I have this chronic feeling of wanderlust that I can never shake. I think it’s a result of how often I’ve moved these last few years. I moved to Minnesota at 17 to live with my girlfriend (now my ex), moved back to Wisconsin, lived in a couple of different places here, went to Michigan temporarily to crash with some friends, and ultimately ending up back in Wisconsin. I’ve been traveling solo since I was 16, visiting said girlfriend rather frequently. Since then, whenever I have a period where I sit still, I just want to be somewhere else.

It’s nothing like wanting to drop my life and disappear. Nothing like that. I just want to pick up all that I have and put it elsewhere for awhile. Live in Chicago for awhile, pick up and go to Los Angeles. Hawaii. Japan. Russia. Some of the places I want to go, I don’t even know if they exist. I want to live the life I’m living right now, but in different places. Does that make sense?

I’m a shy person by nature, but there’s some thrill in slowly breaking out of my shell and discovering where things are. Where I can go, what I can do. The shy side of me doesn’t ever want to disturb a quiet home life for that, though. While I’m plagued with wanderlust, I want to settle down at the same time. While I love the thrill of discovering your surroundings, I also need to be able to crawl back in my shell. It’s not particularly possible to fulfill both of those things, and I think the comfort of home wins out against the thrill of traveling to me.

If you talk to any of my friends, they’ll tell you I tend to do really random, potentially stupid and disastrous things, just for the adventure of it. I’m the guy that goads his friends to go out in tornado weather to pick up some burger king, because it would be fun. I’m the guy that isn’t stopped by a car breaking down, and will walk halfway across town for the most trivial thing, just for the adventure, the story, and to put a smile on someone’s face. At the end of the day, though? I’m also the guy that just wants to sit around and watch TV or something.

I have a chronic case of wanderlust, but I don’t think fulfilling it will ultimately make me any more happy with who I am, or what I do, or anything like that. It’s a strange feeling, really. Knowing that satisfying your curiosity will make you unhappy, but feeling like you need to satisfy it regardless.

Maybe I need to get a car, then I can explore my own town to its fullest. Milwaukee isn’t the biggest, grandest city in the world, but I’m sure there’s a lot here outside of my little bubble that I haven’t seen yet. We’ll see. Driving around in a car isn’t quite the same as hopping on a bus, plane or train, you know? There’s something satisfying about traveling in the backseat. It feels a little more like an adventure, like your destination is up to fate to decide, though obviously you bought your own ticket.

I don’t know, does this feel familiar to anybody? Happiness and your inner urges at odds with one another? I’m sure people feel it about things like sexuality and all of that, but in this particular context? Maybe just similar things?