The Nomadic Life

The Nomadic Life


In response to The Daily Post prompt, the early years, page three

My early years were defined by a series of moves. We moved province to province, city to country and back again. We moved within the same city many times too. Like Goldilocks and the three bears we seemed always searching for “just right.”

A move for me was a grand adventure chock full of possibilities. There were new friends, a new bedroom, and a new school, complete with teachers and students to show my treasures during show and tell. There were moves that were sad too, a craft project left behind and Valentine cards lost in transit and never opened. I’ve dreamed many times of finding that too large heart stuffed with cards addressed to me and relishing in the stilted words and corny sentiments from long ago.

Through necessity, I learned to fake confidence. A skill that…

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