Two years ago, our little family said goodbye to Florida. It had been home, a good home, for six and a half years. Why did we do it? And what did we gain from it?

And what did we lose?

Halloween will probably always make me remember our last night in Celebration. We sat on our porch handing out candy from a moving box. Behind us the house was empty; the moving truck had pulled away the day before. Little Dude dressed up like a fireman, oblivious and joyful, not understanding that this was goodbye. That night we slept in a fancy hotel just south of town. I washed away tearstains with grapefruit-scented soap.

We left for Washington, DC. Every single person here was a stranger to us, except for the people who had hired us to work for them, and one couple we’d been friends with in Florida but hadn’t seen in several years. We didn’t have doctors, dentists, a favorite Chinese takeout place, a coffee shop where they recognized our faces… and we definitely didn’t know any shortcuts around town. In fact I’m still working on the shortcuts. When we had my son’s third birthday party a few months after moving in, I put invitations in his school friend’s mailboxes and prayed that at least some of the parents would come to a stranger’s house for my kid’s birthday (they did--and in fact, some of those kind strangers are close friends today).

There are people, and memories, in Florida that we simply can’t replace. We said goodbye to a wide, warm circle of friends and a huge comfort level with our town and our jobs. And we left behind tangible proof of memories, too. I remember tracing my finger over the dent in Little Dude’s nursery wall, the one that the rocker left behind, and crying. My husband filled in the dent before we left. I didn’t return to the room to see the job finished.

Why did we do it? And why did we do it twice? Yes, twice… before Florida, we lived in Boston, another wrenching goodbye that found me wailing “I can’t leave!” as we pulled away. No, wailing isn’t quite the right word. Shrieking, maybe, mixed with gut-twisting sobs. Not that I tend towards drama or anything.

We did it for adventure, and to grow; neither of us is content with simply mastering something and then resting. We did it for our family, too, especially moving up to the DC area: we’re closer to our extended family, now, and Little Dude will get to enjoy some of the best schools in the country. And we missed city life and culture.

The move wasn’t easy, but we’ve gained so much—beyond the benefits I’ve already mentioned:

--As a family, we’re more resilient, and we know that we can handle anything so long as we have each other.

--We know what we really need to be happy, too: a big move strips away so much. You learn what you really need to be content and what’s just trappings. Most stuff? Just trappings. Although, um, I still have a ton of trappings collecting dust in my fabulous basement. (Didn’t have THOSE in Florida!).

--We’ve learned how to make the things we want HAPPEN. Because when you move, you get lots of practice at that. Want friends? Better go find some (I started a new Bunco group here and I treasure my friends from it). Homesick? Get out in your new community and find new places to love (like the Parkway Deli and its amazing matzo ball soup). It’s a lot of work. But you learn how to be a self-starter, and how to get what you want without anybody else’s help.

I’ll always miss parts of living in Florida and Boston, but I love our lives here in the DC area too. After two years, it feels like home, finally. Except for when it’s dark and I miss the turn from East West Highway to Colesville once again… and I remember for a few minutes how it felt to be brand-new.

It’s exhilarating. Terrifying. And odds are, someday we’ll do it again. Paris, here we come…someday, probably when Little Dude is off to college. Or maybe London? Sydney? The upper west side? Who knows!