The empty moving truck slowed in front of our house, coming to a stop in the very spot in which a similar truck, full of our belongings, had parked only twelve months before. My husband’s fellowship training had brought us to Northern Virginia for a quick, one-year stint, and the completion of his program meant it was time to move again. Twelve months between moves meant having unpacked boxes in the basement, pictures we never hung on the walls, and many places we meant to visit but never did. Twelve months between moves meant I didn’t make a single new friend that year.