Free Writing

Moving Moving day, a time not many children would endure, was a period I cherished in my youth. Though a terrifying thought for many, leaving the place I call home for the new horizons and journey excited me. Although I was young in age every place I have lived in, I feel as though I lived in each place for an eternity. I have always contemplated how people could engross themselves in one place for their entire life. As a child I recognized myself as an expert mover and looked forward to the new adventure each new place could bring. Undeniably, I cherished most opportunities and memories each place brought, but I grew weary of these journeys and longed to settle as I matured. In a moment, my life would be packed away in boxes. In a way, the moving boxes exemplified how I felt about moving: messy and becoming worn and heavy as they held bliss. A common occurrence in my life, I saw the occasions of uprooting my family’s life in one place to another as a splendid time. Thinking back on my childhood, my attention is drawn towards the happy memories of arriving at my new home in Florida. Stepping inside my new, still empty home, I could feel the chills going down my back; it was the feeling of a new beginning. The smell inside was foreign yet smelled like home. Lying down on the cool tile floor, my body felt relief from the heavy and humid air. I studied driveway outside the house, admiring the strategic layout of the brick, which would be the stepping-stones of my future friendships. There, inside my house, towered the cardboard boxes, waiting to be unpacked. I was thrilled to open the boxes, unsure of what surprise I would find inside. Although there was much to do, I was determined to make friends and I set out for the hunt. The neighborhood was a maze, filled with palm trees that grew tall and strong, their green palms calmly fluttering in the humid summer breeze. The houses were filled with people, my new neighbors, all living their lives as I explored,