Reading Andrea Javor’s piece made me feel strangely seen. I’ve moved 22 times in my life so far, and while it started as chasing opportunity or adventure, now it just feels like running. Each new city, each rental or over-leveraged condo, I told myself this would be the one the place I’d finally grow roots. But something always shifted: a breakup, a job layoff, a rent hike I couldn’t keep up with.
Her words about the smell of pizza night and Uno games really hit me. I’m chasing that too, a kind of emotional permanence that no lease or mortgage seems to guarantee. Do we make home from people or places? And what happens when both keep slipping through your fingers? If you’ve ever felt unmoored, how do you cope or better yet, how do you stay?
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