Moving (On)

We did it. Moved. On, to a new home. I suppose there are ways in which moving to a new home is not moving on, but I think it mostly is. It has something to do with motion. I’ve written about my love of motion, of travel.

But moving on has more, I think, to do with change. A lot of people don’t like change. It upsets them. They resist it. It causes anxiety in them. Julia and I embrace change. We need it.

Edgy New Yorker that I sometimes am, ingenuous small-town Nebraskan that Julia is, we didn’t, when we met, in our forties, make the most natural match. Could a wise guy from Lagos, Nigeria and a farmer from rural Bangladesh have been any more different in origin than we? A joke of mine from our early years to describe our different temperaments was to offer the contrasting responses we would have to being told by someone to go fuck ourselves.

Fuck me!? I would surely respond, furious that such an offense might be leveled against my person. Fuck you!!!

Julia, in contrast, would just drop a …