On the road again…
If you missed the first “Let’s Get A Move On” post, you can read it here. Basically, I just wanted to give the world a whole bunch of Salisbury sized tips & tricks in order to get you out of your lease, make your move easier, and to help get that deposit back in your bank account.
Today though, this is a little bit more personal. I wanted to talk a little bit about moving, from the perspective of someone who never ever thought they’d be leaving Minnesota who’s now married to someone who’s job takes them all over the place. This is a real life account of someone who feared life outside of the MN borders, to someone who’s constantly craving change.
I was a Minnesotan through and through. The northern accent can be heard with just about anything I have any passion for, and my O’s & A’s make themselves shine. As I was growing up, I totally just knew that I’d be married to a normal 9-5 man somday, living in a house in the northern suburbs of Minneapolis, and we’d raise our children just like how we were raised. Obviously. I never, ever, ever wanted to leave Minnesota, that was home and arguably the best place on earth.
Then I met Dylan. He seemed fine about living in Minnesota forever, so I was able to forgive his lack of 9-5 job hours. Then, we talked marriage. That turned into careers, which ended in him asking me to move, if needed. (me? move? They’d chew me up and spit me out! My accent, my heart, never!) I said yes, so we moved.
Then it became a thing…
One move turned into two, which turned into three, which turned into four. With each box packed, came the opportunity to unpack. Unpacking meant starting fresh. Fresh starts meant new. New began to mean everything to me. I am an addict.
The heart of a girl who once thought Minnesota was the only place to live, now craves living anywhere else. Somedays, I want to move home, to my green bedroom, where my mom left dinner on the stove for when I got home from work. Sometimes I still want that rambler in the north metro, with the yard for my kids and dog. Most times, I don’t.
It’s hard to feel this way.
We live in a society where renting is equivalent to failure. No kids by 26 means your head isn’t on straight. Moving often signifies the inability to hold a job. Calling yourself a “dog mom” and looking for “Instagrammable places” in new cities shows that you’re a true millennial and you don’t know how to live in today’s world.
But I do. I am thriving in this world. Renting may be “throwing money down the drain”, but while I funnel that money to the man, they keep my lights on, fix things when they’re broken, mow the lawn, and let me swim in a pool that I don’t have to maintain. Not having children right now gives me the ability to pack six less boxes when I move, and let’s my husband and I pay for only a one bedroom apartment. Moving often does not signify the constant job loss, but actually the constant promotions of a very cut throat and difficult market. The more we move, the better Dylan is doing in his career. Calling myself a “dog mom” is true, and Instagram takes up 40% of my life, so I’m going to walk Ellie right past all of the white brick walls in Indy, and my husband will photograph them.
Being a millennial in today’s world is hard enough. Being a millennial nomad has become a sin. So while you pass your judgement about my change of heart, and constant desire to move, I’ll be sitting next to my rooftop pool working on my Instagram engagement. That is, until it’s time for our next move.