My husband lost his job and our friend wrecked our car in the same day, pretty much at the same time. We had been discussing moving back to Albuquerque anyway so we figured we’d just pack up the car (after it was repaired), store what we could, get rid of the rest and just go. So about a week and a half after we decided to move, we were heading out. It was liberating to just get up and go, leaving the unnecessary junk behind. Even comforting, in a way.
I moved a lot as a child, I was always quite proud of my “worldliness” and would recite our moves with enthusiasm whenever the subject came up. (Born in Arkansas, moved to Texas, moved to Connecticut, back to Texas, Alabama, Tennessee, Indiana, back to Tennessee, back to Indiana, Minnesota, back to Indiana, Kentucky, New Mexico, back to Kentucky, back to New Mexico, back to Indiana, back to New Mexico, back to Indiana, and now, once more, back to New Mexico.) Those are just the states I’ve moved between, the cities and towns are blurs in my memory, we went through them so fast rarely staying in one place, one house, for more than a year. (With 2 exceptions.) I remember being called out of school (3rd, or 4th, grade?) during the middle of the day and when I got to the car it was loaded up and my mom and my brother were waiting, ready to go. Where? I had no idea, but I was excited. School was boring, spontaneously taking off for an unknown destination? That was where I belonged, on the road.
So now, Albuquerque. We’re staying in a spare bedroom trying to get things worked out so we can get our own place, our own space, and it’s wearing on me. It hasn’t even been a week! Everything is fine. There’s nothing I have to complain about, but I have issues. I was going to elaborate but I just keep arguing with myself about how they’re “nonissues” and things could be worse, and I know that, thanks self! But I can’t help the pent up/ trapped/ suffocating feelings, even if they aren’t rational.