“Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! (Hamlet)

I have told my wife and kids that the next time I move out of this house there will be a tag on my toe.  No. More.  Moves.  Call me Yorick.

For those who have not followed our progress (progress?), we are “home”, back in Georgia.  For a couple of New Englanders to say they are “back home” in Georgia will cause some southerners to surmise the war of northern aggression never ended.

Many of you who have read this drivel over the years know that we are from New England. In ‘97 we moved from the Boston area to Atlanta.  While our kids were both born in New England, they spent most of their formative years in Georgia, although they have long since left the nest – and Georgia.

Last year, while on a trip out west, we were enticed to come back to New England for a cookout, and somehow or other, over the course of 3,200 miles, that cookout transformed into, “Hey, let’s sell our perfect, remodeled, long-standing house in a great neighborhood with great friends in Georgia and move back to New England!”

We bought a great home in a drop-dead gorgeous rural town on the New Hampshire seacoast, with 2+ acre lots, close to life-long friends, and adjacent to fabulous neighbors. What’s not to love?

Life is not perfect; it is an experiment.  And like any experiment, sometimes you get good results, sometimes you get bad results, and sometimes you get unintended results.  I guess we found unintended results.

Let me just say we always loved our home and surroundings in Georgia.  Our move motivation may have been the fact that we had just spent 3 months in near sweltering summer conditions in a 200 square foot trailer, and were enticed by more moderate temps in New England.

One of our friends cautioned us “never make a decision to move to New England in the summer” (thank you Niel), and another friend said, “you do remember it snows here, right?” (thank you Helen).  Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever.  We’re New Englanders – we know what the f*ck we’re doing.

Good judgment may not be our hallmark trait.

Anyway, we bought a beautiful house in New Hampshire, met with great neighbors, ate fresh eggs, got to know the community, skied (until I broke my pelvic bone), ate fresh seafood galore, shoveled snow, enjoyed the seacoast… until one day Karen said to me, “I want to move back”.  If you have been married more than 20 minutes, you know that if your bride is happy, your own life will be immensely improved.

Long story short, we bought our exact same old house back in Atlanta and put our house in NH on the market.  Some have said, “how is that even possible?”.  Let’s just say it was an offer that would be hard to resist.  We told our financial advisor that we’re going to have to “go out” a few years earlier than our original plan predicted.

We have now been back in our old home for about a week.  We are still living out of boxes (our movers only arrived days ago), but we have been welcomed back in the hood by probably 30-40 neighbors, representing about two dozen households.  Now I ask – how is that even possible?  We are humbled.  And appreciative.  And happy.

Boxes aside, we have the beer refrigerator stocked and operational, have set Thor back in place for fires, and have the smoker set up to smoke some meats.  All three will be utilized today!  And please say hello to our new family member – Wilbur.

We are appreciative of the fact we were able to make this move, and for that we count our blessings.  In the end, though, how does money compare to happiness?  That part is hard to reconcile with a financial spreadsheet.

So, we are back in the hood, making plans for the upcoming annual block party, anticipating Halloween, and truly enjoying meeting and seeing our old friends and neighbors.

Life is an experiment – enjoy the journey.