Moving……….again😬

So… I’m moving. Again.

At this point, I feel like I should just keep my boxes labeled permanently and my closet on a rotating rack. In the almost ten years I’ve been with my husband, we’ve lived in six different homes. Six. He loves it—retired military, lived all over the world, change is basically his comfort zone. Me? I used to think a “big move” meant switching grocery stores in Minnesota.

Ah yes, Minnesota. My home base, my roots, my “I know where everything is without GPS” place. I lived there my entire life—until I met him.

Naturally, like many sensible humans who’ve shoveled snow in April, we eventually did what people do—we moved somewhere warm. Florida. Sunshine, palm trees, no scraping windshields at 6 a.m. We love it there. We actually own a home there. It feels easy. It feels like exhaling.

So why—WHY—did I willingly leave sunshine and 75 degrees to return to what I lovingly refer to as “the tundra”?

One word: Nana.

My son and his wife were having a baby, and there was no way I was missing that. Becoming a Nana isn’t exactly a “catch it later on FaceTime” kind of life moment. So we packed up (again), traded flip-flops for boots, and headed north.

And listen… I don’t regret that part for a second.

My granddaughter—aka Jellybean—is everything. She’s funny, bossy, wildly expressive, and already runs a tight ship for someone under three feet tall. She has opinions, strong ones, and zero hesitation about sharing them. I adore her. Time with her fills my heart in a way nothing else can.

But here’s the honest part…

Outside of Jellybean time, something just feels… off.

This isn’t the Minnesota I remember. The place I grew up in feels different now—hard to explain, but if you know, you know. Between the changes that have happened over the past few years—socially, culturally—it just doesn’t feel like “home” anymore. And that’s a strange, slightly unsettling feeling. Like walking into a house you used to live in and realizing someone rearranged all the furniture.

I find myself feeling a little lost. A little disconnected. And, if I’m being completely honest… a little bored.

So, after two years of trying to settle back in, we made the decision: we’re heading back to Florida. Back to warmth, familiarity, and a lifestyle that just fits us better.

And of course—because life has a sense of humor—we found out right after making that decision that Jellybean is getting a sibling.

Timing. Absolute perfection. 😬

Did I consider staying? Of course I did… for about five minutes. Then reality kicked in. I know myself well enough to know that staying in a place that doesn’t feel right just because I feel guilty isn’t the answer. That doesn’t serve anyone—not me, not my family.

So instead, I’ll be that Nana racking up frequent flyer miles like it’s a competitive sport. I’ll visit often, soak up every moment, and maybe (just maybe) work on convincing them that Florida has excellent schools, sunshine, and a Nana nearby. Just saying.

But this whole experience has left me thinking about something bigger…

Have you ever felt like you can’t go home again?

Not because the place disappeared—but because it changed. Or maybe you did.

It’s a quiet kind of sadness. Not overwhelming, just… lingering. Like a chapter that doesn’t quite fit anymore, even though it once defined you.

But here’s what I’m learning (again): life keeps moving, whether we’re ready or not. And sometimes the bravest thing you can do is move with it—even when it feels bittersweet.

So yes, I’m moving. Again.
And yes, I’ll miss things. Deeply.

But I also know this—life is short, seasons change, and there’s still so much ahead.

And wherever I land… I’ll make it home.