I did a quick exercise and wrote down all the homes I’ve lived in and was shocked that it had been so many. I have moved 18 times in my life. Currently, that means I’m in my 19th home!
That’s a LOT of packing and unpacking. Some, true, were only for a few months, but they were moves, nonetheless.

I started in Calgary, where I was born and we lived in one home on a farm there until moving to Victoria when I was 6 years old. I never thought I’d get over moving away from my friends, from our farm, or from the prairies in general. However, I quickly became a very West Coast girl and love Victoria!

My dad built three of the houses we lived in once in Victoria. In between houses, my family rented or stayed in guest suites for a short time. So the moves sure added up.

I don’t mind moving, and I should be good at it now, but I hate the packing! Unpacking is like Christmas, you find surprise items in each box and search out a new place to put them. Packing is like Spring cleaning, only on a worse scale because of the time pressure and all the under-layer of things you find after packing up all the essentials. Yuck!

Moving was always a part of my life. It wasn’t a big deal, in fact it felt sort of fun to search out the next place and make it our own. (I’m certain my parents would disagree!) Sure, it would have been fabulous to have stayed in one great house my entire life, but we always made it an adventure. Setting up house in a new place always felt like a new start, a fresh beginning where anything was possible. My parents always took care of us when we had to move and anytime I had to move as an adult God always seemed to take care of helping me find the perfect place, even when the pressure was on and time was running out.

I’ll never dread moving because I can make anyplace “home”.

This has been a writing prompt post from #Write31Days, join in the fun. 

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