On Moving (this probably sounds way too precocious but whatever)

It seems cruel doesn't it to continually uproot ourselves? To create home after home only to knowingly abandon the people and places that have come to mean so much to us? Of course the majority of those people and places would have never had the chance to mean anything to us had we just stayed put and established roots and nurtured them till our dying day. All the same, is a transient life full of short-term acquintances and broad but shallow roots necessarily a richer one? If our ancestors spent decades perfecting the rituals of daily life are we now permanent amateurs? We are gifted with the ability to eclectically stitch the seams of our lives together as we choose, we can recount tales of one life to friends in another, and insightfully remark on the striking similarities and dissimilarities between this place and that. This surely renders us more interesting and more alone. What are the odds that anyone else has led the same mix-and-match life as you? At a certain point most of us make a pact with someone else to stick together. Finally your life is not yours alone. Yet aside from this travelling partner (and 50% of the time your lives will turn out to diverge after all...) constancy is elusive and fleeting. As I prepare to yet again tear myself out of one life, briefly catch up with the scattered pieces of previous lives and then begin yet another life anew I cannot compain. However I can easily marvel at the unremarked violence of each transition, the plans left unrealized, the familiarities abandoned, the pictures torn from being hung and rehung on so many walls.