When something happens once, it might be a fluke. When it happens twice, it might be a coincidence. And by the third time, it is practically a habit.

Moving. 1, 2, 3. 3 times. Habitual.

It is such a hassle to pick up your life and scoot along to a new place.

Moving is an instance of extreme “new”s. New house, new school, new faces. But the new house is just a house, not your home. The new school is just a building, not your school. The new faces are just faces, not friends. The daily motions, no matter how arbitrary they may seem, are battles.

Battles that double as uncertainties.

There is the concern of who to sit with at lunch. May I sit here? There is the slight problem of knowing the school traditions. What’s a mum? And there is the utterly terrible, no-good, all-bad issue of having no date to homecoming. Somebody? Anybody?

There is homework. There are football games. There are Student Council elections.

It all feels a little off, though.

Then you find a group at lunch and you learn about mums and you meet a fellow who asks you to the dance. You have people to complain about homework to and someone to cheer for at the football game and a name to circle on the election ballot.

It seems as though the new becomes our routine and we adjust to the norm of our peers.

Moving is just another part of our lives. It is essential.

Moving brings us to a new level of personal evolution.

And soon, I will move to college.

And the truth is, we will all move eventually.

We will move from school to school, friend to friend, opinion to opinion. We will evolve and grow and win and lose.

And we learn to adapt to change, no matter if it be thrust upon us or we be dragged from normality and into craziness.

We just keep moving.