There’s one sentence that when I hear it from someone it automatically makes me cringe.

“I’m moving.”

This simple phrase sends a shiver through my body and puts a lump in my throat, all the while thinking to myself, “I’m so glad it’s not me.”

I never moved as a child, living in the same house until I was eighteen years old. However, in my adult life I have moved four times, not counting the move from my parents’ house to my first apartment, because well, I didn’t own anything.

My first move, which also happened to be the farthest, was from my apartment in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Salisbury, Maryland. I didn’t own much, but it was still over three hundred miles from point A to point B. In other words, everythin...

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