Memory's Vault: The Suitcases Were Never Far Away...

When I was a kid, we moved often. "Constantly" might be a more apt description.

No, I was not the proverbial "military brat," instead my dad's job took him all over Europe (mostly) and the rest of the world to help breweries and bottling plants set up and modernize their equipment.

You see, my dad was the CEO of a bottle cap manufacturing company in Denmark... but he was also a genius "crazy inventor" who was constantly trying to improve on the ways things were done.

The first dandelion of spring

"The Factory" was on the smaller side among the giants of the industry like Crown Cork and Seal (now called Crown Holdings) but my dad made it highly competitive by "being part of the product," meaning he offered "fringe benefits" the giants couldn't: His hands-on innovations and inventions.

In turn — although I technically speaking grew up in Denmark — this would take us to France for a few months, then home; then to Italy for a few months, then home; then to Kenya for 7 months, the home; then to Spain for 5 months; then home.

Each "home" period lasted maybe a few months; maybe as much as a year.

On the surface, one might be given to think that it was a fascinating and adventure filled life. From my nearing-60 point of hindsight, I have gained greater appreciation for it, myself.

Roses, budding out...

Two Sides to All Stories

One of the things I remember most clearly — and the attendant feelings remain fresh in my soul — was the eternal sense of restlessness. A sense of instability; a sense of eternal uncertainty.

Living out of a suitcase was simply a part of reality. Every place we went came with the same subtext: In a few months we'll pack it all up and move on.

The dark side of the story, of course, manifests as a hesitance at forming close friendships and bonds with others. After all, what's the point of trying to make a best friend if you already know that you'll be parting ways, six months from now?

My friend Ann — the therapist — made the interesting observation that I tend to "view all connections from the point of loss."

It has taken me years to get to a point where I no longer do.

Tiny white flowers in the lawn

Curb Your Enthusiasm...

Some feelings... old habits... can be very hard to shake.

Mrs. Denmarkguy has always been filled with enthusiasm about traveling the world and seeing new places, and I often feel sad/regretful for her that I tend to offer her a lukewarm response to the prospect of travel. Travel has tended to bring to the surface feelings of being uprooted, more than anything.

Of course, it's not true anymore... but it often amazes me just how long it takes for old patterns to wear off. By the time I was 21, I had lived in a dozen-odd countries on three continents, been home schooled in part, and otherwise gone to 14 English language schools in different places.

Exciting? Meh... when you're a cautious and introverted kid to start with, try being "the NEW kid" every six-twelve months for your entire childhood.

Calendulas budding out

This Memory Came Up...

What's interesting is that these old memories started bubbling up when I suddenly recognized that the current "uncertainty" hanging over our community here gives an almost identical feeling of quiet resignation... recently I have found myself looking around for my figurative "suitcase" in expectation of the very real possibility that I need to make sure all my content is stowed neatly in my carry-on bag and I may need to take it elsewhere.

And start over. For the 3,427th time.

I think perhaps that's what troubles me the most, here. I'm sick and tired to death of "starting over." Goodness knows I've done it before, more times than I care to remember. And I'm very good at it.

But I am still sick and tired of DOING it... It's NOT "exciting," it's a pain in the ass...

Thanks for reading!

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Created at 20200311 15:13 PST
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