When we were all just starting out, I had a friend who moved every year from one wonderful huge old flat to another in an artistic, shabby-but-genteel part of town. High ceilings, space heaters, antiquated kitchens, tiny bathrooms, two closets, infinite charm.

She did two things I remember with admiration.

(1) She had a wonderfully eclectic art collection, all cheap and all amazing. She never hung the painting, collage, prints in the same way twice. What was featured over the fireplace in the former apartment now graced the bathroom, etc. What had been a dresser in the last place became a dining room sideboard in the new one. Or the dining room became a cozy library.

(2) After we friends had carried in the last box, she would unpack her grandmother’s cast iron skillet. It was well-seasoned over three generations. Marsha would fry up bacon, then onions in the bacon grease. (We had never heard of cholesterol, and bacon and onions was a Southern staple.)

When the bacon-and-onion aroma had permeated the whole apartment, she had claimed her new home. It was her sacred space till next year when she was ready for a fresh experience.

To those of us who were stuck in situational stability, her adventuring was a revelation. We didn’t yet realize that periodically moving to new digs and redecorating or rearranging your life was a way of life, an attitude, not necessarily requiring packing up actual boxes.

Where would you like to move, metaphorically, today?