This may be dysfunctional, but sometimes I don’t realize how much I enjoy things until I have to miss them, or anticipate missing them. With a lot of moves in my adult existence, I’ve failed to feel settled very often. Oddly, though, packing boxes is when I realize how settled I actually was.
With every move we’ve made, the thing I miss most is a default norm: the way the routines and rutted rhythms provide a harbor. It takes less energy to do things you always do, less sociability to see people you always see, less nerve to go to places you always go. Normal is a very comforting thing.
You also miss the expectations you’ve developed, the things you thought would be, should be, could be. The things you thought were just around the corner, the people you thought you were doing life with.
It seems as though, if you’re invested at all, all of life’s changes open us up the the hurt and ache of missing. When we choose not to miss our present lives, we open ourselves up to missing the moment later on.