I think, out of all my flaws, the one that bothers me most is my restless, unsettled nature.

It isn’t the fact that it exists that bothers me so much as the strength with which it wraps around my brain, the way it becomes an obsession.

For awhile, it will quiet and fade into the background but, sure enough, it comes back and drives me to do things like pierce my belly button or dye my hair or get on some fashion kick.  As I get older, it surfaces in newer ways, more expensive ways.  Lately, I’ve developed a raging case of wanderlust, no doubt inspired by all the awesome trips that I’m not able to go on, for one reason or another. (Did you know airfare to Alaska is about $1400? It’s almost $2,000 to get to one of the towns on the north shore, population 486.)

I’m not sure what drives me to look for more, to throw myself at the world and experience something.

Right now, life is pretty fantastic.  I have a wonderful husband who loves me more than he really should, a house that is slowly but surely starting to come together, great friends that make me happier than ever, and an income that allows me a good amount of freedom.  (Although I am by no means wealthy so please feel free to be my anonymous benefactor.) The point is, things are great.

But I want more.

I’ve always reached beyond my limits; it’s what made me such a great student in school.  I like moments and memories and the rush of happiness or giddiness or excitement.  I won’t say I’m an adrenaline junkie because I have my limits and partaking in death-defying activities regularly kind of goes beyond them but maybe I’m an emotion junkie?

My mother is probably to blame for this, although maybe it’s not necessarily a bad thing.  She was always getting me to try new foods, taking me to new places around town, traveling when we could.  This is the woman who left her life in Florida, nearly twenty years’ worth, to up and move hundreds and hundreds of miles away — and still talks about living somewhere else. She travels to surrounding states — something you can do when you don’t live in Florida, where it takes you hours and hours just to get the hell out of state — and simply does.

I know it’s just a phase, albeit a recurring one, and it will pass but it almost becomes an ache at times.

But hey, I figure an awesome week in Vegas early next year with our friends ought to satisfy it for at least a little while!

Filed under: my life