I was recently reminded of the memories attached to my childhood home when I connected with a high school friend on Facebook. We hadn’t seen each other in almost 40 years, but she said she thought of me recently when she drove past our home. It wasn’t until after the sale of that home that I realized the grief was associated with the end of that chapter.

“Stop dilly-dallying, Jolene,” my mother would say back in grade school in the 60s. Gasp… yes, I’m a boomer, and ADHD was not even our vocabulary back then, or at least not in a big way. I was probably procrastinating doing what I didn’t feel compelled to do, like the dishes or getting ready for school. But isn’t that all kids? On the other hand, I was always a perfectionist, and found that order was a way to feel in control.

“I love moving,” said no one ever. Moving is inherently stressful. There was a time in my life when a move was a welcome change. The feeling of a new beginning softened the disruption to my life that moving inevitably causes. When life was simpler in my twenties, I’d get a group of guys from work, and that would cost me a U-Haul, pizza, and beer. Regardless of whether the move is a lifestyle upgrade or one that is the result of less desirable life changes, it sucks to uproot your life in...