My entire life I haven't stayed in one house for more than a few years; sometimes, I moved more than twice in one year. I aways love moving, packing stuff up, arranging things into boxes, labeling and all that. But there's more to it.  
The first move I can remember was when I was 5. We moved from our cornfield in Nebraska, USA, to Colorado with beautiful mountains on the horizon. It was new and exciting. Even though I was going to miss my friends, I was excited to see a new place. At first, we stayed in temporary homes with family and friends before we found a house. Then, when we did find a place, we moved in slowly, spending days looking for furniture, setting things up, organizing. We took the time to learn our new neighborhood; meet the neighbors, find the parks, take the dog for walks. It was fun, and it was in this very neighborhood where I met one of my best friends, someone I'm still friends with to this day.  
Yet we didn’t live there long; a year tops. We moved again and again, and it stopped being fun, it stopped meaning anything. I remember one time in primary school, a boy announced he was moving. It was met with congratulations from our teacher and the other students; this was a big moment for him. I remember it sparking a conversation on how many times each of us had moved homes before. Some kids had moved a few times, others had lived in the same home their entire lives, and barely any of them had changed states. By the time I was eight, I had already lived in 4 states and who knows how many different homes. In retrospect, this isn't that many, compared to some people, though it was still enough to make an impact on a younger me. 
I don’t know how many places I've moved to now; I've lost count. My grandma asked me to compile a list once, but the numbers don’t matter. It has become routine now, moving. I pack all my stuff into a few suitcases and hop on a plane going halfway across the world. I've even forgotten the names of the places I've been to while I'm still there. I've found myself asking my father the same question a few times; 
 “Wait what is this city called?” 
 “Which, the one we went to in Italy last school break?”  
“No, the one we’re in now... oh never mind I remember.” 
 “Unbelievable.”  
“I don’t know man.” 
Sometimes, the move happens without me even being there. I’ll just get a call saying we’ll be in a new place when I get back from Grandma’s house. All this makes it less interesting to move. It takes the fun out of learning a new place when you don't get to learn the new place. It's like that saying, “too much of a good thing can be bad.” It's true that I still love the packing and organizing, but doing it so often makes it less special. I know some people like the excitement of ever-changing scenery, but I say, if you find a good place, it might be worth staying, at least for a while.