Despite having moved in 12 places in the last 8 years in America, I’ve always moved myself – even interstate (used Penske and towed my car – great company). However, I’m over it!

Does anyone have any experience with Inter-State moving companies? I have very, very little (a couch, a table, a wardrobe, some collapsible shelving and a tonne of books in boxes and that’s it. No bed or anything else). I’ve always been so scared of moving companies saying they’ll charge you X amount but then you pay double when they deliver or scared that something will go missing.

If anyone has any experience, I’d love to hear!

Update: Thanks to all the suggestions, I went with Atlas. They were also recommended to AAA and the Beter Business Bureau. I had 4 companies come out to give me quotes and only the Atlas guy sat down to explain how it worked and the cost per pound. Plus I could chose a binding or non-binding contract (I chose binding but my actual cost was lower than my estimate).

My driver was amazing, they packed everything quickly and wonderfully onto the truck. They picked it up on a Monday and dropped it off first thing Saturday morning. Again, unloaded quickly and wonderful. Nothing lost or broken. Love that!

I found myself at four yesterday in desperate need of tea – something soothing, calming, and relaxing. The day had been spent looking at this flat and that, combing the streets for something, going off leads from the paper and strangers alike.

The pickings at this point are slim – at the end of the month mostly everything is gone and what’s left isn’t all that great.

But as I pulled into the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf Company for a double vanilla tea latte (which, really did soothe my soul), I thought that perhaps Santa had answered my letter (especially since the earrings were nowhere to be found).

Earlier in the day we had found a charming little place from the 1940’s which reminded me so much of my favourite flat of all time in Vancouver. Hardwood floors, large windows, beautiful tile in the kitchen and bathroom. A little courtyard, too. No neighbours below, above and only one common wall. Quiet, lovely.

What kept me from falling in-love was that it wasn’t as posh as I wanted. I was spoiled by my flat in Seattle of 3 years which was all modern, with granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, washer/dryer inside and soft carpet for rolling. I couldn’t replace that here and so I had troubles visuallising any other kind of home.

But as I sipped my tea and thought of my letter to Santa, I realised this place had everything I wanted. Once more, it had only a 6 month lease which would allow us to just get settled, get set-up and find something else come summer.

So then today I woke to heavy rains and winds and drove to the flat to apply. After awhile the landlord rang us to tell us that we were approved and as the the phone was hung up, the sun came out. We smiled.

What all this has taught me is that vision is a great thing to have. You have to have something to work for, hope for, and dream of. If you can visualise what you want then it has a high chance of happening. But one also has to be flexible with that vision because perhaps there’s a better way of doing something that you don’t know until you start taking steps.

By being flexible, the ultimate dream has more chance of success, I think. And at any rate, it helps to keep one a little more sane.

It took a day later than thought due to weather and tiredness. We left Seattle for sun yet hit the worst rain storm in over 50 years in the Los Angeles area. It was not a good night.

So we tucked in early into a hotel where we watched a great little movie, School of Rock, on cable. We fell asleep with ease which was good as our day today has been hectic.

There was unloading the truck into storage – our life now fits neatly into a 4X10 box. There was the dropping off of the truck, the checking into a temporary flat until the 01st, the picking up of groceries and the eating of dinner.

I now type on my little ibook which sits on the floor, surrounded by two suitcases, a boy, a fish and a cat. The flat hunting will begin tomorrow.

Everything at this point has become almost normal. There’s no feeling of being overwhelmed anymore because I’ve accepted that life is just crazy right now. There is no resting, no stopping, no taking time to breathe.

So in the midst of it all, I laugh a lot. I smile, chat up strangers, sing songs, do hand stands, sleep, dream and look forward. What else are you going to do? It’s not easy, but this is my choice. And sometimes what we want takes a little elbow grease, no?

Also, I feel who am I to complain in the midst of a natural disaster. I donated some much needed money to the Red Cross to help even if it’s just a little. I have not a lot to offer at this point, so I offer what I can.

Do what you can when you can – now there’s something to live by.

This morning we awoke, washed up and headed to Whole Foods for some breakfast and to purchase our groceries for the trip. We then headed to pick up our rental truck and then home to load our boxes, sweep the flat clean and head out.

We were out of Seattle around 5. Loaded in the front cabin was Chris at the wheel, the Grace the cat in the middle in her carrier, I in the passenger seat and Badass the fish on the top of the dash, leading the way.

A good-bye was said to the main bridges, roadways, favourite eating areas followed by the city then state. It’s now 10:30 at night and we’re in a little hotel in Oregon – the boy, the cat, the fish and I – and ready to eat a little snack and head off to repeat all over again tommorow.

There’s a bit of fear mixed with the excitement in what we’re doing. We have no home to go to, no job to start, no security. Just a dream and a lot of will. If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that anything is possible if only you try.

And we try.

It’s strange, selling off bits of my home little by little. First all the junk went when I moved two months ago. More recently, a side table went to a lovely girl, shelving units went to a family, bookshelves to a man down the street. Slowly my home is becoming less a home and more just a building – and an empty one at that.

When we made the decision to move we began to think of it in terms of starting over. Five years ago we packed up a very old, sad little Toyota with a few of our belongings (I only owned books and some clothes; he brought not much more) and drove from his home clear across the country to Seattle where we moved into a very tiny studio with absolutely nothing. No money, no jobs and no furniture.

Five years later, we had built-up a little something but it still wasn’t quiet right. First, we’ve moved five times within the same area which hasn’t helped us to feel connected to any one place. Also he, so busy with everything and I, held up writing in my flat, haven’t really meet people here (which was alright as I must confess Seattle people bug the bejesus out of us – especially the women. So competitive, bitchy – meow!). Also, lifestyle wise this area doesn’t rack it up for us. It’s very corporate, one-way of being, not so creative, not a lot happens (the downtown area with the exception of bars, is quiet after 6PM). Without much to do locally, we began to take a lot trips to visit our friends around the world and celebrate holidays in style. Coming home was always bitter sweet; nice to see our kitty, not so nice to be where we were. There just wasn’t a future here that we wanted.

So this fall, with no reason to stay, the decision was made to move away. And then began a very strange set of extraordinary circumstances that lead us on a grand adventure to a new place. One should never question strange events so we didn’t and instead just agreed to move without any jobs, home, connections or knowledge. Everything pointed in that direction and we thought it’d all become clear once we were there.

The move would not be easy nor inexpensive. That lead us to selling everything we owned and move with nothing. The bed – gone. The shelves – gone. Desk – get rid of that. TV stand – no more and on and on. Get rid of as much as possible. As much of the past, of the impermanence, of the stuff that once served a purpose but didn’t now as we changed. Start over.

At first I have to confess it was hard to let go of these things. I’d always been a vagabond, traveling the world and living out of a suitcase. To own a bed, have a place for my books, a stand for my fish well, it felt good. Despite not having a lot (I’m still a minimalist) I had grown attached to what I had.

But the more I let go, the more free I felt to really move on. I began to think of things I could do in the future. And although it’ll most likely take us several months to purchase things and get a home, which means we’ll probably be sitting on the floor for awhile and eating on paper plates, I thought how lucky I was to have this chance. A chance to really see who I had become by letting go and moving forward and grow into it instead of being trapped by who I was.

It’s been an interesting experience to shed myself of all these things. I now have the freedom to move at the drop of the hat and the way that things have been working as of late, perhaps that’s how it will be.

The number one question I’m asked (and I’m asked it all the time) is where I’m from.

I wish I knew, but I don’t.

I don’t have a hometown, a house I grew up in, a country I belong to. I’m some kind of vegabond. This used to be a wonderful thing to me, but lately it has me feeling lost.

As a child we moved all the time, almost every year. My father was in real estate and so we’d purchase homes and move according to the market or the bank account. At 18 I set out to see the world – and I did. I’ve lived in flats, rooms, hotels, camp sites and almost anything else you can think of. I’ve never owned things because my life always had to fit into a suitcase.

Even in the last five years I’ve lived in 5 places and I’m tired.

My current home, well, we’ll be leaving it soon too. Where to? I’m not sure. California for a year or to Paris or even Zurich. I’m feeling the need to be settled but it just doesn’t look like it’ll happen anytime soon.

I think this is why I am often jealous of photographs of people sitting in their yard, or pulling things out of their closet they’ve had stored for 5 years. People who buy good peices of furniture because they know they’ll have it for years to come instead of buying disposable IKEA.

From my favourite magazines I tare out pictures of homes that I adore; when I go to my favourite store I pet the pretty home things, like bedding, linens, tablewear. Every time I eat out I think one day when I am settled (and know which electrical wattage I’ll use) I too, will some kind of mixer, dishes and pots. I think about how I’ll one day have art supplies hanging out in a room instead of a few paints that tuck into a little box that fits in my bag.

Longing is such a dreaded feeling, I think. It makes one feel as though right now is not enough (although, it really is). But, I am trying to use that feeling to perpel me forward and get excited about that home I’ll one day have in the south of France where I will run my gite or spa. A place that will have more than one closet and bags that are unpacked and china to pass down to whomever.

This move has taught me several things. The first is that having friends is really a wonderful thing, especially if they are strong and can be bought with baguettes and tea. The second is that even if it’s your 22nd move since you were 18, it doesn’t get easier, especially when you have furniture. And the third thing is has taught me is that if you want something but it seems unattainable and even a little scary, go after it. You can get it with some dreaming, some haggling and by putting one foot in front of the other.

Happy New Year – I’ll be offline constructing my new flat, fixing my new office and lounging on lots of floor space. (Thank-you, Santa. I do believe.)

Dear Santa,

I confess to being a bit wicked this year but feel I have paid for that by having the frat boys live above and below me with their bass, parties and yelling at all hours of the night, every night. So with that logic, I think perhaps I deserve something for Christmas. All I’m asking for is that lovely little flat across the way, you know, that beautiful spacious two bedroom (two bedrooms!) one that is quiet and calm. I would really like to have that and move in ASAP. If you could arrange that, Santa, I promise to try to refrain from swearing like a trouper and laughing at people stuck in traffic as we pass them in the carpool lanes.

We’re moving. Not to another country, not across this country, but just across the lake. And we’re doing this in two weeks.

Chris and I made the decision that we would stay in America for another couple of years because his company is willing two pay for the last two years of grad school, and then he’ll have his degree. That’s very important to him, and I felt who was I to chase away his dream when he did nothing but support me in mine? I did have my heart set on moving back to Europe next spring, so I can’t help but be a little disappointed, but the benefits of him finishing school and working, will be worth some extra time here.

The current commute between his work and school and our home is awful – there’s one bridge and it’s always backed up. What should be a 25 minute drive is closer to 1.5hrs. Moving reduces that commute to 15 minutes at most. And we have a lovely, but tiny, flat – only 650 square feet. With a writer and student at home, we’ll simply require a greater space.

So this weekend we went out looking for flats and found the perfect one. It’s in a great little artsy city on the same lake as we’re on now. It’s 1200 square feet with two bedrooms, two bathrooms, large windows with one bay window, walk in closets, gas fireplace, beautiful tile counter tops, hardwood floors, one block from the beach, one block from the arts centre and performing arts centre. It’s more than perfect.

So now, the dirty work begins. The changing of the address, the changing of the phone, the setting up of other bills, the packing. Oh the packing!

I have lived in a lot of places, but I’ve never had to transfer more than two suitcases. This is the first time that I will have to move a home, and that is seeming like quite a daunting task.

I was standing in the kitchen and I took out a fork. I looked at the fork and all I could think of was “How do you pack a fork?” Then I opened the freezer and thought, “How do you transfer frozen goods? Should we eat it so we don’t have to transport it? Could we eat 4 bags of frozen peas in two weeks? Do we just throw it out?”

I keep looking at things and trying to figure out how to fix them in a box. It’s actually becoming a sickness. Luckily, we don’t have a lot of things or knick knacks, so overall, I can’t see packing being that hard. One thing for sure, this will be interesting.

I will miss our little bohemian flat on the water, that’s for sure. But, things have been changing around here for us, and moving is just one more step.

Of all the things in life that there are to complain about, searching for the perfect flat shouldn’t be one of them. However, for me, it is currently the only complaint and source of frustration that I have going for me. In fact, it seems the past several weeks have been about nothing else.

I suppose it has been so hard because I don’t want to move and in fact, do not have to move. I am always quick to say that I adore my home, I adore it’s location, I adore it’s view. I’ve never really understood the importance of home before until I moved into my current one. At the end of a hard day it welcomes me in and helps me relax. The view of the water and the sound of the waves breaking against our building help to me to sleep or inspire me to write. It has been more than perfect for us.

However, it’s on the wrong side of the tracks, or in our case, water. We live on the West Side. Chris works and will be finishing his degree on the East side. The two sides are separated by a beautiful floating bridge with the worst commute in history.

Also, our home is only a one bedroom. It is 650s.f. of heaven, but heaven is feeling a little cramped.

So we have been looking for a two-bedroom on the East Side, in a pretty little lake side artsy community which affords the same views, same beaches and same types of home as where we are now – for a price.

And for a price it seems you can have space and the view. We can’t afford that price. We can afford one or the other.

We found a home that we absolutely fell in love with, however. Yesterday, we stepped inside. 1200s.f., 9 foot ceilings, gas fire place, two full bedrooms, washer, dryer, two massive bedrooms, huge windows (one being a large Bay window), large kitchen with tile counter tops and hardwood floors. And it’s a condominium, privately owned and individually rented, and it’s not that much more than we’re currently paying. It’s one block from the library, two blocks from the beach and marina, one block from the performing arts centre and next to a lovely park. Perfect sounding isn’t it?

It was to us until we got home last night. Driving onto our car park we had a view of the water. This two bedroom did not, it faced a private courtyard that at least had wonderful shrubbery. We laid in bed to talk over the place we had seen and as we laid there, our huge floor to ceiling windows showed us the setting sun and all her glorious colours of pink and blue. We heard the boats heading home and the birds flying overhead.

The view, we cried, how do we give that up? How do we give up seeing the water, seeing nature, seeing the stars every night and the moon reflecting off the water? How do we give up being so perfectly spoiled?

That’s the question, isn’t it. How do you give up being spoiled?

So we started to squirm. The new flat would afford us space, space we desperately need if I am to continue my writing at home and for Chris to do his studies.

So this morning, we went to look at it again, and it didn’t seem so bad. In fact, it seemed rather nice. So we applied. We’ll hear back on Wednesday if it’s our or not, as another couple applied ahead of us.

I said to Chris that if we aren’t accepted, that we give up looking. I can’t take spending every weekend driving around, looking at skanky homes or drooling at the posh ones. I can’t take the stress of wondering when and where we’ll move and if we’ll find something like we have now.

We might only have 650s.f. but it’s a home, a real home. It has sentiment, after all we got married shortly after moving in, we bought our first furniture ever for this home, and we got our heads out of our asses in this home. It’s provided so well for us, it’s kept us happy. And that’s important to me.

I suppose I don’t mind being crammed in here so much when I think of all that.