I’ve always been jealous of friends who say they’ve known each other since first or second grade, or sometimes even kindergarten. Throughout my childhood, we rarely lived in one town for more than one or two years, and by the time I was in second grade, I had moved five times. I suppose in a lot of ways I was lucky, my parents weren’t in the military, (though I got asked often enough if they were) so I never had to worry about their safety, and we didn’t move as many times as some families who have loved ones serving. However, even though I was young, my childhood memories are still plagued with the itching feeling that I shouldn’t get too attached to one place, because it seemed as soon as I did, my parents would announce we had to leave again. Before I was even eight, I had lived and traveled all over the country, and somewhere along the way, we ended up in Colorado.

Towards the end of second grade, we moved to a tiny town called Falcon, just outside of Colorado Springs. I enrolled at Woodmen Hills Elementary, making it my fourth elementary school so far, and my third different second grade teacher I had, because we had moved twice during that school year. I’ve always been shy, and I remember my first few weeks at the school were awkward and long because I didn’t talk enough to make a lot of friends. But I loved the monkey bars. I was the type of girl who could bend every which way, and every school, every playground I went to, I sought out the monkey bars first so that I could swing, spin, and flip all over them. Lucky for me, I found another girl who loved to play on them almost as much as I did. Her name was Abigale Snortland (yes, that’s really her name), and she introduced herself as Abby. She had long brown hair like me, her eyes were big like mine, and depending on the day, we almost had the same eye color. But contrary to our similar looks, her personality was loud and outgoing. I was shy and quiet, but somehow that made us fit together well. She became my best friend, and I came to love Falcon.

I finished second grade, and then there was the summer, then third grade, and summer again, and I began to forget what it felt like to move. Constantly trying to make friends and fit in seemed like a lifetime ago, because finally we were in a house, and I had friends. I went to our neighbor’s barbeques, played with the kids on my street, and I started noticing some of the boys that would follow Abby and me on the playground. I finally had a life, and all of the sudden I was in fifth grade, and Abby had never failed me as the perfect best friend. So there I was, ten years old in the winter of 2006, still living in my perfect little town for the third year. I was riding in our car with my mom and brother, on the way back from a day of shopping. That’s when my world shattered.

My little brother was crying; I remember that vividly. I didn’t cry. I just listened; half patiently, half in shock, as my mom tried to tell us as calmly as she could that we had to leave again. She told us why we had to go, that it wasn’t our fault, and that she was sorry. None of it mattered. It didn’t change the fact that my life was being uprooted right as soon as I got used to having one. And it didn’t change the fact that I had to tell a sobbing Abby that I was leaving her. It certainly didn’t change the fact that I had never been so unprepared for something in my life.

Our house was taken over by boxes, and our lives were taken over by the urgency of preparing for a showing to sell the house. After months of uncertainty and financial problems, it finally sold. We bought a new house on my birthday, January 23, and moved in on Valentine’s Day. That’s how I ended up in Parker, Colorado. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve moved out of state. But the way I took it, you would’ve thought I moved halfway across the country. I refused to accept it. I refused to like anything about this foreign town, and I absolutely refused to try to make friends. I wanted no part of Parker. In turn, I made myself as miserable as possible for the best part of two years.
Then something finally forced me to wake up. Not immediately, but it did. A girl my age moved in right next door to me during the summer between sixth and seventh grade. My parents invited their family over to get to know them, and I found myself talking to this strange new girl in my front yard. We both liked to draw and swing on the monkey bars, and her name was Taylor. I found out she had to leave her best friend back home too, and she was just as distraught by moving as I was. Our best friends even shared the same name, though her friend spelled it Abbie. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, we were instant friends.

Taylor and I forced each other to move on, and eventually we met another girl, Trinity, who would become another best friend of mine. The two of them helped me remember how to enjoy life, and taught me to make the best of anything it threw at us. Together, we survived middle school, and now we’re tackling high school. When I moved, I wasn’t ready for something that big, because I had let myself become to oblivious to the more important things in life. I think now, if I had to move once more, I would be heartbroken, but I wouldn’t shut myself down like that again. Blessings come in many different forms, and sometimes you have to get through the rain before you can see the rainbow. Moving here taught me how to trust people, enjoy life, and make the best of a bad situation. Most importantly, moving taught me to not be afraid of change. Besides, life is just change. Instead of being afraid of it, I’d much rather enjoy the ride.