Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes...

I stink at change. It is probably one of my least attractive traits. I have had this problem for as long back as I can remember. I am in the midst of change now. As I write, movers are packing my things. The boxes are starting to accumulate. One would think I would welcome this change. We have been talking about leaving Iowa in the dust for years. We are happy to be moving back to Wisconsin. Yet this tightness in my chest and rolling in my stomach is building. Even good change is hard.

My dog left last week to make the move ahead of me. On our last afternoon together we sat out on the deck and I watched him sit in his favorite spot watching traffic and squirrels. I mourned the loss of this favorite spot for him. I clung to the familiarity of this image. The dumb thing about it is that the dog could care less. He just needs food, water, and a walk. Maybe a bone to gnaw on. I was making up stuff to freak out about.  Next I am going to worry about my plants missing the exact angle of sunshine they receive at their window here. I am a special kind of change-hater.

Moving from one state to another is a considerable change. Most people would understand having a moment of nostalgia. I am much worse at change than that. I get sad when my husband leaves for work every morning. Then I get anxious when he comes back from work. Yes, even the small, familiar shift from him being gone, to being here again irks me. Then there is leaving to go to Wisconsin for the weekend, going on vacation, even going to run errands-  all these changes make me uneasy. The prescription for Xanax has not been wasted on me. Don't worry too much, I haven't become a hermit yet- I lure of magical "finds" at TJ Maxx and Thai food will keep successfully calling me out of the house.

I don't know what it is that makes change so hard. Is it the fear of the unknown? Do I actually secretly like the places and things I leave so much that it causes this heartache? Am I just a baby that embraces any chance to feign distress?

I tried to live a life that changed all the time: a new apartment every year of college; studying abroad and becoming a seasonal park ranger. It never got easier (one year I literally puked everyday in rebellion against the change.) I always counted the days until I could go back home while in in these situations, yet when the time came to leave I worried that it was too soon. Even now I pine for places that I didn't really embrace while actually there. I suppose I will make up things to miss about Iowa too.

I know that memories live on inside me, not in the places I leave. Yet I ruminate about all the special moments that occurred here and somehow feel like I am losing those memories. My husband proposed here. This is where we adopted our dog from the shelter. This is the first real home I had since leaving my parents' place. I could go on with stupid, little things. It doesn't matter, I can remember these things from Wisconsin, or Tahiti even, it just doesn't matter where I am. So, why can't I let it go?

Thankfully there are a few things comforting me this time around. I always moved alone, a lone ranger if you will. Now I have my husband and my dog. These things are a constant. I know that wherever I land next they will make it a home. Now I just have to figure out where that place to land is...