On Moving (Forward)

How long do you need to live somewhere before you get to claim it as a place you lived? Is there a rule? I asked a friend this question once, she said she claimed anywhere she lived for at least a month.

I’m reaching a point where like many things I’m realizing you can’t live your next ten years the way you lived your previous ten. Progress is one of those things that’s hard to convey to people unless they’ve had a bucket seat to the entire thing happening.

Much of my thinking these days is focused on routines. A lot of what I choose to do (or avoid) has much to do with the pace of life and ensuring I don’t disrupt routines I’ve developed. The sort of efficiency that comes from knowing the people at the coffee shop you frequent, or having backways to get places can offer a lot of comfort and simplicity to life.

I am loathe to get complacent. Once I’ve gotten myself comfortable with a particular setup, I start thinking about what I can do next. Right now, I’m debating how much disruption is worth and whether there’s a point where you just stop feeling like you need to seek the next thing.

I don’t think that’s where I’m at. There’s way more to the story and I don’t feel like the trappings of what make someone feel inclined to stop have shown up in my life, yet. Maybe there’s a point where that happens for other people, but I find myself having way more in common with folks who are always working on their next project and seem content to keep building no matter who is paying attention.