I enjoy helping other people move into a new place.

I like to help pack up all their stuff. I enjoy seeing the looks on my friends faces when they find old memories hidden in sock drawers. I like listening to the story behind why they purchased and kept a coffee mug that has clowns all over it. I relish in discovering really old drawings from elementary school art classes that are so bad, the artist begins to whine with embarrassment. I love seeing the look on my friends faces when they look around their empty room and a montage of memories plays through their heads as they prepare to leave. I love seeing the bitter joy of them closing the door for the last time.

I like helping people haul their stuff to their new place. I like seeing them on the car ride over, giddy with excitement. I like watching them memorize the street names, so as to never get lost. I enjoy hearing them describe the littlest aspects that make the place home. I like watching their face as they look into the rearview mirror at the building they once called home. I like watching the pure exult as they pull into the parking space outside their home. I love seeing the smile on their face when the unlock the door to their new beginning.

I like helping people unpack. I like watching their life unfold in front of me. I like seeing those old sock drawer memories turn into art on their shelves. I like watching them proudly display their clown coffee cup in their cupboard. I like observing them hang their elementary school art on their walls, no longer embarrassed of where they came from. I love seeing my friends faces, when their new house is unpacked. I love hearing the first time they call it home. I love watching someone find a home.

I enjoy helping people find their new place.