Sometimes life comes at you that way

I found myself saying these words the other day to a colleague, someone I know only cursorily, who was asking why I am leaving our mutual employer. “A lot of reasons, really; it’s a big change, but sometimes life comes at you that way.” It’s the type of statement made to people we don’t know well, where the rapport is insufficient to elicit much disclosure. Even with closer friends and colleagues, though, I’ve had an interesting time articulating why we are moving (again).

We are quite the transients. In our nearly five years of marriage, we’ve lived in as many different domiciles. Every Christmas newsletter we’ve sent has been mailed from a different address. (Each newsletter has also been laced with all the momentous changes that occurred in our life over the year in question: since 2004 we’ve had four moves, one child, and four job changes/new jobs between us.) It’s a family joke: where will we be reporting from this coming Christmas? New York? London? Kathmandu? As it turns out, none of the above; we’re on track, for the first time, to write our second Christmas letter from the same address, as we’re returning to the house we built in 2006 and left in 2007. It looks like we’re settling down at last. Our future newsletter recipients will no doubt be disappointed by the mundane: no moves or career changes, just postcard-like commentary confirming (as every parent does) the utter brilliance and achievement of our kid(s). Sometimes life comes at you that way.

Desire for continuity aside, the move will enable us to avoid the treadmill of double housing payments. Mortgage for the vacant home on the 15th, rent for the current residence on the 30th, month in and month out, sucking the bi-weekly paychecks dry. It’s gotten old. It was old the day we started doing it last year and it’s even older now. I wondered aloud to my wife how many families there are out there like us, moving back after failing to sell their homes. The moving van shows up and the neighbors gather to see who’s moving into the old place, and lo and behold, it’s the same old people! Back from the hinterlands. (Side note: in our neighborhood, doubtless like many others, your house is only known as your house after you leave, and the people in that house assume your last name: “Where do you live? Oh, you mean the old Smith place.” In our case this results in a tautology, one advantage to moving back to the same place.)

To be sure, there are some things I am not looking forward to with the move: the inversion-laden winter months; the supercilious local NPR folks (although I suppose that’s another tautology, wherever you live); traffic on the highway between our home and my new place of employment; a dearth of decent Tex-Mex. One thing I won’t miss: what is apparently the worst water heater ever manufactured, judging by its stubborn refusal to produce its intended product, despite repeated service calls by the plumber and several replaced parts. Sometimes life comes at you that way.

I’ve nearly finished my latest book for the regular book review posting, but it’s taken a back seat to some material I’m cramming in for my new job, not to mention all the loose ends I’m trying to tie up before we leave Austin. But I’ll get it out there; I know you all can’t wait.