The restlessness of nestlessness

My grandma moved so often that my mom used to tell me every time grandma needed to clean her house, she just bought a new one. Once when my uncle showed up to mow her yard, as he did every week, a stranger emerged from the house to inform him that grandma didn’t live there anymore. Oy.

My mom was nothing like my grandma. By the time I arrived on the scene in 1952, my family was living at 435 Edwards Avenue and that’s where Mom remained until she was carried out of the house in 1981 on the day of her death.

I’m a lot more like my mom than my grandma. If I had my way, I would have lived in the same house my whole life. You wouldn’t know it, though, by the number of times I’ve moved as an adult. Since I finished seminary, I’ve moved 11 times. (5 of them were in Charlotte alone.) I hate everything about moving, from scrounging around for cardboard packing boxes to emptying and breaking down those same boxes for recycling after they’ve been unpacked…and everything in between. I hate it! And yet, here I go again. One of the things getting me through this move is that I’m assuming this is the last time. Please, God, let this be my final move!

I am a nester to the Nth degree. Separating me from my nest is like throwing me overboard in the middle of the ocean without a life vest. I know that sounds overly dramatic, but it's how it feels to be me. 

People assume I’m into traveling now that I’m retired. For those who have the means, travel and retirement seem to go hand in hand. But whenever I travel, as soon as I leave, it feels like I’m holding my breath until I can get back home again. That’s a sure sign that traveling is not my thing. I know it’s something a lot of people love, but I’m not one of them. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy adventure because my curiosity about people and places I’ve never experienced is boundless. But I don’t like living out of a suitcase, I don’t like sleeping in an unfamiliar bed, and I don’t like being away from my cat, Guido.

I’m a few days away from my big move to Queens, New York. Although it’s not someplace I ever thought I’d live in retirement, not even the allure of snowless winters can compete with living near my grandsons. And I've decided that considering my aversion to travel and need to nest, coupled with my longing for adventure, New York City may be the perfect place for someone like me. There is so much to see and do that I can explore new places every day and still spend the night in my own home.

The attachment I have to my home in Maryland is pulling at me, and I know the melancholy will remain until I’ve built my new nest. Feeling unsettled is so... unsettling! I’m looking forward to the day when the furniture is arranged, boxes are unpacked, the internet is connected, pictures are hung, and I’m in my recliner watching T.V. with Guido on my lap. Then I will again be me.