I fancy myself to be, if not moving-savvy, then at least used to it. When the time comes I just chill out and let the movers do the work. Got our passports, credit card, and orders? (And is my underwear packed under lock and key so that no more pervy movers can go through it?) OK, we're good. I'm the kind of person that when my husband says "Would you rather move to Fort Drum, Fort Hood, or Okinawa?" I just go "huh" and mull it over for a while. Maybe do a little Googling. "I dunno, whatchoo wanna do?"
I'm currently living in my 10th city, on my 3rd continent, in my 4th country (yes that includes the U.S. as a "country", as it is that and not The Center of the World), having called 4 states home as well. But the other week the PF and I had a little exchange that was unsettling (if you will! Nyuck nyuck). We realized that if we wanted to, we could probably move off base.
It sent my head spinning. Seriously, it felt like I was standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon. What if we still lived on Okinawa, but somewhere else? I could not wrap my head around it.
I've never in my life done in-town move. I tried to imagine--where would we choose? You mean we wouldn't live across the street from this park, next to my neighbor friends and 2 minutes from the shoppette? I felt preemptively displaced in the space-time continuum.
It would be the same but Totally Not. I thought of how we could have moved straight back to Italy after Arizona but chose not to because it wouldn't have been the same. (OK also because of the insane op tempo and all that implied for us and our marriage and our daughter...but the not-sameness was what sealed the deal.) Moving across town might scare me more than moving internationally. That can't be a great indicator of mental health. I think this base has Stockholm Syndromed me.
As I pondered all of the horrible things that could go wrong (mostly involving mold/allergies), my husband pointed out that people live off base. Huh? Oh, yeah...thousands of Americans on Oki live off base. I mean, if we choose the house carefully, it can't be that bad. And our friend pointed out that so what if it doesn't turn out like an awesome dream beach vacation? It'd be somethin'. An adventure. Blog fodder. Crazy memories to laugh over later, the way we now laugh at driving 24 hours straight from Granada to Vicenza, or Lincoln's exploding motorcycle, or "Fire the *#%^+} Hellfire!".
Heck, maybe I might even meet a For-Real Okinawan Person.