There are two types of people in the world: Natives and Transplants.
Natives have the benefit (or curse, depending on your perspective) of being born and raised in one place and remaining there their livelong life. Transplants have shallower roots, picking up and moving when school or job, wild hair or wonderlust draws them elsewhere.
I realize this is an oversimplification, of course, but for the sake of illustration I’m painting extremes. Most First Worlders more likely live somewhere along the spectrum, maybe going off to school for a few years before settling back in their hometown, or taking a job in a new place and adopting it as home.
I’m a Transplanter, having made a significant move half a dozen times in my life. I’m living as close as I have since marriage to where I was born (under two hours); the farthest away was our year in Germany–a 9-hour flight.
There are times I wish I was a Native; it’s hard not to envy friends whose parents, grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles live close enough for Sunday dinner (or free babysitting. That’s gold, I tell ya.). To know where to go – and where not to go – when it comes to doctors, dentists, dry cleaners, car repairs, appliance failures, hair stylists, etc. When you start over, everything requires thought, and GPS becomes your best friend.
It also makes me a little sad at times our children don’t have a geographical anchor. When they visit us, that’s just it: they come to visit us, they aren’t coming home.
All this being said, this is no pity party, please don’t hear that. It’s merely calling a spade a space, and recognizing the downside to good decisions we’ve made. Every move we’ve made was preceded by a great deal of thought, counsel, consideration and prayer. Though there might have been rough patches attached to moving, the good outweighed any bad. Benefit ultimately exceeded cost.
Which brings me to my point:
There are four general observations I’ve made about the upside of moving to a new place away from home (even if you eventually move back):
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