Moving house sucks. And yet: everyone we know is constantly moving. Kicked out by landlords. Leasing while they renovate. Sick of faulty hot water systems. Doing the buy-and-renovate-and-buy-again merry-go-round...
It's not just Victoria that's 'on the move'.
It's horrid, as I said. But in our recent shifts I was reminded of a few vital truths: human ties, the relationship between evaluation and suffering, and constant change. A sample:
There is... the dumb fact of process: change, movement, growth. For many, the family home is the archetype of stability and familiarity: belongings, routines, smells. With its decor, design and atmosphere, it reflects and reinforces identity. It's often where we're most comfortably ourselves.
Moving house is a reminder of the energy required to achieve this. Every day, we have to stave off decay, mess or impersonal dullness. As I schlapp boxes of shampoo, paintings and Dr Who DVDs, I remember: home is made, not found. And it is remade as life changes. Domestic order is no illusion - but it is not as fundamental as it looks. What is basic is process, and we labour to manage it.