It was hard saying goodbye to my home of six years. I’d come to almost think of the little house on the corner as my real home, as someplace I would stay for years to come. But as is the case with any time I let myself feel too comfortable in the past, it was not to be. The entryway I’d helped build with my father in law, the plastic I had put over the windows to keep the cold out over the winter, the water heater I’d helped to install – these would soon only be a memory. Wasted efforts on a material possession that was never mine. Instead of patching the windows or the piping under the house, I should have been…