Is it possible to feel at home while barely unpacking boxes? I’ve been testing that theory my whole life. Born in Pennsylvania, whisked off to Mississippi, and eventually finding my footing in Maryland, I’ve become an expert in the art of constant relocation.
Most kids grew up building tree forts; I learned how to pack up my room before I could read a clock and tie my shoes. My earliest memories? The rattle of moving trucks and the hush of packing tape.
Relocating taught me to pack light physically and emotionally. I never grew too attached to objects, because I never knew when I’d need to leave them behind. Each move shaped my outlook: people and memories matter more than possessions, and laughter can cushion even the rockiest transitions.
Swimming became my anchor. Before I could even tie my shoes or read a clock, I was perfecting my freestyle. From childhood lessons to varsity achievements, water demanded discipline and resilience. I still remember practices that tested my willpower, the smell of chlorine, and the feel of victory after a race.
I broke a few age-group records along the way and represented my high school swim team all four years. Each stroke was a challenge to see how far I could push myself. Endless laps became meditative.
I also discovered cross country. Running and swimming might be worlds apart, but the dedication required felt familiar. Early-morning routes, shin splints, and triumphant finishes pushed me to keep evolving.
In between races, I found a quiet determination that spilled into every corner of my life. I realized my biggest competition was always myself. Every sweaty practice sharpened my focus and honed my commitment. Sports were more than physical feats; they were a mindset and a bond with teammates.
Sometimes I wonder if I’d be the same person without those boxes, that taped-up existence. Maybe I’d hold on tighter to things, or fear change more. But I’ve learned that temporary circumstances can still spark lasting growth.
Humor keeps me sane when life demands another big shift. I’ve nearly toppled towers of cardboard, but I’ve also learned to laugh it off. Embracing new places and routines is easier when you see it as a grand adventure.
In the end, I’m grateful for every cardboard box and half-empty room. I’ve discovered that while my address changes, my passion for sports, history, and law remains constant
