Figure skating has long been a big part of my life. At 15, I convinced my school district to override attendance so I could pursue my then-competitive figure skating career. I then scheduled college classes around training.
Three undergraduate apartments and two graduate dorms later, I found a great place to live in New York City on Bleecker and Thompson for three years. I worked as a private figure skating coach at the Wollman and Chelsea Piers ice rinks. At 25, I enrolled at UCLA as a postdoctoral fellow and snagged a place in the Venice Canals. I loved it for two years. I then completed another postdoc for 1 year in San Diego, then returned to the East Coast for my first faculty position. Philadelphia turned me into a professor in developmental psychology.
I moved back to New York City for my 10th move to the West Village, but I wasn’t there long. I moved again to be closer to the train hall, and by then, entering my 30s and my third year of tenure-track, I just wanted to be home.
Happy but out of fuel, my 12th move was back to Southern California, and it was also my fourth across the coast.
With every move, packing felt heavier, and hiring movers didn’t lighten the load. The sight of boxes became demoralizing.
Moving so frequently lost its excitement
Every new city, I’d think: new cafés, new restaurants, and new yoga studios! But once I actually settled in, I only started to miss the spots and familiar faces I’d left behind.
Every time I’d, again, go out frolicking, eating, meeting, and socializing, a cloud of impermanence would steam from the back of my head.
I became confused about how much to invest in new relationships. I wondered if I should connect deeply with new people, if it was likely I’d be moving again sometime soon.
Sometimes, my location kept me far from my family
In the middle of grad school, I remember standing on a street corner and receiving an unexpected phone call: My father had died. I was far from home at that moment.
Even though I was often on the East Coast, my family frequently visited, especially my uncle and auntie.
When I moved back to California this most recent round, my uncle started to battle ALS and stopped visiting because of the staircase up to my space. After about a year, I received a phone call that my uncle was headed to the ICU; his fight with ALS was over. I’ll never live somewhere that isn’t wheelchair accessible again.
My final, most recent move (No. 13) was deliberate: downtown Culver City, behind the Museum of Jurassic Technology, where my grandfather Hagop Sandaldjian’s standing exhibition is. He died after I was born, and it was a way of connecting with him.
Moving was worth it for my career
This all started with decisions made when I was 15. I’m 35 now.
I did what I had to do in academia to maintain momentum. I don’t have regrets, per se. I wanted to experience it all.
Academia was an intellectual pursuit and an adventure that came with losses I didn’t expect. Ice eventually melts, and soil soaks up the water. That’s how roots grow.
Academia brought me back home, but it was a drive to maintain momentum developed as an athlete that kept me moving until my feet landed right where I wanted. Now up for early tenure, I feel like I’m just getting started.
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