When I was five, my parents told me we were moving several months before our move out date. I promptly found two boxes, went upstairs to my bedroom, and packed my toys. After leaving the boxes in the closet, tucked away for the movers I thought would magically appear, I went downstairs to ask for more boxes. I needed to pack my clothes, after all. Despite being ready to move, I was told I would have to wait. We were not moving for another two months.
Two months is a lifetime when you are five. I watched those boxes with the care of a new parent. I checked to make sure they were safe. I unpacked and repacked, finding better ways to get my objects of affection safely stored for transport. I stewed. I pestered my mother daily, “Is it today?” “How about today?” “TODAY!!?”
It was my first bout of itchy.
The day finally came and the movers turned out to be my dad and his brother. We were only moving across town. No need for big vans or muscle-y men. But it was a new house, a new street, new people, new life. I breathed in that day, that move like it was a rebirth. I was starting over.
We eventually moved again, about two years later. That move was bigger—it was across state. It still didn’t mean muscle-y men, but the van was larger and we had to put things in storage while we waited for our house to be finished. Once again, I packed with gusto. A move to a new town, a new life, a new school. New. Fresh. Something to abate the itch that had begun to grow in my soul.
After that, like clockwork, two years would pass and I would ask, “So, when are we going to move?” But, unlike before, my parents were staying put. They had built lives, cobbled careers, formed community—and all this was labeled “for the kids.” But this kid, this kid was itchy.
Soon I was cruising our town’s tiny paper’s real estate ads. “Hey, Dad, how about this place?” Maybe I could induce the itch in them if they could just see the potential of moving. The glorious joy of fresh spaces—all the opportunities to rearrange old furniture in new locations. “Don’t you think the old couch would look better in this house?” Perhaps if they considered the benefits of change. “Wouldn’t we be happier if we had more land to roam?” Once I even found property my dad was willing to go out to see. He looked, he considered. He humored me and talked to me about the pros and cons of moving. Behind closed doors he and my mother dashed my dreams. My itchy feelings aside, they weren’t budging. We all knew that.
I’ve been itchy ever since. In towns where I was happy—where I had peers and community—I’ve been content to redirect the compulsion for change to my wardrobe or wall paint. I’ve channeled it into my living spaces—moving furniture and fixtures. Turning closets into offices, digging up graveled beds and putting in flowers, landscaping decks, painting walls, all things domestic. Life has prompted moving with regularity—so rarely has the itch crept up before it was placated.
I’m not looking for anything specific. It’s not as if I dislike the towns I leave. I just have this compulsion to GO. It’s been there as long as I can remember and domestic bliss hasn’t dampened it any. We have been in this house for over a year—there is so much left to do. I’m happy here, I’m looking forward to getting all these projects done in the next decade. I adore the town, even if I don’t feel I belong here yet. However, lately, the itch has been ever present—I’m raw from the scratching. I’m a little lonely, I’ve not built community—Finding peers, people in your “bracket” (age, values, kids, etc…) hasn’t been so easy when I’ve been so preoccupied with finishing my internship. That will be my reality until the New Year. This lack of connectedness only intensifies my itch to go.
So, I tell myself to give it time. To stay put, to focus. Get what needs to be done out of the way and then attempt to invest. To not worry, time will bring reciprocal friendships, effort will build meaningful community. Like my parents, staying put is something to do for the kid. I tell myself, that growing roots is necessary, not just for the kid but for me as well. I slap at the expanding panic in my soul that tells me I should find a few boxes. I attempt to quash the urge to look at housing in other markets. I talk to myself until I’m sick of my own voice.
But all that self talk doesn’t eliminate the itch. Anybody have a box?
Oh, boy. Yeah – I know that itch all too well. By 10 I had moved so much anyway that I never really learned to put down deep roots. Moving to a new space was infinitely more interesting that staying put. As a 10-year old kid I would ride my bike down to the latest new house development and walk through the homes to admire the architecture and imagine what it would be like to live there. Then I would badger my parents to go and look. That process went on for years… no matter where we lived. I think my dad hated it. My mom, on the other hand, would play along. (I think she suffered from itch too.)
Now I use Realtor.com and play what if scenarios with CNN|Money’s “Best Place to Live” calculator. Of course living here has taught me to be even more selective. I want to keep my kid in Connections or have access to a fantastic private (non-religious) school… and then there’s the desire to attend a church that is truly Progressive…
Oh, and I’m surprisingly attracted to muggy and warm… who knew?
If you happen to find some boxes… let me know…
Move to Philly ;P
HELLO! Mr. and Mrs. Chopped Liver and their three Liverettes checking in here.
I’d leave a LONGER message but I have to go watch the Dr. Phil episode, “Why do I always think I have friends but they don’t feel the same way?” Dr. Phil is going to tell them, “It ain’t about you!”
After that, there’s a great Oprah on, “Forming inappropriate attachments to the blatantly unrooted.”
However, I do plan on bonding with that dog of yours. SHE’LL love us!
Oh I know what you’re talking about! I still get that way even though I’m sick of the actual process of moving…I just like the “new life” feeling. *goes and sits near boxes in the garage* LOL!
You are right, Carrie–it isn’t about you. I didn’t say I didn’t have any friends. I said I hadn’t formed a real community yet. I’ve not had the time to invest in people or organizations beyond surfacey stuff. That takes time and not being over scheduled as I find myself now. The lack of feeling connected, on a deeper level, makes my itchy feelings very pronounced. Doesn’t mean I will move, doesn’t mean I won’t work to become invested. It just means acknowledging where I am, right now. And hopefully, finding some support in the process.
HG—You’re relentless. Where in Philly???
Bug:—It’s an addiction, I think. It’s not the process but the product I like. Maybe I saw too many Army commercials as a kid: SEE THE WORLD.
Yeah, let me second that. Grass is greener syndrome. Really, it isn’t about not being grateful for what we have. It isn’t even about wanting more. For me it is a recognition that our community life is very thin here and now. The only way for things to change is to understand objective reality and then make choices that support a desired outcome.
I have the opposite of the itch; I dig in. I don’t know what is more difficult to deal with—the desire for a change, just for the sake of change, or the compulsion to NOT face too many(or any) new things. I live in the town I grew up in, 5 minutes from my old house. I teach in the high school I graduated from. And we are happy here; our kids requested to stay in this district when we had to move out of our much smaller house 10 years ago.
yeah, this is when i completely re-arrange the furnature and find a new coffee shop. i think i’m already itchy here. then again, maybe it’s because i have no friends myself. or maybe because the closest target is an hour away. ah, well.
Okay. Tom says I should let you off the hook. That we completely know what you’re talking about and have the “should we move?” conversation about once a week.
I told Tom you still associate me with that woman in the ski jacket and for that reason, you’ll never recover.
Actually we hope to leave Philly in about 2 years. (We’re in the Northeast section of the city now). Most likely we’ll head to the Poconos, Lancaster, or if we win the lottery New England 🙂 Although the VA Beach area was nice…
I’m perpetually in grass is greener syndrome. When we moved into our hour 4 years ago, we knew it was a temp situation – we simply couldn’t afford to move out of the city (any Philly suburb worth anything is priced WAY out of our ability on one income). I’ve been itching for “what’s next” since we moved in.
I can relate to itchy. My older child is not itchy at all. He is what keeps me even slightly grounded, having flat out told me that he does not enjoy moving. Sage is more adventurous, but he is making friends here, enjoys his school. I have to put Benedryl on the itch. It doesn’t work. I spend hours surfing the net looking at different towns, fantasizing.
Community helps, but even it doesn’t keep me anchored. Perhaps we need even more of it. I wish I was part of a huge extended family that had barbeques at the park every weekend.