry so much and we had just reached a point in our friendship where we were inseparable and in a constant state of laughter.

As hard as those goodbyes progressively became, however, I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything. Moving taught me how to adapt. Don’t know which line to stand in for your class? Ask someone! Since I was a shy kid by nature, I had no choice but to get out of my comfort zone and ask questions.

It taught me that there may be periods of time where you feel extremely uncomfortable, awkward and lonely—but that these phases would pass. During these times, books and imagination came in very handy. It also brought me closer to my family. When we are comfortable, we tend to be focus on what is happening outward. When you don’t know anyone, your family becomes even more important. I knew I could always retreat to my family for unconditional love when I was scared. We all were going through this shared experience together—and that felt very safe and uniting.

Moving taught me to hang back at first, observe carefully and not to rush too quickly into friendships. Pretty consistently, the people I enjoyed the most at each spot had to test me out over time—they were selective and picky with whom they chose to let in. I had to prove myself. Again, this phase wasn’t exactly “fun” but I learned it would pass. I learned not to get my feelings hurt if it took a while to get invited to things—it’s just how it works.

It taught me to celebrate the differences in cultures and that there are several good ways to live. My beloved Philly relatives delighted in good-natured ribbing. The more you were made fun of—the more you were loved. The people in the Chicago suburbs had immense school spirit—they were straight forward, modest and took pride in hard-work. The Connecticut Yankee mentality might have seemed horribly unfriendly at first—no eye contact, no warm smiles or hellos—but more than anywhere, I learned that Yankees are slow to love, but fiercely loyal once you have broken through the barrier.

This was probably the most important learning that moving gave me—the perspective that whether you are an Eagles fan, Patriot, or live for“da Bears,” —we all love in the same way. We get attached to the unique little things that make us smile and tell us we are home.