This post started as a comment on Small Hands, Big Ideas, Grace Boyle’s wonderful blog.  Following a meme that seems to be flowing around this corner of the blogosphere, she outlines the places she has lived and what they meant to her.

Her post begins:

I write about it a lot – traveling, my relocating and hopping around.

Did you know the average American moves 11.7 times in their lifetime?

On August 1st, when leasing season rolled around this year, I felt so incredibly good that I was staying put. That I didn’t have to: scour for boxes to pack my life away in, get all emotional going through drawers of all my things, throwing out letters, notes and odd receipts over the last however-long, heavy lifting, exhaustion, feeling unsettled, not having Internet because Comcast dude hasn’t come yet, rearranging bills, updating addresses, etc. [more]

I could definitely relate to her comfort in not having to move!  This year I have stayed put as well, which is kind of a big deal since I have moved so many times since I graduated from high school.  Here’s an illustrated summary, year by year.  My birthday is at the beginning of the year so it makes this kind of retrospective easier.  The photographic record saved on this laptop is far better after the age of 20, so I apologize for the lack of early documentation.  I do take comfort in knowing that the vast majority of the people reading this have seen more photos in my parents’ house :)

0-5 San Francisco, California. In the city, in a Victorian, near a park that had big scary swans.

5-18 Menlo Park, California. Suburbia, Silicon Valley, lots of activities for kids like me.

This is our family flag, which my mom’s flag-loving friend Ted originally sketched as a birthday gift for her.  She and my dad loved it so much that they had a seamstress sew it for them for their 10th wedding anniversary.  My mom’s last name is Swanberg and my dad’s is Forman, and the flag illustrates both names.  Swan + iceberg + four men.  Get it?  Corny, I know.  But tremendously useful for explaining what my name means in simple Chinese.  But then people follow that up with, “What does Leslie mean?”  I asked Google, and Google told me it means “meadow.”  “What’s a meadow?” The Chinese person would ask.  “Grass.”  “Can I call you grass?” “No.”  It does not help that the Chinese word for grass sounds like a bad word.

18-22 Berkeley, California. College. Lived in a dorm, sorority, quasi-cooperative.

My friend Jesus Roman took this photo of the Campanile very early in the morning.  He took the next one, of Sproul Plaza too.  It is usually packed with people, so he must have taken this at an obscenely early hour.

21 Santiago de Chile. Lived with a family for two months then with two wonderful Chilean girls. I think this was the best year of all, for so many reasons.

With Jaime and Latife from my host family.  Latife’s daughter Barbara and grandson Alejandro are not in this picture, but they were around a lot too.

With my roommates Tania and Carolina in Chile.  La Tania also lived in Beijing as a child, since her father was a diplomat, and La Caro did all of the artwork on the wall.  In Chile girls’ names usually are preceded by “La.”  I was usually called La Leslie or (far sillier) La Leslyta.

22-23 Jiaxing, China. Lived in an on-campus apartment that my students thought was huge compared with their shared dorm rooms. Eye-opening, convenient, and fun!

I lived on the 3rd floor.

23 Shanghai, China. Lived in a hostel, tiny studio, then a lovely duplex. Learned about corporate social responsibility. Strolled through the French Concession.

This was my walk to work.  I interned at the American Chamber of Commerce, which is located in the Shanghai Centre, the tall modern building in the photo.

24 Suburbia then San Francisco. Experienced intense reverse culture shock until I moved into a new place, a Victorian flat in the city with four new friends.

We lived in the blue house with the black car in front.

That house is just two blocks from Alamo Square, the picturesque photo spot I describe to non-San Franciscans as “that park they show in the credits to Full House.”

My parents always send Christmas cards with photos of my brother and me.  This is the 2008 version, taken on Thanksgiving morning, just after Ben got back from studying abroad Australia, and just before I moved to Beijing.  We had a shelf in that house with photos from every single year, all the same size, in similar frames.  My parents have since moved into a new place in San Francisco and I am not sure if it has a similar shelf.

25-26 Beijing. Spent a full year living in a place that I describe as “The Real World: Beijing.” I lived with a belly dancer from Kazakhstan, Swedish male models, a Bulgarian girl teaching English at a tennis-club kindergarten, an American journalist / big sister I never had, a French engineer who inspired me with her globetrotting green-ness, a fur designer from Moscow, a Ukrainian fur trader who came with his mom to buy wares, and many more people.  No, these people did not all live there at the same time!

Silvia from Bulgaria, whose photo is in the center, made this collage of our roommates one night when we all ate dinner together.

Then I moved in with an ambitious Aussie. Recently he moved out and I stayed put. It felt great to sign the same lease, and not move my stuff! I have a wonderful new roommate, in my comfortable, convenient, 2-bedroom.

I made breakfast yesterday.  My roommate took this photo to send to her grandmother.  I sent it to my grandma too.

So, what about you?  Where have you lived?  I want to read your list!