Photo credit: Sergio Bastani
I’ve spent the last seven years moving. Only recently, after the seventh new home, have I begun to ask myself if there might be something a little perverse in this constant relocating: a curious addiction, a mysterious symptom, or just a really dumb habit, which, by the looks of things, I share with my wife. In any case, the motives all seem reasonable enough (a roomier and more affordable apartment in the same city, a new job somewhere else), and we accept them gladly. Later, as we settle into each new place, there’s almost always that mixed sense of disarray and excitement. Of course, when you move house you also move neighborhood and city, even if it is the same city. Before even unpacking the first box, my wife and I will head out for a walk around the nearby streets looking for the closest café and some sign of how our lives might be there...