So if you haven’t heard, I moved this week. I did the unthinkable and moved North of 635, which means something to me. After 4 years of living in East Dallas I am back in the suburbs, but I am in a somewhat urban setting, a mixed use space at the intersection of two of Dallas’ busiest highways. The big selling point is that I am only 10 minutes from work, 10 minutes from my Sister and her family, and steps away from shops, restaurants and the DART. I am also in a bigger apartment for about the same amount of money and 4 days in I love it. As I wrote about in my last post I feel like I’ve found my Spacious Place.

So I tend to move a lot. I don’t think I’ve ever had one address for more than 5 years. I swear there must be a Gypsy somewhere in my family tree. I can’t say that I’ve ever had a strong sense of home. One of my earliest memories is of my family moving from the suburbs of Kansas City to Grove, Oklahoma. That would be followed by a move to rural Southeast Oklahoma when my Dad received the call to be a minister in the United Methodist Church. My parents set an unintentional pattern for my life, one of constant movement and never really settling in one place for too long. If my memory serves I’ve changed my address no less than 20 times in my life. While some of these moves have been for work, most have been self initiated or self inflicted.

My need to move is something that fascinates and puzzles me at the same time. This bug or urge is something that my brother and sister have seemed to escape as they’ve both been in their current locals for longer than I’ve lived anywhere ever. However, my Maternal Grandparents were always on the move spending winters in South Texas, summers in Colorado with stops in Oklahoma in between. Perhaps that’s where my desire to frequently change locations comes from? Maybe its my pioneer roots, similar to those of Laura Ingalls Wilder, whose family was always packing up and moving in search of a better life.

So here I am, in my 4th apartment since moving to Dallas 6 years ago. I am learning with each move the importance of making that place a home as quickly as possible. As I’ve gone through the process of packing and unpacking, I’ve thought more about the things I am moving and why. I collect Fiestaware so I have more dishes than any single woman really needs, but they mean something to me and their colors bring me joy. The ancient Sunbeam Stand mixer that doesn’t get much use but was used by my Grandmother and Uncle will always stay with me as it connects me to them both. My endless collection of coffee cups also serves as a reminder to connections from the past – jobs at the Pittsburgh and Kansas City Symphonies, gifts from friends, travels; memories that I cherish when I drink my coffee in the morning. Granted this time around I think I purged more than I ever have, but there’s still a lot of stuff and a lot of stuff that needs to go; but my stuff, my pictures, plates, coffee mugs, vases, tea pots and books are my home. They represent who I am, where I’ve been and will go with me as I move into the future.

Home is what we make it, whether its a 2 bedroom townhouse in the suburbs of Kansas City (which I still own, but might be for sale if anyone is interested in an investment property), a traditional 3 bedroom house, a parsonage in Southeast Oklahoma, or an apartment in a mixed use space home is where I am. In the words of R.E.M. I choose to, “Stand in the place where I live.” Home is truly where the heart is and I think I’ve found my home, at least for the next couple of years :).