Saying Goodbye to Adair

Moving sucks.

We’ve moved six times in the last eight years, and though we’ve gotten better at the process each time, it’s always difficult. I swore I’d never move again after packing our two bedroom rental in Santa Cruz with my father-in-law, but three years later, here we are: the same stressful, emotionally draining, physically exhausting process of sorting and stuffing our lives into boxes begins again.

Lauren is writing a different post about our approach to inventorying, packing, and tracking all our stuff, but this is just me reflecting on what it’s been like to say goodbye to our first “real” house and pack away all the things that reminded me it was our home.

Today Lukie and I went on a bike ride over to Adair Ave, partially to check on the progress of the new roof, but mostly because he asked to go “see our house.” Over the last few days I’ve been checking off the last items in the Rent Adair section of our plan. It’s been strange to see it unwind from my most familiar place back to what it looked like three years ago when we first moved in; like a time lapse in reverse. I think it felt strange to Luca too. Just seconds after riding up to the house, he looked at me and said, “go back to Abluela’s house.” I don’t know if this is me projecting, or if even as a two year-old he felt the same as I did: let’s go back to where our family is now.

My default mode often cycles between planning or executing against the plan, so it’s a bit unusual for me to stop and reflect. But big pivots in life help force me to pick my head up and take stock. I’m glad we’re doing this, and I’m excited for the adventure ahead, but boy, I wish we weren’t moving again.