A year ago, my husband and I entered into a period of change in our lives, resulting in moving out of our home of more than fourteen years, the beginning of a new job search for Frank, packing up two-thirds of our possessions (and downsizing by throwing/giving away), storing that two-thirds, living in an apartment for six months, then moving again and starting afresh.

I’m not always crazy about changes, but I have a distinct dislike for packing up and moving. Change isn’t always easy, but moving is definitely “the pits.” (I guess being homeless would actually be “the pits.”) I like to put down roots. I like to feel I belong.

We have been in our new home for six months. And we have come nearly full circle. Frank and I both grew up in communities nearby, so we are becoming acquainted and reacquainted. Life is beginning to take on a comforting rhythm. I think I finally feel like I’m settling into a “new normal.”  Then there is the question, “what is normal?”

Change is often difficult, but we have to be flexible enough to accept it when it comes. It is a fact of life.