A burrito, double-wrapped. White Rice. Black Beans. Chicken. Shredded Cheese. Queso if I want to live large. Salsa when I have something to prove. My Chipotle order is pretty one-note, sometimes even monochromatic. There isn’t a green ingredient in the picture. And no, it isn’t because guac is extra.

Conversely, the neighborhood I live in now is nothing but green: green trees, green grass, green cicadas ramming themselves into glass storm doors like a confused bird might, seemingly trying to barge in and declare themselves the new homeowners. The natural pigment permeates through every part of my little neck of the woods, and it’s actually quite lovely. By the time we had left our old home, there was not a tree around. The two from the backyard went when the pool was put in, and the sole survivor in the front had to go when it was accused of dropping all that debris onto the sidewalk maliciously. We left that home behind with essentially none of the greenery it maintained when we arrived. Envision the opposite of an environment-conscious camper’s ‘leave no trace’ mentality.

But I doubt the new owners mind. Who needs trees when you have a hot tub, right? In my opinion, those guys got a pretty sweet deal. I mean, I loved that house when I was growing up. It was on a street where all my friends used to come outside and play pretend games and shoot hoops and ride around on scooters. It’s where I first shot off fireworks with my dad (we did that a few times actually; while I grew up, I suppose the opposite happened to him). It’s where I made out with a girl for the first time. I mean, how do you top that?

Except, those aren’t really features that come with the title anymore I guess. All those kids that I used to play with are young adults now, moved out or in college or graduating. And it’s not like we left the new guys a secret stash of fireworks or something. So, it’s really not the same house anymore. It isn’t my home anymore.

“It’s for a lot of reasons, which we’ll talk about, but I think moving won’t be as bad as you think,” my dad told me. “It’ll make it easier when you move out down the road, without having to actually go further than down the street.”

My dad and I first seriously talked about us moving while we were sitting at Chipotle. My suddenly bland burrito sat in front of me, half-eaten, taunting me. I got it, really. There wasn’t a point at which I wasn’t on board with the whole ordeal. 

“Home is just where you hang your hat. We’ll always be here for you, no matter where we are.”

I don’t feel like you can anticipate change. You can be ready for it. You can hope for or deny it. But no matter what you do, there’ll always be something you didn’t expect. I can’t stand that glass screen that never seems to miss my ankles when I close the front door, but it’s better than being evicted by cicadas.

I think maybe I should add a few ingredients next time. White Rice. Black Beans. Chicken. Shredded Cheese. Lettuce. Guac.