When Todd and I planned our 12 Cities, 1 Year trip, we anticipated that moving from one city to another every month might get a little tedious. Now we’re two months into our trip, about to head to Portland, and I haven’t gotten sick of it yet. My heart lifts when I think of going to Portland. A new place! It’s still my thrill.

I was doing the dishes tonight, though, and realized that repacking all our kitchen gear will definitely not be a thrill. Our situation has improved since June: we’ve gotten better at packing quickly and leaving enough room to see out the back window of the Prius. But we still have a lot of crap we have to fit into a small space. Todd has mentioned sending the camping gear to his parents, and I can see why, though it’s possible we might want to camp in California or Arizona. So I’m torn.

All this is part of a process of pulling up stakes, going somewhere, and resettling. But we settle somewhere only long enough to become acquainted with the place. We’re not spending enough time anywhere to get sick of it. And even though I don’t like the fact that our current bed sits right on the floor—no frame—I can’t get worked up enough about it to care. It will be history in less than two weeks.

I’m surprised that I’m not more bothered by the variability of our living quarters. After 15 years of living in one house, I expected to mourn all the comforts I gave up. But so far, I’m not. Maybe it was good that our first rental was a house; maybe that was less shocking than moving straight to an apartment after not renting for so many years.

I hope it never bothers us very much. I hope we become more flexible and tolerant this year, not less.

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