It seems we’re tackling similar issues, friend. I think the part of the question that stumps me is the “settled” part. I think I read somewhere that the average American moves about 12 times in his or her lifetime. 12. And think about all the people you know who still live in the very same town (sometimes the very same house!) who are bringing down the average.
I was once like most Californians: convinced I’d live in California my whole life because, really, what’s the point of living anywhere else? When I started looking at colleges, I think I applied to UCLA, UCSD, and Point Loma Nazarene University. I considered Berkeley, because it sounded cool, and Pepperdine, because Malibu. Never in the world would I have imagined living in Kansas City, which, in case you didn’t realize, is the farthest city from an ocean in the entire world. Nope, that’s bullshit. But it feels true and I’m sure I could find some corroborating evidence on Wikipedia.
We moved out this way because my husband wanted to go to seminary. He grew up in the Nazarene denomination, and, wouldn’t you know it, the only Nazarene seminary in the country is here in KC. We said we’d stay for as long as it took him to get his degree. He got his degree two years ago, and we’re still here. Not only “still here,” but also strongly considering selling our current home and buying a currenter one closer to the church where Scott is working.
I never had the big dreams of moving that you and Chris did. I am more interested in things staying exactly the same, which is why having a newborn is a huge kick in the ass. But we’re now asking ourselves the same question: where do we want to end up? Part of me wants to draw attention to how awful “ending up” anywhere sounds. The other part of me– the part that has collected books all her life, married a husband who has also collected books all his life, and has a basement full of junk that might be useful one day– loves the idea of making a home and staying there.
To me, the ideal place would be one near the people I love. The problem with the ideal place is that I might have to split myself on a molecular level in order to achieve it. Go all kid-in-the-white-space-suit in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. (The creepy old one, not the creepy Johnny Depp one.) So, barring that, it would at least have to be warm.
On a completely different but equally important note, the dentist asked me if I was bothered by the big gap between my front teeth. Well, I wasn’t...