In two days, I drove almost 600 miles with my toddler to finally get to our new home. My husband drove behind us, lugging some huge-ass Uhaul and all that remains of our precious earthly belongings.

We're starting over. Again.

It's not that we were planning on relocating less than four years after we had then relocated from Europe. When we moved to Northern California, hubby and I thought that this was it. We were in a good place, had excellent paying jobs, and we had already selected the school where we knew we wanted our future offspring to attend. Everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

Our decision made itself for us. Sure, we initiated it, and then prayed like hell that something would land… Once that happened, everything else fell into place, just like a gentle rain falling on seedlings that have been given a chance for new growth.

I'm excited. This time, it feels right – I dare say even more right than it felt almost 4 years prior. So, here's to hope (that stubborn thing that I never can seem to shake); here's to new beginnings and the fruition of old dreams, and here's to finally, finally, finally finding home.