The itchy feet have officially set in.
I struggle to stay in one place for too long; always have. There was a point in my teenage years where I thought I had reached a happy equilibrium, a state where I knew my place and where I was headed, but that was ended when my family picked up and moved again. Ever since then, I’ve been antsy nonstop. Always hoping to be somewhere else and plotting out escape routes.
The longest I’ve lived in any one place consecutively since 2007 was when I spent 2 years at The Rhythm Hut. To be fair, that place is constantly shifting, physically and in terms of the people living there. I lost track years ago of how many roommates I’ve had in that space.
I know that the problem lies rooted in my dissatisfaction with myself and the way I’m living my life. There’s not enough stimulation in my daily life because I haven’t set it up that way. I don’t occupy my time well, with exercise and discipline offset by pursuing my passions. Instead, free time is mostly spent scrolling social media, pining over places I’ve never been to, which I could surely afford to visit if I applied myself better.
Once the discomfort sets in, I can either choose to address it and do something about it, or I can run away and start somewhere else.
I usually choose to run.
Flight mode has been activated now, after having spent the past 4 months in South Florida. I can’t think about anything else. Run, run, run away from here! To a place where the grass is greener and where the problems that face me now take time to catch up.
Where will I go? What will I do?
I reckon we have about 3-4 weeks before I get on a plane. Time will tell.
