I could not wait to move out of my childhood home.

As it happened, I tearfully said goodbye to my high school friends

as they packed up and moved on to college.

For me, moving would have to wait another year

until I worked and saved enough money for my college experience.

That year crawled.

Even though my college was only an hour away,

I would be moving out, and moving toward

my dream of life on the stage.

For the next six years I would be moving from theme parks

to cruise ships to tours and then, the dream move:

to New York City!

You know, "If I can make it there, I'll make it anywhere."

I ended up moving to NYC a couple times.

I loved moving. I loved risk. I loved living my dream.

Not all my moves held that much optimism.

There were several that were not part of my dreamscape.

A move back to my childhood home after my Mom died.

A move to my sister's house when my marriage ended.

A move to a dear friend's house after another relationship ended.

A move due to Covid and the loss of a gig.

Stagnant. Immobile. Reality.

Next week, I'm moving again.

This move is my choice.

It's a move where I'll have space for my memories, belongings and

a steamer trunk that's been locked in a storage unit since 2010.

The steamer trunk was my Grandmothers, Louise.

She was 3 years old when her Canadian Mother decided

her life would be better living in the United States

with her Aunt. I always wondered, was the dream for Louise

or for herself? My Grandmother had a tough life.

What inspires us to move?

Is it towards something, somewhere or someone better?

A dream, an opportunity, a chance to start over?

I know this is not my final move.

I still have dreams.

Stop worrying where you're going

Move on

If you can know where you're going

You've gone

Just keep moving on

~Sondheim...Sunday in the Park with George