It was my first visit back home in over a year. I’d been in

Minnesota for college, and returned home just long enough to

marry and move to North Carolina.

I returned with a year old baby, the wife of a medical

student, struggling to put food on the table, though at that

time in life materials things don’t matter much.

This town I returned to, I had hated. Why? Because we had

moved every 3 years, and it had been fine until this time,

but it was 3 weeks before high school, and what kid would

want to start a new high school of 4,000 not knowing a soul?

My Dad infuriated me by acting like he’d done me a favor,

and I made it clear to him he had ruined my life. We dug

into our positions. “Why did you do this to me?” I

bellowed. “You ought to appreciate it,” he said, and told

me why, but I didn’t listen. “You’ll appreciate it some

day,” he said, finding me beyond reason.

What did I hate? The size of the school, having to compete

with Ann-Margret (the movie star) if I wanted to sing in the

musical, their Chicago accents, and the crowning blow – my

advisor dubbed me “Sue” the first day and I never got rid of

it. In fact my favorite thing about going off to college

was being able to reclaim my name. If I hadn’t sunk into

the victim position, I might have been able to reclaim it

sooner!

I hated the gray skies and the freezing winter wind, but I

hated spring worse. They released us at spring break to

wander the streets in wretched weather with dirty snow

everywhere. My family never got to go on a cruise like

everyone else’s. But I hated the summers worse because it

was never hot enough to get a tan. Not a happy camper, I

gathered evidence to substantiate my feelings.

Fast forward to my return to this horrible place. Winnetka

is one of the affluent suburbs on the North Shore of

Chicago. A planned community nestled on the shores of Lake

Michigan, with more Frank Lloyd Wright houses than anywhere

else in the nation, it is astoundingly beautiful, a place

you dream of living.

With my blinders off and my attitude corrected, I saw it

from my Dad’s point of view. He worked hard to give us the

best he could, and how proud he must’ve been to move us

there. In fact I remember it in his walk as he showed me

around the first week there. “It’s the best public high

school in the nation,” he told me, and the education I

received got me into one of the best liberal arts colleges

in the nation.

The crime rate was so low we never locked our doors.

Everything was a short drive away, and there was always

parking. There was everything Chicago has to offer – the

art museum where I spent many a Saturday, recently voted

best in the nation. Parks within walking distance which

they froze in the winter for skating.

As I drove through the village, the sun slanted through the

trees on either side of the wide road that arched overhead.

“You can’t tell me people don’t think about future

generations,” my Dad often said. “Someone planted all those

trees who never lived to see them.”

“This is the most beautiful place on earth,” I mused to

myself, astounded at my earlier perceptions and attitude.

Could this really be that “horrible place”? As a parent, I

could only dream of providing such for my own child some

day. Most of all I was stunned at what I had missed, in my

retelling of this terrible place. Once I had closed my

mind, I hadn’t let any fact intrude. I had had plenty of

good times there – how could you not – but in the retelling,

you wouldn’t have known it.

I went over in my mind what I had then that I had no more –

I had taken for granted and devalued a lake in the back yard

with boating as well as beauty, nationally acclaimed museums

and cultural events, convenience, service people who knew

you by name, the best public education possible at the time,

nice people, and safety.

I had the inklings of a lesson … how your attitude effects

your perceptions and your thoughts affect your emotions.

But it took a few more rounds because moving is difficult.

You wonder if there will be friends, and all the unknowns.

My husband and I continued the family tradition of moving

every 3 years. By the 2nd move it had finally sunk in that

there’s beauty everywhere, something to appreciate that

you’ll miss like hell when you leave and may never see again

in your life, and nice people everywhere. If they call you

something you don’t like, you “just say no,” and you get

used to the weird accents.

When we left Durham and moved to Cincinnati, I missed the

cozy town, the ocean, and the lovely parks, but I gained a

cul-de-sac that was like a kibbutz for my only child, great

restaurants, and the opportunities of a big city. It was

the gloomy snow belt again, but there wasn’t mold in the

back of the closets. It’s always a tradeoff.

Back we went to Durham, then on to San Antonio, Texas. When

we got to San Antonio, I missed the colorful four seasons,

and getting anywhere in 5 minutes, but rejoiced in the

sunshine, the plethora of restaurants, and the

muliticultural influence. The first tornado warning scared

me, and the rattlesnakes, scorpions and tarantulas were

unnerving, but I remembered how I’d adjusted to the mold on

the back of closets in Durham and the slugs on the back

porch, no less unnerving. I was learning to cope with

change, and handle transitions.

I realized the things I’d missed, and so learned to approach

the next move with optimism, to seek and find and appreciate

the good in it, and to enjoy it every day. In fact I’d

immediately start a mental list of “things I’m gonna miss a

lot one day” to stay focused on the positive, enhance my

enjoyment, to bloom where planted.

I should add that my mother complained the entire time she

lived in Winnetka, which is no doubt where I learned that

attitude. I was lucky to get the lesson in my face so

young. Right now I’d love to have had the life she had

then, as far as the location was concerned, but of course it

wasn’t the place that pained her, it was the pain inside her

that made the place unbearable. It was just easier to blame

it on the place than to do the work on the pain inside.

You see, moving doesn’t really solve anything if you’re

miserable, because you take you with you. It’s cleaning up

the place inside you that allows you to find the best

wherever you are and find the good wherever you are – and

that, of course, it figurative as well as literal.

P.S. I appreciate it, Dad.