No ifs, ands or buts about it. I’m not referring to the physical act of replanting your carcass from one spot on the couch to another, generating those electrical impulses from your brain to your muscles bellowing “let’s move it!” Instead, what sucks is the act of habitat relocation. Even if you’re excited about the transplant, maybe the prospect of a new home, moving still makes the bottom of the “fun to do” list.
By my count, I have lived in at least sixteen different residencies during my lifetime, stretching from coast-to-coast. Some places more than once, while others I left with only what I could pack into the backpack tied to the rear of my motorcycle. Moving requires planning, both financially and emotionally. From an early age I learned to never acclimate to any particular neighborhood because I knew that, inevitably, there would be a new neighborhood with new friends and a new school I’d have to adjust to. Don’t ask me why there was this continuous relocation because I really have no idea. When my parents said start packing, that was what I did.
It wasn’t until I was eleven years young that my folks got us into a house we called our own and out of a series of second-floor apartments, but that only pacified me for maybe six or seven years. Then I was off to the races! Over the following forty years I called home to a total of ten different domiciled dwellings. Why am I telling you this? I think to strengthen my position of the distaste I find in the act of moving.
When you’re young and have to move, you learn who your friends are. There have been a few jaunts with as many as ten to fifteen people pitching in: tossing furniture into a rented U-haul, or onto the back of a friend of a friend’s pickup truck. Beer and pot was usually the offered recompense, along with the obligatory sustenance of pizza and mussels. Everybody was happy, then they would leave and your life of living out of boxes for who knows how long would begin. Running to the store for plastic knives and forks and paper plates was always easier then sorting through the endless pile of boxes you forgot to list the contents of.
Moving companies? If you have to, then be prepared to spend big time, and don’t forget to tip your moving men at day’s end. The Mrs and I, within the last two years, sold one home and bought another almost a hundred miles south. The negotiations, arrangements and final costs were mind-boggling! I think I probably would have been better off calling my old friends, those still on this good earth, and gathering together all our SUV’s and vans and making the dozen or so round trips south and back. Afterwards the wine would have flowed and the cheese tray emptied, since aging has refined our tastes and expected remuneration.
I’ve known people who have remained steadfast in one location their entire lives. Hell, even a few who, into their later years, still reside in the house they were born into. But, I think man is generally nomadic in nature. There once was a wide-cast theme in suburban America: children became adults and moved out on their own, the “empty nest syndrome” made the parents aware the house was now too large for only the two of them, so it was time for a smaller home. Maybe in an adult community where they moved into as the youngest in the neighborhood, but with the all-too quick passing of time became among the senior members of their community center.
And life went on. However…
The story too often nowadays is that the financial instability of our oligarchical society makes it difficult for young adults to leave their parent’s homes and prosper on their own. Out-of-reach home prices, exorbitant rents and relocating jobs have forced too many young dreamers back into the folds of their folk’s domain. Social networking has limited their physical encounter with any number of prospective friends, and moving has become a two or three people job, far too few to deal with refrigerators, couches, big-screen televisions, mattresses, cabinets, tables, shelves, etc. Chiropractors, doctors and the pharmaceutical markets are flourishing! But seriously: moving does suck. The thrill of new horizons seems destined for a privileged class in this country, and the establishment of multiple families under one roof, simply for survival, will become the new norm.
Then, NOT moving will suck!
RjCook is the author of The Road Behind Me & Dream Lover and Other Tales. Click HERE for info.