Boxes line the walls and stretch toward the ceiling. I spy a weak point and worry that it is far too precarious to place another box. Hands on hips, I survey the room and look for something else that can be placed in a box. Nothing comes to mind. For a moment my mind wanders and I get sad. I think of our next door neighbors and our landlords. I think of the friends that we have made here. A tight knot forms in my chest and I mentally shake myself. We are only moving a few miles away...but things will change. I heave a sigh and select the lucky box to be taken out to the car first. It is a box that has been around this block a few too many times. Packing tape from several previous movings is layered and provides, I pray, an extra layer of support. Though it is most definitely not my last time, I cringe as I walk out the door. Like an omen of things to come, I wonder when I will leave for the last time.
Our living arrangements over the last year and a half have been amazing. I loved our ward, the community, our landlords, location, everything. Sometimes nature just demands change. In our case, a little more space was needed. So when the opportunity arose, we decided to make the move. I am not grateful that we are moving for any specific reason, but more than anything, I am grateful for the idea of moving. Allow me to explain: Moving is a pain. I want to move as little as I have to in my life. However, think about the idea of moving. I can pack up practically everything that I own, place it in a trailer, and head to a new location where I will meet new people, see new things, and have new experiences. I guess more than anything I enjoy the opportunity to meet new people. I feel like moving has to happen sometimes just to remind us that we are a small part of this world and in the end we will all be gone someday and people take our place. It is a beautiful cycle that I am grateful to participate in.