Lord, was I born a ramblin' man?

It's a ritual I know so well by now: Rent the truck, pack the boxes, drive the truck, unload the boxes, return the truck, get situated. I have it down so well by now I'm not sweating it. There are only a few days left before I move 1,000 miles from the nation's political capital to its, uh, retirement capital, but I'll be fine.

After some counting, I've figured out this is my eighth time moving in eight years. And that's not counting in and out of dorm rooms for the three years before that. I'm such a pro at conducting this ritual.

But there's more to relocating than just the process of picking up and going somewhere else. When you move a great distance, you have to say good-bye to familiar people and places things and get used to unfamiliar ones. When you've had experiences as great as I've had with the people and places of the D.C. area, it's not easy just to pick up and move on.

The past two weekends were great ones for me personally as I reflected on the friends I have and where I am headed. The weekend I wrote about already, celebrating Canadian Thanksgiving, was spent with one of the very first friends I gained upon moving to the D.C. area, my great friend Brian, who has been like a big brother to me over the past six-and-a-half years -- and who even let me pull in some hours at his company when I needed it. We shared some drinks last night, cranking our favorite band, Led Zeppelin, on Finn Mac's jukebox with the World Series on the big screen.

Last weekend was one I spent in Washington with my girlfriend, Layla. She met some of my other closest friends on Friday night, and I took her out on the town for a full day on Saturday to be her tour guide and show her exactly what has kept me interested in D.C. for so many years. Pleased with her taste of the town, she hopped a flight to return home to Florida on Sunday morning, and I'll be joining her in the Sunshine State when November begins. It feels so good to say that.

Oh, and I cast my absentee ballot for Barack Obama by mail this afternoon, which also makes me feel even better about the future.

So I now say good-bye to Jan and Kristin and Betzer, Chris and Aprille, Duncan, Karlin and Tracy, Todd and Whitney, Ed ("Otter"), Archie, Jeff, Nick, J.D., Viddy, Doug, Seth, Robbie, Dorsey, Will and Christine and Ainsleigh, Chef, Petrick, Brandt, Clay, Ben, Glenn, Diane, both Joshes, Fuzzy, Paul, Frankie, Mary, Matt, Louise, Adrienne, Megan, "Hersh," Jess, "Merit," Bill and Joan, Celia, Brian, Irene, "Who the Hell Is" Angela, Kate, Katie, Charlie, the Bay Street Girls, Jesse, the Usual Suspects, Trademark, World Peace Party, the G-Tones, and all my other bosses, co-workers, friends, musicians, SigEp fraternity brothers and bartenders in the D.C. area whose company I appreciated and who had the patience to put up with me.

I also say good-bye to Chuck Brown, the Washington Nationals, Noah's Pretzels, the Washington Post, Metrorail, the DC Delta chapter of SigEp, the SigEp Feds, Zipcar, the Brickskeller, RFD, Ben's Chili Bowl, Five Guys, Wok 'n' Roll, Fado, Blues Alley, Bohemian Caverns, the Black Cat, the 9:30 club, the Rock & Roll Hotel, the Birchmere, Wolf Trap, Merriweather Post Pavilion, Lincoln Park, Stanton Park, Thunder Grill, Union Station, Union Pub, Schneider's, Jacob's Cafe, Tunnicliff's, Yarmouth Management, Eastern Market, Finn MacCool's, the Ugly Mug, Capitol Lounge, Hawk & Dove, Tune Inn, Banana Cafe, the D6, the X2, the 38B, the N22, the Circulator, the MARC train, the Freer and Sackler Galleries, the Botanic Gardens, the Sculpture Garden, the Smithsonian Museum of American History, the Air and Space Museum, the Corcoran Gallery of Art, Farragut Park, Georgetown, Glenmont, the Stained Glass Pub, Clarendon, Restaurant Week and, of course, being called for jury duty every two years on the nose. Every one of these D.C.-area institutions has provided me with lasting memories -- even in the case of a certain winery on 8th Street SE whose name I never really knew in the first place but whose proprietor recognized me by name every time I walked in, right from the very first time I ever bought alcohol in D.C.

I've already celebrated Thanksgiving this month in Canada, but I barely even thought about any of what I'm thankful for. I'll have another chance to celebrate Thanksgiving next month in the United States, and then I'll do it better.

With a list like that of everything and everybody I'll miss when leaving the D.C. area, and with Layla by my side and a future bright ahead of me with memories yet to develop, this "Ramblin' Man" won't be singing some Allman Brothers Band chorus about being born in the backseat of a Greyhound bus -- because I certainly wasn't.

I ought to be singing about myself the same ELP refrain I associated with my grandfather when he died last December after having lived a long, fulfilling and rewarding life: "Oh, what a lucky man he was."

Guess it runs in the family.