There’s few things I enjoy more than the excitement of moving. It’s a thrill that gives me butterflies. However, the first time was very emotional for me. I was 10 years old. My parents had bought land and after 6 months had built a house that we got to move into. Packing that time was hard. My dad had lived in our house since he was a child and it was the only one I’d ever lived in. At the time I fancied staying there and raising my family in it just as my dad had done. Silly childish notion that it was, I loved it. I was use to riding my bike up and down our streets in our small little sleepy southern town. I didn’t want to move 20 minutes outside of the city limits, but eventually I began to see it for the adventure that it was. I wasn’t going to lose my friends like I initially thought, in fact, they were super excited about spending the night in our new house!

Seven years later, at 17, I began my journey into adulthood by moving out of my parent’s home. By the time I was 18 I had moved five other times, from city to city, not out of Georgia. Five months after my 18th birthday I moved cross country, from Georgia to California, where I resided for three years. While in California I moved a total of three times. At 21, I made the move cross country again and found myself back in Georgia, where I again moved four times. 

Between the ages of 17 and 21, in case you didn’t keep count, I moved 15 times. The shortest I lived in one place was three months, the longest a year. Packing never bothered me, in fact, I came up with a system for myself and I loved it. I fell in love with living in new homes, each so different from the last. The first night in a new place is magical to me. Over time, when the new wore off and I got bored, I was ready to move again. 

At almost 27 I was divorced (that’s a story for another time) and living in my parent’s garage. I’d come full circle in a way. Then I met my current husband. Once again I was packing all my things for a move. Here I am, still in the same home I moved into (almost) 7 years later. The urge to move has been almost unbearable at times. I’m a complete gypsy at heart. I travel as much as possible with hopes of quieting that whispering voice that’s constantly telling me it’s time to fly. I’d love to be a vagabond, wandering the country side with my camera in tow, but alas, there are responsibilities in this thing called adulthood. Being a mom hasn’t put a stop to the need to move, travel, go on adventures, live in brand new places, but what it has done made me take a better look around at what I have and all that surrounds us here. 

For the past 7 years I’ve called Jacksonville my home. It may not end up being my forever home, but for now I’m satisfied with her beauty..