In all the years and
places I have lived, I just realised that I have never moved within the same
town. I have lived in 9 different houses in 9 different towns. Often I come
back to the same house after venturing out. Now I am contemplating moving within a town for the first time.

Right???
Just move…
This would be my first
move that is not either running away or coming home. I am not setting out on a
grand adventure. I am not coming home full of stories and new ideas. The first
time moving is not a deliberate shove towards internal change, or a thin mask
for a lack of change.
I am essentially a
travelling homebody. Unless my psyche is driving me to the radical, I like
being grounded, having a place of my own. Even when I do travel, it is with a
sense of a base, having somewhere that I could always come back to. For some
reason, the idea of actually just moving house has shaken that. I don’t yet
know why.
I could simply move my
stuff, from one place to another. And take all of myself with me.
As soon as I actually
find a house I want to move to…