Moving day. Another town, another house, another blob of paint dripping down the canvas that is my life. Dad was sure he had hit the goldmine this time. Another teaching position at yet another university.

When was he going to realize his nomadic lifestyle is not best suited for an English professor and amateur wine collector?

I didn’t even ask where we were going this time. You learn to stop being so rational after awhile. You just let the road take you where you feel you want to be. Or in my case, where Dad feels he wants to be. We usually take turns as to where we move, last time was mine. If it were up to me, we’d keep going back to New York City, Portland, Seattle, San Francisco.

I loved those cities, roaming free, exploring culture and arts at every corner. Somewhere I was proud to call home.

But Dad says its time for stability. Whatever that means.