We’re coming up to almost the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I started college back in 1990. That’s been almost 17 years moving my books/clothes/bed every few years or so, with one notably longish sojourn in the Bay Area. (almost 3 and half years).

And as the season turns to spring, and various stresses related to the end of school and other things presses in on me; it occurs to me that I have sympathy for people who leave; who abandon their lives; who start anew.

It’s so very seductive to think about how you can start afresh in another city, in another place, without having to give yourself headaches with figuring out life in a place where you are caught in a web of history with friends, neighbors, and family.

And I did that. Not purposefully, of course, but not totally unconsciously either. I moved every few years, left friendships and commitments behind.

However, now we’ve been in Beaverton for almost 4 years. And I catch myself thinking “how wonderful it would be not to have the pressure to be a sunday school teacher again next year, or to say no to being on the PTC board, or not have to worry about long term relationships between my children and the children of my mommy friends.”

But I don’t mean it. Really, I don’t. Because no matter how stressful it becomes, or how much I wish I could hide from the world and my responsibilities sometimes, Beaverton is home in a way I haven’t known for a long, long time.

Beaverton is home in a way that fills my heart, gives me comfort, and centers who I am. And while my first “home” will always be Cleveland Heights and the friends I had in high school, Beaverton is the home of my heart for who I am now.

And I am grateful I don’t have to pack up my house and say goodbye to friends, and figure out where the nearest Target is in an unfamiliar city in the next few months.

Who knows what the future may bring me or anyone in these troubled times.

But for now, I am content to stay.