It seems like we have a conversation like this about once every quarter in my house.

“Branch just sent a memo about possible next moves.”

“You know there is always a possibility we could end up staying here.”

“Should I throw my name in for that job?”

But last week when we were looking for something (I really wish I had read this article earlier) and my husband said, “Go ahead and keep that…we’re about eight months out and we might need it for the move,” the realization hit me. My brain automatically became a scene from the movie Inside Out. I could actually envision little versions of myself running around in my head.