The In-Between Place

Moving is weird.

You can spend months thinking about it, planning it, packing for it and maybe even being really excited about it.

Then you start putting your life into boxes.

That’s when things get interesting.

Because apparently a life is made up of an astonishing number of things you forgot you owned, things you absolutely do not need and things you cannot possibly explain why you are unwilling to part with.

In my case, there was a carousel horse.

A full-size carousel horse.

There is something wonderfully strange about seeing an object that has always just been part of your home suddenly surrounded by cardboard boxes. Take everything off the walls, empty the drawers, wrap up the dishes and your life starts looking less like a life and more like inventory.

Then you arrive somewhere new.

The boxes come with you. The carousel horse comes with you. Your coffee mugs and photographs and favorite chair come with you.

But somehow, home doesn’t.

Not immediately.

Technically, you live there.

But it doesn’t feel like your life yet.

I think we underestimate how much “home” is made up of things we barely notice.

The route you automatically take.

The person you always see walking their dog.

The restaurant where you know what you’re ordering before you sit down.

The friend who lives ten minutes away.

The shortcuts.

The familiar faces.

The tiny routines.

Then you move and all those invisible anchors disappear at once.

And if you *chose* the move, there can be another thought lurking underneath all of it:

*I wanted this. Shouldn’t I be happier?*

But wanting something new doesn’t mean you won't miss what was familiar.

You can be excited and lonely.

Certain and homesick.

Ready for something new and still sad about what you left behind.

Maybe that’s the strange thing about big changes.

For a while, you’re living between two lives.

The old one doesn’t quite belong to you anymore.

The new one doesn’t quite feel like yours yet.

So maybe the answer isn’t to rush through that space.

Maybe we let home assemble itself slowly.

A coffee shop.

A neighbor.

A new friend.

A shortcut you discover accidentally.

The carousel horse finding its new spot.

One day you drive somewhere without GPS.

Then one ordinary afternoon, you look around and realize:

Huh.

I know where I am.

If You’re Curious…

• What are the tiny things that make somewhere feel like home to you?

• Have you ever mistaken “this doesn’t feel familiar yet” for “I made the wrong decision”?

• Where in your life might you be in the in-between, no longer where you were but not quite settled into what comes next?