The need for adventure is such a curious thing. Whether to count it a blessing or a curse is lost on me. Coming to terms with the idea that I may never be content with whatever it is that I'm occupied with at a given point in time is nothing short of depressing. On the other hand, that discontentment will always propel me into my next adventure, and the future- while wholly unknown- has every potential to be so rich and fantastic, ever exciting.
It's likely that everyone has a need for adventure. In some it might be squelched and suppressed, and in others it is dim to begin with. In every case, though, it's there. I am one man and can't compare my restlessness with the next man's in any objective sense, but I know that I've got to keep moving.
The greatest curse of it all? I miss the people that I love, and starting over even if just temporarily is one hell of a task.
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