Everyone Talks About the Adventure. Nobody Talks About the Goodbyes...

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Whenever people find out I grew up in a military family, they almost always have the same reaction.

"That must've been awesome."

And they're right.

I've seen places most people only dream about.

I've walked through Rome, stood on the cliffs of the Amalfi Coast, wandered Capri and Anacapri, watched master glassblowers at work in Italy, snowboarded in Roccaraso, explored Okinawa's aquarium, and driven across the United States more times than I can remember.

I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything.

But whenever people tell me how lucky I was, I can't help but think...

You're only seeing half the story.

Nobody talks about the goodbyes.

When your parent is in the military, your life runs on a countdown.

Three years.

Sometimes a little longer.

Sometimes a little shorter.

You learn the streets.

You learn the school.

You make friends.

You finally start feeling like you belong.

Then someone hands your parents new orders.

The boxes come out.

And just like that, your life starts over somewhere else.

People say moving around teaches you how to adapt.

It does.

But it also teaches you that nothing lasts forever.

By the time we moved to Okinawa, I was finishing middle school. I had already tested out of my classes before we left, so technically I didn't even need to be there those last few weeks. My mom made me go anyway. She wasn't about to let me sit around the house all day.

Then summer came.

Then high school.

For the first time in my life, we stayed somewhere long enough for roots to grow.

I made friends.

Real friends.

I played soccer.

I became captain of the JV soccer team.

By my senior year, I was nominated for prom king.

For the first time, I wasn't just the new kid.

I belonged.

And maybe that's why graduating hurt so much.

Everyone else saw graduation as the beginning of a new chapter.

I saw another countdown reaching zero.

Some friends went back stateside.

Some stayed overseas.

Some joined the military.

Some went to college.

Within a few months, the life we'd spent years building together disappeared.

Not because anybody wanted it to.

Because that's just what life does.

I came back to Virginia and started at community college because I honestly had no idea what I wanted to study. After a couple of years, I transferred to Lynchburg College, earned my bachelor's degree, and built another group of friends.

Then graduation came.

And life scattered us again.

Later, one of my college friends landed a job in Northern Virginia. Through him I found a house with a group of roommates, and for a while it felt like I'd finally found another place to belong.

Then I got laid off.

I packed everything I owned.

And I moved home.

A few years later I moved to North Carolina to try again.

I met a couple of guys I thought were genuine friends.

Instead, they extorted me.

So I packed everything I owned...

Again.

And came back to Virginia.

Looking back, that's the rhythm my life has always followed.

Find your footing.

Find your people.

Build a life.

Start over.

None of those friendships failed.

Life just kept moving.

People got married.

People had kids.

Careers took them to different states.

Responsibilities replaced free weekends.

No one did anything wrong.

That's just adulthood.

The older I get, the faster friends seem to evaporate.

Not because people stop caring.

Because life gets louder.

Jobs.

Families.

Bills.

Children.

Schedules.

Little by little, the people who once filled your weekends become Christmas cards, social media posts, or names you smile at when they pop into your head.

People sometimes ask why friendship means so much to me.

Why I write about loneliness.

Why I miss having people around.

This is why.

I've spent my whole life learning how to start over.

Learning how to walk into a room where I don't know anyone.

Learning how to build friendships from scratch.

What I never really learned...

Was how to keep them.

Maybe that's why I'm still looking.

Not for another place to live.

Not for another adventure.

Just for people who decide to stay.

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