Home is Where the Heart Is?

I've never really had a home town.

I was born in Swift Current. I lived in Olds, Edmonton (two neighborhoods... something and then Castle Downs), Lashburn, Halifax (Fairview Heights and then Clayton Park), Chilliwack (then across the highway in Sardis), and Vancouver (UBC--four different residences--then Kerrisdale, Downtown, Kitsilano, Kerrisdale again, South Granville and finally Yaletown). Now I live in Brooklyn (Park Slope) and will likely be moving elsewhere in Brooklyn come Sept 1st.

The strange thing is this: I don't like moving. I never have. No matter where I am, I put down roots. I hate having those roots disturbed. But when I move, I move. I don't leave pieces of myself behind, not really. Right now I'm back in Vancouver for a visit, and even though I recognize her, the city no longer feels like home. I lived in half a dozen neighborhoods here over the years. I called Vancouver home for nearly ten years. Now it is a place I come to visit. My friends live here. It's a beautiful city. It's not home. I find myself missing New York even though it's not nearly as familiar as Vancouver, even though it's only been 'home' for seven months.

I'm not sure if this ability to put down roots, to love a place passionately and then leave it behind just as quickly, is admirable or pitiable. My moving years are not finished. I'll be in New York for four or five years, and then it will be on to something, some place, else. My husband will do a post-doc somewhere. A university will offer him a job and a tenure-track position. I will keep digging up my roots--digging and replanting; replanting and redigging.

I wonder where I will end up.